Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 9 of 12)

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September 11

September 11

Once Brittany had finished giving Greg and I the rundown of her hook-up last night, the three of us finally fell asleep. Considering it was about the same time I would have gone to bed after a regular Vegas bender, sleeping in this morning was absolutely necessary.

As with yesterday morning, Greg was out of the room when I woke up. God only knows what he was doing downstairs – likely the penny slots – but he returned fully showered and dressed before Brittany and I were even close to getting out of bed.

While Brittany and I slowly rubbed our crusty eyes open, it was decided that today would be devoted to a classic Vegas buffet. Since I had wanted to experience one for so long, I was totally on board. After a lot of research and texting, we settled on The Buffet at Wynn. There was a bottomless alcohol option on the menu, so it was a no-brainer.

Even before we left Bally’s this afternoon, today’s vibe was already quite different than Friday and Saturday. This is exactly why I always insist that three nights in Vegas is more than adequate. It’s not that you run out of things to do, but I think the regret of each day and night’s debauchery slowly creeps up on you. By the time the third day of your trip arrives, your liver simply can’t handle any further gluttony. With each extra dollar you withdraw from your bank account, the voice of reason in your head grows louder and louder. Not to mention your bloated stomach, which swells larger with every passing minute. Of course, it’s easy to say all of this in hindsight. This morning, I was completely game for more food and drink.

Following yet another pilgrimage along The Strip, we arrived at the Wynn. After forking out $80 each – ouch – we settled into our booth. I kid you not, we were at this buffet for four hours. Four fucking hours! In fact, we were there so long that the offerings were switched from brunch to dinner. We had the best time. Plate after plate, we joked around with one another while tossing back our many mimosas.

That’s another thing. Do you ever find that after an excessive amount of binge drinking, it’s harder to get drunk? The deal with the buffet was that drink service was cut off after two hours. We managed to make it closer to the three-hour mark, but we weren’t able to drink the whole time. Still, I probably had about ten drinks or more and felt completely sober. What a rip-off! I wasn’t looking to get bed-wetting drunk again, but I was hoping my $80 would have gone a bit further in the alcohol department.

Sobriety aside, brunch was great. A little too great, perhaps. Once we began our trek back to Bally’s, I could barely fucking move. I was verging on vomit-level full. You know that you’ve gone too far when you start breathing as though you’re in a Lamaze class.

Fortunately, everything is far as fuck in Vegas. The lengthy walk home helped to calm my stomach. If I don’t eat for another week, I’m sure I’ll be fine. In fact, I’ll probably still be full. After the disastrous month of August, the gluttony of last weekend in Montreal, and basically an entire summer of no exercise and endless eating and drinking, I have completely lost the sliver of a “body” I had back in May.

Let’s talk about that “body” for a minute, shall we? My figure in May was so perfect for me. Granted, that weight loss was a result of a lack of appetite induced by my anti-depressant, but I would kill to have that body back again. 170 pounds is my ideal weight. I’ve been there before – sometimes even below it – and I know that’s when I feel my best. However, when you’re currently tipping the scales at 190, that magical 170 number seems like a cruel joke. I mean, how the fuck do I even get back to 170? Actually, the bigger question is where the fuck that 20 pounds went. My best bet would be my legs and stomach, but there isn’t one specific body part that has been obviously inflated. Honestly, I think my entire body just expanded. I look like the goddamn Michelin Man. Fuck me!

Back at Bally’s, none of us were in the mood to do anything crazy tonight. Greg and I were tired, and all Brittany wanted was another hook-up. We finished the little alcohol we had left in the hotel room, Brittany packed her overnight essentials in her purse, and then we ventured back to The Strip.

After a mandatory stop at Fat Tuesday, we decided to spend some time in The Mirage. This was partly due to it being one of the few resorts we hadn’t explored yet, but mostly because The Mirage was where Vegas Vacation was filmed. We may have been 19 years late, but I was really hoping for a Beverly D’Angelo sighting.

Our night was so random. As if we hadn’t stuffed ourselves enough at the buffet, we had barely made it through the lobby of The Mirage when we stumbled upon a California Pizza Kitchen and decided it would be a great idea to have dinner. Can you say fatties? Since I didn’t pitch in for the hotel room or the alcohol Brittany had supplied us with, I paid for everything tonight. It wasn’t much, but I wanted to show that I wasn’t a complete mooch.

