So you know those nights in Vegas when everything seems like it’s The Hangover on acid? It’s never as bad as you imagine, but that is this kind of story. And I share it so that you become the benefactor in my newest unoriginal-but-brilliant idea.
One hapless night in Vegas, during a visit, I was dragged into a nightclub to play wing woman for my roommate. We had received a surreptitious invitation to celebrate in a club with several NFL players (whose teams had already been eliminated from the playoffs)—and my roomie seemed determined to be seen by one particularly handsome NFL player. So being the very good (and single) girlfriend that I am, I happily agreed to mingle. Per Murphy’s Law, the moment we had stepped into the club, my purse inexplicably ripped at its seams and the entire contents scattered to the floor. But I’m not one to let small accidents ruin my fun. So choosing to ignore Murphy… or the gods—whoever was responsible this time—I then gathered and shoved all of my purse belongings into my roomie’s purse. Problem solved, right?
Now comes the part of the story when bad things turn comically worse, because I was then somehow separated from my roomie and her purse. My only chance to reconnect with her was to reach her by text or phone. But I did mention I was in a club, right? She was still on the prowl, albeit minus one wing woman. So naturally I was unable to reach her. After several unsuccessful attempts, I was officially panicked. I had NO phone, NO ID, NO room key, NO cash and NO LIPSTICK. I died.
Imagine how silly I was going to feel WALKING the Vegas strip back to my hotel. Imagine me trying to convince hotel staff that I indeed belonged in my rented room. Imagine the blisters on my feet… and my pride. Imagine me, imagining all these things. AND THEN—of all the cruelest twists of fate—imagine me begrudgingly accepting assistance that night from an ex-boyfriend of my then most-recent breakup.
Flash forward to my flight home: Casually browsing the in-flight magazine* I saw a how-to on folding dollar bill origami. I pulled out a C note and started to fold. It hit me, “Why couldn’t I have had this on the night before? EVERY ONE OF MY FRIENDS SHOULD HAVE THIS RING!”
It has been an ongoing effort of mine since to share the ring, so my friends don’t have to share my story. And to make it the perfect accessory, I even started experimenting in painting with nail polish to customize each ring.
(The ring I gifted Molly was inspired by both her nail game and love of Nicki Minaj. I painted her initials in the shape of a crown and the “100” numbers on the bill Nubar’s Geisha Blaze pink.) I call it the Emergen-C-Note Ring. And here is what you’ll need to make your own:
- $100 bill (or any bill, really—try a $1 bill for practice)
- Nail polish and/or any other creative accessories you can think to add
a cooler way to lose all your money in vegas!
FINALLY!
What about… washing your hands, and all that jazz?
(hah).
Good point & already been there! Turns out Mr Franklin + nail art are both remarkably resiliant to soap and water. (Much better than running the risk of taking it off and loosing it!)
That is very cool!
Thanks girl! If you do one, I’d love to see a pic.
I went to try this out…then I realized all I have are quarters and pennies! *sighh*
Time to cash them in girl!
This is a classiest version of carrying emergency cash in your bra…
Minus the embarassing sweaty cash in bra exchange.
You remind me of Chyler Leigh
Let’s hope I survive the season ending.