The Wedding's Back On

They say it takes one and a half times the length of a relationship to get over it after a breakup. I say the same holds true for recovering from a trip to Vegas.  It's almost unnecessary for me to recap the details of this latest trip to Sin City, also known as my bachelorette party, since it was basically a carbon copy of the trip I took two years ago including:

• One smashed blackberry;
• One called-off relationship;
• One trip to the Las Vegas mall for a new phone;
• and one changed flight.

I got all of this for the bargain price of 3 gained pounds, 1300 spent-who-knows-where dollars, and 2 and 1/2 days post-trip spent in bed reevaluating my life, myself as a person, and sobbing through the decision of whether I can ever face my fiance's family and friends again.  

So, yes, to answer your question, I had a GREAT F-CKING TIME.  

Somehow, between repeatedly exposing my bra, holding on to walls for support as I attempted to dance and paying a $10 ATM Fee at a strip club, I not only had the time of my life, but I learned some important life lessons too.

1. It is stupid to get mad at your fiance because he is having just as much fun as you are so he didn't pick up his phone.
2. It is even stupider to be as mean as you possibly can to him and call of the wedding once you finally get a hold of him.
3. It is most stupid to continue the argument the next morning because, even though you know you're wrong,  you can't admit it.

Perhaps what's really stupid is popping a Zanny on the plane, double-fisting for the entire five hour flight, drinking anything you can get your hands on for the next 12 hours, followed by no sleep and a 6:30am breakfast of Vodka-Cranberry and Petron XO?  Did I mention I had the time of my life?

Now that I'm done sounding like a first-timer sharing at an AA meeting, let me go over the real highlights.  In one single day I got to attend Stripper 101 and Stripper 201.  Stripper 101 takes place at the V Theater in Planet Hollywood.  The pack a rowdy group of birthday girls and bachelorettes into a room filled with poles, chairs and boas.  Throw in some drinks and a ex-"exotic dancer" to teach some moves and you have yourself a good time.  The clothes came off faster than you can say lap-dance and I am left with some awesome pictures and a giant bruise on my leg from swinging around the pole over and over and over again.  

Disappointed that I would have to put clothes on for dinner, I put on the skimpiest thing I own (to quote one of my best friends, "a napkin and heels") and headed to dinner.  We mowed through our meal at Nobu, ancie to get to Stripper 202.  Yes, 8 women, jumped in stretch limo number 156412 of the weekend and instructed the driver to get us over to the Spearmint Rhino, STAT.  

After convincing the doormen that we were lesbians and pinky swearing we would not talk to any men and take away any attention from the actual strippers, we were escorted to a booth in the corner and got our lap dance on.  I find it necessary to explain that my last lap dance experience took place on Staten Island and ended with me clutching a piece of the stripper's weave that had fallen out.  With that said, I am considering this my first "real" stripper experience and here's what I learned:

• Strippers are smooth.  Ridiculously smooth.  Where do I find that lotion?
• Strippers DO let you touch.  A lot.
• Motor boats (especially those involving surgically enhances breasts) are not so much sexy, but a hell of a lot of fun.

Upon waking up on Sunday morning, painfully longing for home and starting to feel REALLY bad about the fight (more accurately described as unwarranted attack) with "T", I managed to get me and my cohorts off of the Red-Eye and onto a 2:35pm flight back to the East Coast.  Now, many days later I have finally managed to get out of bed, face the world, and recap the highlights of my "last weekend of freedom."  

Nudity, Booze and Fighting aside what I took away most from this weekend is that my future sister-in-law is AWESOME.  So awesome that the quality time I got to spend getting to know her and letting her get to know me was worth both:

• the post-fight, heart-breakingly painful because-I-was-mean-to-"T" guilt and 
• the intense fear that my future brother-in-law will either a) hate me forever or b) mention in his best-man speech that, given enough booze, I am a complete psycho.

I've also realized that I have two choices going forward:

1. I can remind myself to pace myself BEFORE I start drinking (not after 12 drinks when pacing myself means going from Vodka Straight to Vodka Soda) or;
2. I can lose 10 more pounds and get some fake boobs and a tan so I can maintain equilibrium on the Hot-Crazy Scale (the hotter a girl is, the crazier she can be).

All in all the weekend was great.  My friends are amazing, my future husband is beyond amazing (despite all the things I said about him at 4:30am Saturday morning) and I am a very lucky girl.  I'm sure I could have learned all of these lessons without the high-price of Vegas by watching an episode of Oprah and reading Eat, Love, Pray, but this was a lot more fun.  

I'd like to say that this was probably my last trip to Vegas, but I'm probably wrong.  I have some goals for the next trip and those include seeing the light of day and seeing the Las Vegas Sign. Moreover, on the first trip, I broke up with "T"; on the second the second trip, I called off my wedding to "T"; I'm guessing a third trip is necessary so I can threaten divorce.   Sounds reasonable, right?