I spent 10 days in a luxurious suite at the fabulous Rio Hotel and Casino.
I miss it already.
Was totally glad to be back in the same time zone as my hubby and to spend some alone time with him. But Vegas totally spoke to my wild, carefree side. I was actually sad when we were driving away. I left a piece of myself there.
So much happened, I can't even begin to blog about.
But there is one night I must share.
Lisa came to visit the first weekend we were there. Super cool. So much fun. We got to see naked men together.
Anyhoo, the first night she gets there we go to the Voodoo club. It is on the 51st floor of the Rio and it has an outside part where you can hang out and look at all of Vegas.
It was awesome.
We arrive, get our drinks, scope out a spot to stand and begin to catch up on friend business and what not.
Two guys approach us. One guy, we will call him Mike (I think that was really his name, can't be sure) had totally been eyeing Lisa before so I knew he was wanting to talk to her.
They come to us under the pretense that Mike's friend needed my help to dance because he was so completely awful. Which was true. I watched him do the robot stuff. I told him to stop. He didn't. It was bad.
Anyhoo, we end up meeting all of Mike's friends and hanging with them all night. Good guys. Liked them a lot. Especially because this one guy Joe totally tried to protect me when this really scary old guy was harassing me.
What old guy? you may be saying. I shall tell.
I go the bar, Lisa needs a long island ice tea, I might as well get a beer.
Guy who is at least 60, with horrid teeth, drunk off his ass, in 1970's jacket gets extremely close to me and tells me that I smell great. "Thanks"
"No, really. Just wonderful. Can I buy you a drink?"
"No thanks, I already have a tab."
"What about a hotel? Can I buy you a hotel?"
"Um, no, I already have one."
"Ya, a whole one."
I then place my order while he continues to get closer, unaware of the dread and fear that I believe was apparent in my eyes and the not so subtle way I continued to press my self against the bar in hopes to distance myself.
He then begins to rub my back.
Eww! Stop! Does anyone see this????
They do not.
Old nasty then picks up my drink.
"Oh sorry" Slaps down a hundred.
"No, that's ok, I already paid for it."
"Well, fine then." He says this with a little bit of an attitude, like I was rude to him or something!
I run back to group. Tell Joe. He stands in the way to block Old nasty's view of me.
A shower was needed.
But wait. It gets better.
Lisa, Paige and I are at the pool the next day. I go to the bar (maybe that was my problem) to get Paige a strawberry margarita.
And who is sitting at the end on a bar stool . . . drunk???
That's right. Old nasty.
He yells hey little girl at me. I ignore. Grab drink. And practically knock over some waitress on my haste to return to my lounge chair and rid myself of the disgusting feeling that has washed over me.
That was just one day. You can imagine the rest of the trip.