The whole thing started at 3:45 a.m. Saturday when the alarm went off. I had the brilliant idea to fly in Saturday morning instead of Friday night, because, "I'll get more sleep." Not entirely sure where I got that impression, but it definitely didn't happen. I had a restless three hours of sleep after watching Cloverfield on Friday night. My sleepy husband dropped me off at DTW by 4:30, where I had my first cup of Starbucks. By 7:30 I was in Denver, where I had more Starbucks, and I landed in Vegas at 10:26 local time (which was actually 1:30 my time) and had more Starbucks. The flights on Saturday were uneventful. From Detroit to Denver, I sat between two really cool guys, Dale and Mike, who were going to Wyoming for a hunting trip. They had me in stitches the whole way, starting from the time I sat down ("we couldn't have asked for a better-sized person to be sitting between us!"). I think my knitting needles freaked them out a little, especially when we hit turbulence, but in the end nobody lost any soft tissue.
By the time I landed in Vegas, I was totally wired. I figured I'd get to the hotel and crash, but it didn't happen. I got to the hotel, met up with Chantel (the bachelorette) and some of her friends, tried to lay down, and gave up. We did a little bit of shopping on the strip, went into a few casinos, and rode the roller coaster for $14 in New York New York. We stopped in a piano bar for an hour or so and made friends with some very intoxicated girls from Iowa, and a creepy guy from Australia who spilled beer on the piano. At some point I left to get MORE STARBUCKS. By that time, there were 8 or 9 girls in the group. We went back to the hotel, showered, changed, and went out for an amazing dinner at an Asian restaurant in the Luxor. I can't remember the last time I've spent that much money on a meal, but it was pretty much worth it.
Now, at this point, I'd been awake for about 22 hours, and I was feeling great...until dinner. I hadn't eaten anything since about 7 a.m. (besides Starbucks) and the growling stomach had done a fair job of keeping me alert. But after a big, filling meal, I crashed. We had about an hour to kill after dinner before going to LAX (clubs in Vegas don't open till, like, midnight) and I was seriously considering making my way back to the hotel. But I was DYING to check out this club, because hey, Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan and the girls from the Hills hang out there, and I'm a hick from the midwest. Plus, one of the girls' boyfriends is a bouncer at a club owned by the same guy, so we were getting in free and didn't have to wait in line.
Long story short (well, by long story, I mean a few people got a little carried away at the hotel bar), around 12:30, we got in the door. Within five minutes, I was pretty much over it. This place was PACKED. I'm not talking crowded, or even insanely crowded, or even fire-hazard crowded. I'm talking not being able to move packed. Forget the dance floor -- the hallways were ridiculous. I've been to some big-city clubs before, and have never in my life seen anything like this. I guess that's what you get for going to the hottest club in Vegas on a Saturday night of a long weekend. Anyway, me and two of the other girls left pretty soon after that, and I ended up staying in their room because I was sharing a room with the people who stayed out late and I didn't have my key.
I got about 6 hours of sleep, woke up, and immediately needed more Starbucks. I totally did the "walk of shame" (see picture above) downstairs (same clothes I wore the night before, smeared makeup, unbrushed teeth) and picked up coffee and a Krispy Kreme. World's best hangover cure, even for someone who hadn't had a drop to drink. :) By 10:30 the other girls had woken up, and everyone left to go home except Chantel, who was staying an extra day. She took me out to Red Rock Canyon, which is basically a valley in the Sierra Nevada mountains with incredible scenery. I couldn't do any hiking because I'm a gimp, but we still drove around the 13-mile scenic drive and stopped to take photos. I was literally in awe. I'd never seen real mountains before, and they were so beautiful I wanted to cry. The pictures do NOT do it justice. Absolutely incredible.
We spent the rest of the night doing more casino-hopping (and had an unfortunate experience on the Deuce, which is Vegas' double-decker bus that goes up and down the strip). I bought Brad some funky souvenirs, which are currently somewhere either in or above the continental U.S. with the rest of my stuff. Saw the Zen garden and the glass ceiling in the Bellagio. It was all great stuff, but I was so tired I couldn't get excited about anything anymore. I ended up staying up too late again, because, my flight the next day got in at 5 p.m., so I WAS GOING TO GET PLENTY OF SLEEP. Right?
Woke up at 6 the next day. Thought about stopping to gamble before I left, because I hadn't gambled a penny on this trip, but chose to get to the airport sooner. It was a good decision, because the security line was an hour long. More Starbucks, blah blah blah. Flight to Dallas got in late, and I RAN to make my connection, dragging along my gimpy knee. If only I knew my flight would be cancelled and the drama that would ensue.
Now, I'm usually a pretty pleasant person, unless I'm tired. My family and friends know that a tired Alison needs to be handled delicately. Everybody wins! Well, guess what. My flight was cancelled and there were no more flights out on American until the next morning and I had gotten ten hours of sleep the whole three-day weekend. So I was NOT A PLEASANT PERSON. That poor woman at the ticket counter. I think she may have turned in her badge at the end of her shift.
I ended up making it onto a Northwest flight that left at 9, leaving me eight hours to kill in the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport. The whole way home, I kept telling the guy next to me, "I just know my bag isn't going to be there. I just know it. And you know what? I don't care. Screw material things. I just want to go home and sleep." (Poor, poor man.)
Which is pretty much what happened. My bag wasn't there. I filed a lost luggage report and went home. I slept for five hours and made it to work on time with wet hair and no makeup. I bought deodorant on the way there.
It was a great experience. But let's be honest...I'm glad to be home.
3 comments:
Ok, I can tell by the hotel headboard and blanket that you stayed at the Excalibur. Aren't the connecting bridges from the Excalibur, MGM and New York, New York cool? That was one of the favorite parts. I loved walking over the bridges and seeing the In 'n' Out Burger sign, and the mountain range beyond. Your trip sounded exhausting. LAX is mobbed. But the music was good. I'm so glad you went!
Yep, that's where we stayed! It was great! I'm a little bit of a hotel snob after years of traveling on someone else's dime, so I thought it was slightly ghetto - but you can't beat $120 a night on the strip.
Sounds like an awesome time!!
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