It’s official- I have become a walking LA cliché (and yes, that rhymed). Last weekend I took a trip to Vegas with a few new friends and a large group of Ball State alumn/friends who were on a sort of Rumpspringer, if you will.
I’d like to stop here and backtrack a day. So last Thursday I volunteered to be an extra on a Hollywood film (not at liberty to say which one) set wherein I was to sit around a Jacuzzi in the background of a college-type party, drinking beer and chillin’. Oh, and the house was in Malibu. In short, I was one pair of shutter shades away from a rap music video. But I went, and had a blast. A few friends from work were there and we tapped out our drinking supplies, relaxing and having fun.
Then the (I want to say 2nd AD, but I’m not sure) pulled myself and my friend Chelsea aside for an opening shot in which the main characters run into us on our way into the house and step aside for us to enter. So like, screen time and stuff! When we thought we were finished and settled back in with our tricked out solo cups like the cool college students we were, he came back up to us and said for one of us to come with him to do a scene. Chelsea was like, “I’m too tall,” thus graciously stepping aside for me to do some on-screen flirting with one of the actors. Which I did, gratuitously. Like it was my job. Like I was up for a SAG award. It was a challenge, believe me, to stand around and be interested in cute guys. My Oscar’s coming soon.
Reverting back to my main story of adventure. Because of the events that transpired that evening (me leaving my phone at that “party”), I was completely off the grid for 48 hours. No technology save for my eyelash curler. So Vegas really felt like a mini-vacation- a cutting off from reality that only heightened the Adult-Disney theme they got going on there. Everywhere you turned there were bright colors and flashing lights, beckoning you like sirens to every type of sin imaginable, from gambling to sex to liquor and beyond.
It was awesome.
Because of the size of our party we were able to snag some ludicrous discounts- Splitting a hotel room in the Cosmo cost me about $30 a night. For a hotel room overlooking the Bellagio Fountain, I’d say it was a pretty good deal!
Arriving in late on Friday, we had a little drinking to do to to catch up to everyone else, and then proceeded to the gambling halls for a night of bad decisions and expensive beers. At some point I realized my feet were in agony from the high heels I’d chosen to wear and dragged my bleeding leg stumps back to our hotel sometime around dawn. For the record, they stayed on my feet the whole night; I refused to take them off. I mean, I knew what I was getting myself into. I had it coming the way I was dressed (that one’s for you, Mike).
Dragging my stupid butt out of bed the next morning took some real grit, along with the promise of a relaxing afternoon by the pool. Heh. Our pool was definitely not an elevator music, quiet outdoor retreat, but rather a giant chlorine mosh pit of hormones, alcohol, and party music. I left my relaxing afternoon at the poolside feeling sweaty and out of breath like I’d run ten miles. Okay, like I’d run three miles. Okay, like I’d run a half mile. Man, I’m out of shape.
For dinner we went to the most expensive buffet I can say that I’ve ever had, which incidentally turned out to be the best buffet I’d ever had, all apologies to Golden Corral. From sushi to crab legs to chicken marsala and ribs, I could have Liz Lemon’ed my way through that place for hours but unfortunately, we only had time for me to have two helpings that night plus dessert. It’s safe to say that I have developed a master plan of attack for next year, which may or may not include a purse lined with ziplock bags.
That night further involved ordering bottle service at the hotel bar completely decorated in crystal, followed by a limo ride, followed by some shameless but nevertheless enjoyable dancing at the club in Hard Rock Café, whose name escapes me at the moment. I would like to take this time to say that again I wore high heels out to party, but was not as noble in my attempt to keep them on my feet the rest of the night.
Sunday’s trip home included a stop in Baker, Nevada. You might know it as the “Gateway to Death Valley” (what a cheery little name that is), but it is also famed its Alien Beef Jerky, “The Best Jerky in the Universe.” It was delicious and the Area 51 paraphernalia was remarkable if a little ridiculous. The taste of Alien jerky has opened a floodgate in my mouth and ever since then I have been involved in a torrid affair with mister Jack Link and his premium cut meat (please tell me we’re picking up on the double entendre here). But we’re talking about a girl who counts frozen cookie dough as its own food group. Does this qualify me as a foodie? I damn well hope so!
In summation, regardless of the traffic both ways, Vegas was a fabulous weekend getaway that I get to do every once in a while because I live in LA. Though I still feel a very strong connection to and longing for New York City, I am absolutely loving my time here in LA and can’t wait to see what surprises pop up next!
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