Uh I'm home.

No internet access while in Vegas. I updated purely through texts. Now I discover a handful published in gibberish. I fixed them.

Should I update in full? For instance, would you like to know about the bar back? The grilled corn? Being lost in the venetian? Shmoozing with (not) celebrities?

Things I didn't mention in text updates: the bride opening her gifts, the band and their groupies and their suite, the roulette table, the inflatable penis.

Also who in the hell is reading this?

I need to nap now.

Few things i like nope than danish, people watching, and iced coffee. Tramp stamp festival.

Such a hot hot man.

Steak tacos. Grilled corn. Power hours.

I found a little grotto where i can rest. And bum cigs. Buzz is gone, irony is back.

Lost in the venician. Won a quarter. Where are the boys with glasses?

Why would i want to see a member of the black eyed peas?

Missing people i shouldn't. The drunk experience.

Drunk at last. I might look like a trannie.

The bar back alone in my room. Was i supposed to kiss him? We held hands. Thanks for carrying all the booze, guy.

I flirted with a man from new jersey in the pool. I should be less witty. But i hate dumbing it down. Already pretended to not understand gambling. Bleh.

Dont let me talk anymore about feminist theory. No one cares about a restaurant called the pink taco. Meanwhile the bride demands we call her fiance.

Our spanks make sparks when we dance

Our waitress at the excalibar is breaking my heart.

Real men a) have hair b) do not dance like that

Thunder down under in 5 minutes. Legitimatly excited though i no longer know why

I fed the bride nachos and she tried to kiss me. Why am I still sober? Someone has to prevent her from doing her own makeup. I look cheap, in a sad way. I met jews but not the right ones.

Still at the pool. Strangely, unfortunately, I am not drunk. I'm almost used to wearing this bikini. Almost. Everyone is excited about Kourtney Kardashian coming to the pool tomorrow. If I meet her I will tell her to her face--who are you?

Pool in the city of sin! My sexier friends got us a cabana. It is nice. Men are nearby. How are my thighs? I like this. The pitcher of mango shit smells like B.O.

In LAX. Three hour sleep on the pane. And that's with ear plugs, socks, and full size pillow. Layover? Bloody marys and mcdonalds. Now I'm buzzed. The girls are threatening shots.

needle in the hayyyyyyy ya

earlier tonight i had an impending sense of doom about this trip. about being miserable and unable to fit in.

the cure is as old as the anxiety. i must become drunk.

luckily i am in charge of the power hour. my duty is to make a power hour mix that will excite the party. my secret hope is that the party is too drunk by the 45th minute to notice that the song list has gone from katy perry to outkast to santigold to ryan adams to edward sharpe and the magnetic zeros.

oooh and what if i ended it with some elliott smith?

Hi.

Im testing a feature which adds posts via text.

prepping

On the drive home, I saw the curved half moon hanging low over baltimore, colored a cheerful pink skin color. Like a falsie from heaven. It reminded me to pack my silver bra.

The trip begins in less than 24 hours, depending on what I count as the beginning of the trip.

4:45 a.m. go to Leah's in federal hill
5:15 go to airport
7:01 flight to lax
12:40 pdt flight to Vegas

At this time tomorrow, I'll be sauntering around the apartment, maybe painting my toes, maybe berating myself for packing too much.

These two conflicting impulses--I have many of them. Torn asunder. On many subjects. For instance, on Las Vegas bachelorette parties.

I mean, need to exercise my social muscle. But I need to lock myself in a mountain cabin and write until I publish. I almost bought a body bronzer, yet I don't know the point of a body bronzer. I need to make out with a stranger like a Jersey Shore reject, I need to find a man who hates reality television.

Sloppy slash cynical.

Normally not in such equal measures. Usually I err towards heavily detached posturing. Cultural commentary with the other liberal art dickheads, leaning against the wall.

So what the hell happened? How did I plunk down the money for this? Whatever. I'm going to have fun. This blog will prevent me from being swept away while I take a quick dip into the shiny warm mainstream.

My parents once tried to plan a family vacation to Las Vegas (before the city embraced its sleaze) and I nearly went hoarse dissuading them. In part I knew it was not meant for families. It is meant for cheesy debauchery, winking, prepackaged sleaze.

Finally the conditions are right. My friend is getting married. This past Christmas she and I took shots and vomited a lot.

Anyway why am I writing so much? Only like two people are reading this.

Hi, guys.