The first time I went to Vegas was around age eight. I flew there with my mom to visit my dad, only a few years (hours really) after meeting him. We saw Siegfried and Roy, took photos in front of the MGM Lion – which I recall being quite stressful, and I fell asleep at every show and restaurant to which they took me.
It planted a seed, at a young age, that Vegas and late nights were not my thing.
I traveled back at age 20, following the removal of four impacted wisdom teeth, to surprise my dad for his 60th birthday. My lack of wisdom (teeth) paired with too many cocktails landed me in the Emergency Room. A Las Vegas Emergency Room. Sit on that for a minute.
Drinking and dentist visits were soon added to the list of activities I wouldn’t thrive in.
At 22, I visited the city once more. This time, with three girlfriends. We spent four days (three days too many in my opinion) and took a red eye home with the worst hangovers of our lives.
I can barely fly well-rested, during the clearest of conditions without drugs. Forget red eyes. NO. Just, no.
So when Melissa told me her bachelorette would be in Vegas, I’ll admit, I panicked. But then? I planned my flights perfectly, avoided any and all dental work, and limited myself to night drinking.
Slowly, but surely, each girl was hit with dehydration and a hangover, and all six were set to fly home on a red eye Sunday night.
The part of me that felt horrible for them was outnumbered by the many parts of me that were so happy I had planned so well.
Of course, I was bumped to my own redeye, delayed due to storms all over the country, had to buy a sweatshirt that said ONE MAN WOLFPACK on the back, and missed my first day of work.
So that’s my story, and here are some photos. Moral(s) not included.
Jokes aside, Happy Bachelorette Melissa – Thanks for the memories Ashlee, Laura, Emily, Anna & Leslie! See you in June Xo