After purchasing the hideous t-shirts, we moved on to the Walgreens for sunglasses. Apparently, there was nothing to be found in the large bins of sunglasses shards. Heh. Who knew? Upon walking into Walgreens we discovered a trashy, kitschy goldmine. There were crappy souvenirs everywhere. Most of our group headed in that direction. Some of us felt the pull of the sunglasses. Leah, Audra and myself began the task of trying on every pair. For me, that included children's glasses. Poor little fuckers will never be the same after being on my giant head.

Leah was actually in need of clip on glasses. What she found was a series of ill-fitting, tacky hilarity. This pair was probably the most absurd.

I ended up leaving Wallgreens with a pair of mismatched souvenir dice (one said "Joe's Casino and the other said "Grandpa's Casino") a water and laugh-bruised ribs. Melissa purchased a beaut of an ashtray. It said "Philipe's Butts". I love you, blingy Las Vegas Walgreens.

It was now past check-in time and so we moseyed back toward the HO. But not before beginning our collection of stripper/hooker cards. They're just lined up in the chain-link fencing along the strip. Leah's favorite was Adrianna, the sophisticated coy one with stars over her breasts. My "favorites" were the ones that had the women sticking their fingers into their vaginas. This action was partially covered with a star. Classy.

Because a trip to Vegas must have its fair share of strife, there was trouble with Melissa, Gates , Leah and my room. It worked out in the end, but for awhile there, I had visions of sleeping on the filthy HO floor. I have trouble sleeping in hotel BEDS for fear of what's in them, a stay on a hotel floor would have been the death of me.

So we sauntered over to Robin and Erin's room, relaxing and deciding what to do next. Danielle called and we ran screaming down the stairs to meet her. She arrived in style in a silver Chevy Impala. Let me tell you, an Impaaaaala is a nice caaaahr. You know what? Nevermind. We helped D haul her shit up the stairs, cackling all the way about the place being the Westward MO.

It was during this relaxation that I was coaxed into putting on the shirts that I'd purchased. The yellow one went on first. Immediate claustrophobia and spasmodic laughter ensued. I tried to stay in the bathroom, but was forced to show the shirt off. It fell about three inches below my breasts and hugged every lump. Danielle had to yank it off of me.

Danielle, Leah and I decided to pick Kat up at the airport, since Melissa's rental car fell through. We actually survived the ride to the airport in the Impala and after a bit of a search, found Kat. We headed toward NY NY listening to Kat's specially formulated mixed CD. On it's surface this: "The Great Claniel Freestyle Pop Bitch-Slapping. Imagine Clay and Daniel performing their own unique version of a freestyle rap battle, a musical smackdown showcasing the sublime and the ridiculous. This CD is the product of such a fantasy.

It's content had three effects: 1)It further cemented the magnitude of Daniel's lack of talent, 2)It served to reiterate the gorgeous talent that is Clay Aiken, and 3)Make us laugh our asses off. There's something about riding through Las Vegas at night, with your friends, possibly careening toward death (sorry D) that makes you feel impossibly alive and impossibly happy.

We arrived at NY NY and met everyone at Gonzalez y Gonzalez. This is the place that we ate at last time we were in Vegas. Hugs were exchanged and drinks were ordered. Remembering how delicious the Big Willy was last time, I ordered it again, much to the amusement of everyone. After all, Clay Aiken has a giant cock.

Gates apparently had assumed that she and I were competing. She kept ribbing me about babysitting my drink. At first I didn't budge, but after I heard her bellow, "ME!" at the waiter, I knew she meant business. A few sips into my second Big Willy, Gates and I began to race. I won, even if some of Big Willy was running down my chin. I ended up drinking a total of three Big Willies and I was impressed at my lack of stumbling especially in my four inch heels that I was compelled by peer pressure to wear. Gates, on the other hand, was as the kids are saying, "Shittay". Which is why it is completely mystifying why she was allowed to count the nearly $500 collected for our bill. Audra ended up snatching the cash away and getting it all set. Thank God for the sober, pregnant woman.

Before all the Broads left, we made sure to leave our mark at the restaurant. I'd love to take credit for shouting out the beginning of "Still the One" but the fogginess of the evening and my euphoria prevent me from having an accurate memory. All I know is, a table of full-grown women began SHOUTING "Still the One" in unison. It was really a thing of beauty, and something I've been waiting quite awhile to do.

We wandered out of GyG toward the piano bar, with hopes of seeing Melissa's mulletted boyfriend. It was somewhere in here that Mitzy joined the clan. I know she was at dinner, but Big Willy must have clouded my mind. We all gathered in front of the piano bar and bellowed along with the second-rate singers inside. We had really hoped that this would get us in the place, but all it did was get us the eye of some crazy middle-aged man. Then one of the piano guys began playing "Margaritaville". Having learned awhile back that the proper phrase to utter after "searching for my lost shaker of salt", is "salt, salt. Where's the fucking salt!?" I expected a chorus of drunken voices to back me up. Imagine my surprise when my screeching voice rang out over the near silent crowd. I was mildly embarrassed, but it didn't stop me from doing it again.

A bunch of us decided to go dancing at the House of Blues, so we headed toward the exit, but lost sight of Bina and Gates. We looked around a bit and then Melissa and I caught sight of them out of the corners of our eyes. They tried to skitter away, but we yelled, "GATES!", and they stopped. They sheepishly came out of the row of slot machines carrying a $40 bottle of Moet and smoking cigarettes. I guess this is the kind of shit that happens in Vegas. Soon, most of us were chugging the Moet and Leah and I had lit up. Our debauchery was captured on film.

Notice my lame attempt at hiding the ciggy. Heh. Hiding the ciggy sounds dirty.

Stay tuned for:

*Our adventures at the House of Blues

*Our first night at the HO

*Brunch at the Bellagio