No Wigs Allowed (Sketch Groups Everywhere Collectively Gasp)

I flew into Vegas Saturday morning.  On my flight, the drunk guy sitting to my left wouldn’t stop talking about the New Mexico-based Uranium-rich Nuclear Plant he’s building.  And as far as on my right, I was sitting next to Contagion.  It was the first time I couldn’t wait to get away from the drunk, scary people and I wasn’t even in Vegas yet.

I’m actually lucky when it comes to Vegas. My brother-in-law is Mr. Vegas.  Which doesn’t so much come with a sash and tiara as it does a crazy knowledge of everything Vegas and hook ups are aplenty.  So are hookers.  But that’s just geography.  We don’t partake.  We are ladies!  Well, my brother-in-law is a boy.  But he’s married to my sister, so he better act like a lady (and avoid a hooker like she was the 405 Freeway on a Friday afternoon).  My sister, ironically, is a hooker.  But that’s neither here nor there.*

Saturday night, we went to the I Heart Radio Concert at the MGM Grand.  I’m not saying we had two killer seats and three people sitting in them because my ticket was really for another section entirely.  But we had two killer seats and three people sitting in them because my ticket was really for another section entirely.  I’m not sure if this is how you gauge how good or how bad your seats are, but Jenna Jameson was in our row.  If you want to know who was not in our row, that’d be Victoria Justice from the kid’s show Victorious.  I know this because that’s my niece’s favorite show, so my sister very sweetly told Victoria how much my niece loved her and her show and could she please take a picture with her to show her when she got back to Baltimore.  This is around the time when Victoria said she was not Victoria Justice.  My sister still opted for the picture.  Because really, a photo with someone who’s Victoria Justice-ish is far better than no picture at all.  Plus, Jenna Jameson and a Nickelodeon star in one row is likely terrible for the universe.  Or a wonderful opportunity for a Nickelodeon star to learn so much about grown up job opportunities in film.  Glass half full, people.  Glass half full.

I really scored during the day (Sexually and non-sexually.  Fine just non-sexually.  I hate how you guys bring out the honesty in me).  Yesterday, I rode my crew’s cabana coattails (only cool people refer to their family as ‘my crew’, so get the F with it) to an awesome all-day hang at Encore’s Beach Club.  Upon entering the Beach Club, there’s a sign informing you that the following are not allowed inside the Encore Beach Club:  Weapons, Prescription Drugs of any kind, Cough Drops, Cold Medicine, Outside Food, Costumes or Wigs.  We checked a ziplock baggie with Xanax, Powerbars and Lemonheads.  Swear.  I can’t stop wondering if anyone’s ever had to check a sexy nurse uniform or an Annie wig.  The Beach Club also has a ‘No Napping’ rule.  If you lay out in the sun (on your vacation) and appear to have drifted off into a relaxing nap – you will be shaken awake by a Nap Bouncer in a SECURITY shirt with an earpiece.  How’s that for fearing  a law suit?  Some ass(es) took way too many drugs and drank way too many drinks (seemingly while heavily costumed) and now I can’t lay out and have a soothing lozenger while dressed as Hermione.  Oh, the humanity.

I flew Jet Blue back to LA, which I like a lot.  But on this particular flight, it seemed that someone on the flight before me had a fight with my tray table. It was taped off like a crime scene and had a ghetto handwritten sign that says:  TRAY TABLE INOP.  It was probably the same n’er do well who broke the Beach Club with his mischief and now the rest of us can’t close our eyes near the pool nor do we have anywhere to put our Blue Terra Chips mid-flight.

I still had a really fun Vegas-style weekend and the only thing that matters is -*My sister is actually not a hooker.  Not that there’s anything wrong with being a hooker.

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