Happy Weekend

One of my mom’s co-workers went to Chicago for New Year’s or something and brought me back some Nuts on Clark Chicago Mix popcorn. The Chicago mix (caramel and cheese popcorn) from either Nuts on Clark, Garret’s Popcorn, or a 6 month old bag from the shelf of a CVS in Illinois is one of my top 5 favorite foods. You just can’t find this stuff in New England, and it’s like crack in the sense that it’s so addictive, but also not like crack in the sense that it’s not legitimately addictive or has the capability to ruin your life.


When I went to Vegas last year, we had a layover in Chicago. I think we had about 20 minutes to get to our next gate, and I decided it was worth the risk to find the Garret’s popcorn kiosk that I knew existed in the airport somewhere. You’ve never seen anything more an endearing than my friend with a fresh Starbucks in her hand and me with my entire arm in a bag of popcorn while we waltzed on the completely full and seated plane like, “hey, guys, we can go now! Vegas, riiight?!” as we started pouring Bailey’s nips in our coffee before we managed to get our seatbelt on. You should have seen how cute I was, like, 10 seconds before when I couldn’t find my boarding pass and had to dump the contents of my orange and pink leopard print Betsey Johnson carry on. Don’t worry, I found it- just in the front pocket hiding behind some old Forever 21 receipts! Hollaaaa! Vegaaaas!

Anyway, it’s the freakin’ weekend and I’m about to go buck wild on some $3 happy hour nachos. Hope you are doing something equally glamorous. You’re only in your 20’s for 10 years, after all.

Vegas Part IV: Happy Hour

You might not be surprised that happy hour just happens to be my favorite hour, so Vegas is a perfect destination for me. Unlike the fun hating Boston where happy hour on drinks is illegal, Vegas has some really great happy hours at every hotel. I just think happy hour is the ideal drinking time- you can have your fun and still be in bed by 11 with no hang over. Anything that is conducive to me getting to sleep at a decent hour is something I’m all for.

$4 Margaritas and Taquitos at Yolo in Planet Hollywood- Michelle, Me, Riley, and Caroline.

Vegas Nails at Happy Hour! Sally Hansen's Salon Effects in Frock Star (Picha by Riley)

Happy Hour on the roof at the Paris Hotel (Riley took this)

Also at Paris... Doesn't Michelle look like a little beach angel? (Riley is responsible for this picture, too)

Bar Vdara at our hotel... also known as my bar.

Vegas Part III: Thoughts on Clubbing

Some champagne sent to our room

I feel like I need to let all the ladies here in on a little something I figured out during my trip that really surprised me.

I was chatting with a gentleman at a club who was wearing converse with a suit. Now, I don’t actually give a crap that he was wearing canvas shoes to a nice establishment- I just couldn’t get over my jealousy that he got to enjoy his night in comfortable shoes. I pointed out the injustice that he was able to wear sneakers while I danced in heels, and I think he and his friend were genuinely surprised by the fact that I don’t think dancing in stilts for 4 hours is fun.

As I type this, my two big toes, the ones I need the most, are still swollen from the dancing I did last Friday. I’m in some real danger of losing a toe nail. And yet men are so sure that we wear heels (and tiny dresses) for our own pleasure.

At this point, it was my job to enroll them in Women’s Studies 101 and school them in the ways of what it’s like to be a lady out on the town. (Side note: why don’t I have a boyfriend? I thought guys loved ranting feminists).

Literally, this guy and his friend were surprised when I pointed out that the heels were actually to impress their species and not so I could reach my inner Shania Twain, because man, I feel like a woman.

Members of the male population really think that we enjoy bouncing around in spandex. They have no idea how exhausting it is to suck your stomach in for hours. If we were dressing for ourselves we would be wearing some adidas and yoga pants -clothing more conducive for the actual cardio work out that is dancing. If women just loved their sweaty feet sliding around in heels while they broke it down (from here to China Town), you’d see some moms in Zumba class dancing to The Electric Slide in their finest Arden B stripper dresses.

Now, I’m not saying women don’t like dressing up, but I would personally like to dress up when I’m on my way to a place where I can sit down- dinner, a show, etc.

Maybe this is just me- when I dance I want to dance without being tied down by the worry of my lady bits escaping from my dress. I would also like to be able to dance like a hippie at Woodstock and not like a girl named Candy Champagne at the Boom Boom Room, but that’s another story for another day.