Nikki's Distractions: March 2008

Ah, the memories.

My friend Tracey just went to Vegas with her husband, and wrote a brief but humorous little update about the weekend and Vegas. She noted that her favorite breakfast spot was La Village Buffet at Paris. That was enough to transport me to a Saturday morning back in April 2005 ... when, I, too, had breafkast at La Village Buffet at Paris. Was it the best breakfast of the trip? Probably, but that is only by default because I don't think I had breakfast the other morning I was there.

It started with an invitation from my dear Agatha to join her for a girls' weekend in Vegas. She was going with three other women who had made the trip together before. They needed a 5th, and I like to believe that Agatha needed her most fun friend:) And I was game. I always am when it comes to joining Ag or making her join me for events. A night out with my colleagues, only 1 of the 4 I like? Sure, as long as Agatha comes with us as well! A bachelorette party for my sister-in-law in LA with her friends, who I am fairly sure I have nothing in common with? Sure, as long as Agatha comes too! In need of a drink and night out of the house? Usually, I am too tired, but if Ag invites me, I know it will be fun:) A house party at a condo that has been transformed into a Vegas casino, with the full service bar in the garage, but you must wear Vegas clothes? Of course, b/c I am heading over there with Ag! And all these things end successfully, with tons of fun had. We dance, we poll people on the street regarding famous song lines they really should know ("Lend me some sugar, _ _ _ _!" I can't believe not everyone knows this line!). We do, of course, drink. Someimes too much. Sometimes not enough.

So, as I said, I was game. The other three girls drove from San Diego to Vegas. Ag and I took the Southwest luxury flight. We got to the hotel -- The Paris -- after dinner with just enough time to settle in, get ready, and hit the town. The only rule I was supposed to follow -- given by my husband -- was to eat before I drank. Eat before you drink -- easy enough. This "rule" arose after a fiasco where we went to a party at my hairdresser's studio one evening and I hadn't eaten all day (this, trust me, is unlike me) and one of my former colleagues (see above, she was not the one I liked) kept filling up my little red wine glass before I could finish and next thing you know I couldn't see straight or walk straight or remember my husband driving me home. And I throw up all night, the next morning at the Honda dealership while I got an oil change, and realized I couldn't make it to work (the party had been on a Sunday night). And so yes, before Kai arrived, I had missed work due to alcohol. Yes, that is a sign of a problem. Anyway, so "eat before I drink."

And I did. I had a bagel that was stocked in the room. Some fruit. Some other random snacks brought by one of the girls. I ate. Then we all got dressed, me in my infamous Seven jeans that I still miss. And we drank some of the alcohol we had in the room. Then we headed to the club in the Paris hotel. Oh wait, we went to the bar at the top of the hotel and ordered a $20 glass of champagne and took a picture and couldn't time it so we were all looking at the same time THEN went to the club at the Paris hotel. Or wait, was that the second night? Did we go right to the club? I can't remember. Anyway....

We waited in line for like 45 minutes to get into the practically empty club. So we headed to the bar and had more $10 drinks (which doesn't seem so expensive now that I live in NYC again). Then, we danced!!! Or, should I say, Agatha and I danced. All night. More people came, but it never got so crowded that you couldn't bust a move on the dance floor. At some point in the night I decided I must continually, over and over again, do the Beyonce Move. This is when you are dancing and you do a squat all the way down to the floor (ALL THE WAY) and bounce back up, all on one beat, and then keep going as if you never bounced down to begin with. Does Beyonce do this move? I am sure she does -- why else would I call it this? I never make things up. Never.

So I do the Beyonce Move. Agatha does the Beyonce move. Again and Again. We take turns dancing with The Guy in the Pink Shirt. He's cute and harmless. He is with a bachelor party. Was he the bachelor? I do not remember. I think possibly. We dance all night long. The other girls don't dance. Or maybe one does for a minute, but not long. I have vague memories of saving one of the other girls from a freaky dancing guy, then talking to him and his friend with a broken arm (he had a big cast on), and somehow making the guy with the cast scream in pain because I didn't really think touching the fingers of a guy wiht a freshly broken arm in Vegas would hurt him. But it did.

Then we did more of the Beyonce Move.

Then we left, and on the walk back to the room we were talking with the Guy In The Pink Shirt and his party, and we all put in $10 and placed a bet on something. Was it a craps table? Roulette? I don't know. I just know we placed the bet collectively and we all won. So I left the room that night with like $100 and I came home with like $120. Can't beat that.

A successful first night in Vegas for girls weekend.

Saturday morning we all woke up for breakfast and then to lay by the pool. We made our way down to the La Village Buffet at Paris (because, really, who needs to go outside when you are in Vegas? Especially when the ceiling has clouds on it anyway). And as we stood in line -- the very long line that was not moving -- I realized that I fudged following the "eat before you drink" rule. I ate, but not a meal. And I drank too much. And I might pass out or vomit in line.

Somehow I made it through without vomiting. I coached myself. (But am I remembering correctly that Lori, one of our Girls Weekend comrades, went to the bathroom to vomit? Or was that Dara? It was Dara. Who looked like a barbie doll). But I made it in without vomiting. And I realized I needed a hamburger and fries. Or something very greasy. I did not need anything that was offered at the "upscale" La Village Buffer at Paris. Not one thing was going to work for me there.

i picked out some piece of cured meat and a piece of bread, and tried to pretend that would settle my stomach. And I sat down. And Agatha mentioned that her legs were sore. I thought that is weird, why would her legs be sore? Or any of our legs be sore?

Oh yeah. That would be the Beyonce Move. The deep, quick squats. That we did all night long -- because we dance as well as Beyonce. Better even!

After that, the story is much less exciting (if it was exciting up to that point). I slept in the dark hotel room while everyone else basked by the pool. We went to the top of the Eiffel tower later in the day. I felt recovered. We got ready to go out again. I drank a little drink in the room. We went to dinner, I don't remember where. Then we went to the Hard Rock and waited to get into the club there. It was more of a scene. It was crowded. There was no room to dance. There would be no Beyonce Move that night. Agatha took a picture of her foot in the bathroom. Two of the girls did dance, all smashed up against the crowd and the guys they were talking to. I didn't have it in me despite the cool shirt that I had from Forever 21 (the only place to shop for Vegas outfits that you shouldn't spend more than $10 on, even if you are 31 at the time. It is not called Forever 21 for no reason).

Then we slept. Then the other girls drove home and Agatha and I took the Southwest luxury flight home. A couple participants went and bought their own Seven jeans. And that is the end.

(Here are the benign photos from that weekend).