dead hookers, my missing toenail, and other things that happened when i was in vegas for bloggers in sin city this past weekend, which when paired with the shenanigans of the previous post make me look like a raging alcohol abuser. high fives for liver damage.

This entire story is out of order. Cool? Cool.

So, this morning Jamie and I went to Trader Joe’s because we haven’t gone grocery shopping in an actual entire month and we realized that maybe the reason we feel like shit and don’t bounce back from all the drinking we do is because every single meal we eat is some combination of carbohydrates and cheese and this is probably not the best for maintaining one’s optimum health in order to be in top form for all night wine consumption. Or, alternatively, maybe we just drink too much wine. But that’s 17% not the point right now. The point is this: I tried to buy some sort of weird organic green plant juice. Except Jamie was all, “You’re not going to drink that.” And I was like, “But!” And she was all, “Dude, you’re never ever ever going to drink that. Put that down. This is one of those situations where you’ll look back and be shaking your head and muttering about how it seemed like a good idea at the time.” And I was like, “Whatever. I’m reading the ingredients.” But then I did read them and the carton was all, “fruit juice and fruit and more fruit juice” and I was like, “See! I love fruit juice!” but then it’s all, “spinach, broccoli, odorless garlic” and I’m like, “THE FUCK?!” because first of all, GROSS. And second of all, what the mothershit is odorless garlic? I mean, isn’t that like garlic’s ONLY thing? To have a strong odor? How do you REMOVE the odor from the garlic? And don’t the people who do this have better things to do with their time than suck odor out of garlic and puree it with mangoes? Ew.

Needless to say, I didn’t buy the damn green “juice.” But, but! I *did* buy oatmeal. Because apparently oatmeal is good for you and I’m going to try to save my liver by doing things that are good for me, even if it means giving a second chance to a food that has a horrifyingly warm wet mushy mouthfeel. Fuck. Vomit. WHY DID JAMIE LET ME BUY THAT OATMEAL.

Also, I’m hungover times a hundred. Like, still. Like, a whole day later. Like, rainbow hungover. Because I organized Bloggers in Sin City and it was this past weekend and I spent four entire days with 68 other bloggers and do you know what happens when that many bloggers get together in Vegas?! ALCOHOL HAPPENS. Also, unlimited fun happens. Also, a sex toy giveaway happens (BIG UPS TO TOY WITH ME). Also, I jumped in a fountain. Again. Also, I pretended to be a dead hooker and formed a dead hooker swat team and played 007 hiding games in the Flamingo hotel. Also, I asked hotel security to escort me through the lobby as if I had done something wrong. Also, when they said no I asked if they would change their mind if I stole a room service cart. Also, it continues to amaze me how balls out wonderful the bloggers who come to this event are – how gorgeously best friend-able they are, how poke-able and inspiring and hilarious they are. Big wet kisses for all.

So yes, those were some of the best moments. The un-best moments include me losing part of my toenail to someone’s stiletto and my lips being desert tornado chapped. Also, liver damage. Also, I didn’t take any pictures in Vegas because I was too busy being sort of in charge and sort of swinging on the pendulum between drunk and hungover the entire weekend to do things like remember to capture photographic evidence of one of my favorite events ever. So then I was going to post other people’s pictures but that seemed hard because I’d forget who took which photos because I DON’T FEEL GOOD RIGHT NOW and I’d instead try to just credit every photo to the entire population of people who were in Vegas last weekend and might or might not have posted photos of me on the internet. MASS CREDIT ATTRIBUTION.

Whatever. Too exhausted for overwhelming photo posting shenanigans. And so I leave you with just this one photo of me as a dead hooker 007 swat team member.

Credit goes to Katelin for the photo.

Credit goes to SKYY ginger vodka for creating an alcohol that fuels the thinking up of swat team games because when mixed with Sierra Mist it’s so good it should be illegal.

Sit down mom, I didn’t do anything illegal in Vegas. I think. I don’t know.

Whatever.

Nap time.

Update: If you read this in your Reader there were like eleventy hundred typos. Credit goes to Jamie for being all, “Um, so do you want me to tell you about ALL OF THE TYPOS?” Negative credit and big sads to me for being too stupidly hungover to know the difference between “losing” and “loosing.” Sigh. Nap time for serious.

Posted in: day to day shenanigans, life 2.0, the nicole & jamie show