Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 2 of 12)

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February 11

February 11

I woke up to a response from Logan. Naturally, he overlooked my “I miss you” text and just said that he fell asleep before getting my message. Liar. I didn’t respond. By the end of the day, I still hadn’t heard anything else from him. Fuck you, man. You know, I would’ve stayed up to talk to you. I would do anything for you.

Mom and I packed our bags at the hotel and then grabbed some breakfast at Downtown Disney before we loaded up the car and got on the road to Vegas. With my lead foot, I drove at about 100mph+ through the desert, blasting Mariah’s #1’s album the entire way, and got us to Sin City well ahead of schedule.

Pretty much all of the other aunts and cousins had already arrived, so I dropped Mom off at the Paris Hotel and then went off on my own little adventure before returning the rental car at the airport. Nothing special. It was really just a chance for me to stuff In-N-Out Burger down my gullet one last time. After that, I spent the next two hours on a series of shuttle busses trying to make my way one fucking mile down the Strip. Oy.

Eventually, I made it to the Paris and met up with the gang. Me, Mom, three aunts, two cousins, and one cousin-in-law, all here for cousin Ashley’s non-bachelorette weekend. We’re obviously celebrating, but Ashley didn’t want anything special so it’s nothing over-the-top. Mostly just all of us being together, having some splashes, hitting up some cool restaurants, and, of course, Ashley and I seeing Mariah Carey’s #1 to Infinity show at Caesars on the last night. After all, that’s what sparked the entire trip in the first place.

It didn’t take long for me to start drinking once I got to the hotel. In fact, it didn’t take any time at all. After a celebratory toast to Ashley, the group left the hotel and stormed the Strip, then returned to the hotel soon after that to begin getting ready for dinner. I can get myself ready in less than half the time it takes the girls, so while they were all putting on bras and changing their tampons, I secretly drank six tequila shots by myself.

Ashley is a foodie, so she took charge in planning all of the dining reservations. Dinner tonight was at this fancy-schmancy restaurant at the Bellagio, which overlooked the fountain. I was definitely drunk, but only about a six out of ten. By Vegas standards, I feel that’s quite respectable.

After dinner, the group split up. The boring, sober half went back to the hotel and the other half, also sober, ventured with me along the Strip to find one of the elusive and delicious Fat Tuesday slushie stores. Unable to find a location, I began to search for tourists holding those tacky souvenir cups they sell. I know what they look like, because I own three of them.

I found someone! Well, two people. It was a lesbian couple wandering the Strip with their giant, sparkly mugs in-hand. Thank God for the lesbians! I knew I could count on them. After my drunk ass decided to call out their clothing choices – “You call those shorts? Those aren’t shorts, those are capris!” – they pointed us in the right direction, recommended drinks, and I hugged them goodbye. Leading a very wobbly path through the Caesars Forum Shops, I arrived at my Mecca and finally got my boozy slush. Oh, and we even saw the Mariah Carey store! AHHH! MIMI!

Stumbled back to the hotel after all of that and crashed. One thing that really struck me tonight was the difference in how generations handle booze. Or maybe it’s not generational and it’s just my alcoholic ass versus all of the other Sober Sally’s in my family. My hotel literally thought I was leaning over to purge as I was washing my face and I fell for it. I literally gagged. No, I’m washing my face not purging my roasted chicken, thanks. Oy.

Goodnight xo

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