The night only got weirder after dinner. Brittany was still on the hunt for a man, but was having no luck. I felt bad. Brittany is a bigger girl, and one guy online had compared her to Miss Piggy. That’s just mean. For the first time all weekend, I could tell Brittany was really bothered by the comment. Greg had been joking about her weight all weekend, but when you’re that close with someone I guess it’s different.

Although I empathized with Brittany and her weight struggles, her constant search for dick was putting a bit of a damper on our night. It felt like Greg and I were failing the goal of finding Brittany someone to spend the night with. To be honest, I think we both just wanted to pawn her off as soon as possible. With the nympho out of the picture, we would be able to relax for the rest of our night instead of constantly trying to pimp Brittany out to random men in the casino.

While Brittany continued swiping through her dating apps, we sat in a bar at The Mirage and each had a drink. Keep in mind, it was pretty late at this point. With the bar fairly empty, we decided to try our luck at a nightclub in Caesars Palace. It was almost 2 a.m. by the time we got there, but that didn’t stop the bouncers from asking for $40 at the door.

We all agreed that a cover charge wasn’t going to be worth it. As a compromise, the three of us decided to set up shop at the bar outside the club and wait for people to leave. That’s when we would strike. After some interesting conversations with a variety of drunken strangers, an Australian guy came over to where we were seated. Greg initiated a conversation as he usually does, except this time it was solely to find Brittany a man.

I was bored. I also had a crisp $20 bill burning a hole in my pocket. Despite having lost more money on this trip than any other Vegas vacation, I decided to take a walk through the casino and have some fun of my own. After stumbling upon a weird clown-themed slot machine, I ended up winning over $100! It was insane. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. When I returned to the bar and shared my good news, Brittany was getting ready to leave with the Australian guy. On that note, Greg and I both agreed it was time to go back to the room.

I wasn’t expecting anything to happen with Greg tonight. And it didn’t. Mind you, we barely had a chance. We weren’t even in bed yet when Brittany burst through the door with a full story for us.

Now, I’ll be honest. I can’t remember all of Brittany’s story. It was very intricate, but I was also half-asleep. Essentially, Brittany and her man ended up inside a public women’s restroom at Caesars Palace. Sure enough, security came knocking and called the guy out of the bathroom. Not wanting any trouble, Brittany ignored the entire situation while this guy was detained by two security guards. When she finally decided to stop hiding in a stall, Brittany casually walked through the casino as if nothing had happened and then made her way home. I’m not even sure if Brittany and the Aussie hooked up, but I feel like they did. Honestly, the only person who can relay a Brittany story with all of the proper details is Greg. Anyway, it was ridiculous. I loved it. When story time was over, I packed my things for tomorrow and went to bed.

Today was great. A relaxed ending to a fantastic trip. Yeah, I overdid it on the food and drink. But, it’s Vegas. I wasn’t about to be a sober anorexic all weekend. What a crazy trip, though. I mean that in the best possible way.

Listen. I don’t want to bash my February trip. I am very grateful for Mom’s generosity, but this weekend was the trip that I should’ve had back in February. I know I’ve said it before, but this holiday is like a symbolic bookend to the complete disaster that has been 2016.

Thanks to this trip, I feel as though my hope and positivity in life has been renewed. Even when I think about the way Greg and I met last year, and how our relationship has evolved into where we are as friends today, I’m left with a lot more confidence in myself.

I’m special. I’m unique. I’m different. As much as I try not to, I live a life that I often take for granted. I am fortunate enough to have friends and family who care deeply about my wellbeing. Although I have a tendency to focus on a lot of the negative experiences in my life – especially this year – I am incredibly lucky to be where I am, and who I am.

I fuck up. Okay, I fuck up a lot. But, I always have the best intentions at heart. I am always trying to become a better person. Something this trip has reminded me of is that you can have a second chance. Alright, not always. And you have to be careful not to use up all of those chances. Nevertheless, I am so thankful for this opportunity. So much of this trip feels like a positive, fresh start. Thank you.

Goodnight xo

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