A good friend, and former roommate, of mine is getting
married.
And girl. Loves. Vegas.
When I lived with her, she would go to Las Vegas frequently
and as much as she and her sister tried to convince me to come along, I never
did. Although they acted disappointed at the time, I’m going to venture a guess
that after the weekend I finally spent with them they are retroactively
grateful for my multiple declined invitations.
Her bachelorette party was a weekend in Vegas and this was
one invite I couldn’t turn down. I had RSVP’d in the affirmative months before
the set date but as it loomed nearer I started to have second thoughts. It was
the weekend after we returned from our month long excursion in Europe, the only
other girl I knew had backed out, and I was really tired. But because offending
people is one of my biggest fears, I sucked it up and made the solo drive right
after work on a Friday afternoon.
A giant mansion (80s themed… or maybe just really behind on
interior updates) was rented and 20 girls slowly filled its rooms. I spent most
of Friday afternoon and evening lounging at the private pool and thinking to
myself, “this is awesome.” Why, I wondered to myself, had I even questioned
this? A pool? Palm trees? A grumpy old man neighbor who hated us? It was
perfect.
That night we did some fun, bachelorette-centered games that
were adorable and very well executed. We got to know the bride and the groom a
little bit, made some inappropriate jokes, and “oohed” and “awed” at all
things wedding. Then we ate food and gabbed (because one doesn’t talk at a bachelorette party, one gabs) until we all agreed that it was
late and we went to bed.
So far, this is wonderful.
Saturday happened, though, and kicked me so far out of my
comfort zone that I needed to drive 4.5 hours back to Provo to find it again.
The day started as lovely as the last had ended. I woke up before most, got
myself situated at the pool with a good book, and immediately burned to a
crisp: my regular summer routine. Girls trickled out of their rooms, some went
shopping, others ate, napped, swam, etc. It was a beautiful, low-key morning.
Then our first appointment came around:
POLE DANCING
To be fair, I had originally decided not to participate in
the group pole dancing class. I had knee surgery last year and I wasn’t sure it
would be good for me. At least that’s the excuse I gave when not signing up for
it. The real reason, of course, being that I’m horribly awkward and
uncomfortable with overt displays of sexuality.
When the time came, enough other girls had bailed on the
whole weekend that there was an open spot and I was the only one not going. So,
yes, I was peer-pressured into it. And I thought it would be a
memorable blog post.
There’s not really too much I can say about it except that I
was terrible. And that I was right to fake worry about my knee. In fact, I
should have real-life worried about my knee because the poor little thing took
a beating. Who knew there was so much crawling involved in sexual
objectification? (Probably literally every other person in the world).
It was a sexy dance class with poles. We learned a routine
and took turns performing it for the other half of the group. The varying
degrees of ability were hilarious, ranging from me as a floundering beached
whale to “break this $20 into singles, please!”-level talent. I’m not entirely
convinced that every girl there was a novice.
We were also taught how to give a lap dance but I just spent most of that 20 minutes in the fetal position on the floor laughing. Let’s just quickly move onto the next
item on the agenda:
FANCY CLOTHES AND
DINNER
Self-explanatory.
The next activity was one I did not participate in:
THUNDER FROM DOWN
UNDER
I drove a large portion of the party there but then I opted
to return to the house instead of pay a ton of money for a strip show. Call me
crazy, but I much preferred sitting alone at the side of the pool, listening to
sad, emotional music, staring at the three stars that were brighter than the
nearby light pollution, and planning overly cheesy romantic encounters with
celebrities in my head. Admittedly, this was probably my favorite part about
the weekend. I think I’m a closet introvert.
LIMO RIDE
An hour later, I joined the rest of the party for a limo
ride up and down the strip. I was very much looking forward to this since I’ve
never been in a limo. Unfortunately, I have still never been in a limo. Somehow
the hot pink limo that was ordered was changed to a party bus. I do not think mine
was the only disappointed face. We all rallied, though, and made the most of
it. And by “the most of it” I mean I was car sick the entire time, they played
club-like music that didn’t help the pounding headache and, oh my, alcohol
smells like what I imagine Voldemort to smell like, which is to say terrible.
There was also a lot of dancing (which has already been established as
definitely NOT one of my talents) with strangers (who I hate). I think everyone
else enjoyed it so that’s good.
DANCING
The final item on the schedule was to go clubbing. Now, mind
you, it’s past 1am at this point. I’m old and tired and grumpy and sick and
there’s no way I’m going dancing. Turns out I was not the only one who felt
this way. I loaded up a few girls in my car (whose intoxication level is still
undetermined) and we slowly made our way back to the house (slowed down by
shiny slot machines, cat-calling men, and insane traffic). We got there and I
made sure to park as close to the front gate as possible, already planning for
my escape the next morning.
And my escape was swift. In the bright light of morning,
however, my discomfort from the night before seemed laughable and I was
actually sad to see the weekend end. I said my goodbyes to the lovely bride,
her amazing sister, and the few girls who were starting to stir that early on a
Sunday. I grabbed my adorable gift basket (with more phallic-shaped items then
I knew existed) and headed home.
Although I sound like a huge grump, this was actually one of
the most extravagant, well-planned, and fun weekends of my life. I’m not a Vegas
person. I don’t think anyone who has met me would pretend to think so. But for
one fun weekend I got to see how other people relax, blow off steam, have fun
and build confidence.
It was a chance to learn, again, how unique and wonderful
people can be. And how much I hate Vegas. J
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