Like, Rainbow Vegas.

God. Vegas. What the. What the hell IS Vegas?

So, it’s like, here’s been the past three weeks for me. Starting three weeks ago: Los Angeles from Thursday to Sunday. Bridesmaid in a wedding from Wednesday to Sunday in Chico. Then, Vegas from Thursday to now. I have no idea who I am, where I am, WHAT I am, or what it feels like to be at all sober. Just kidding, mom, I DO, but everyone else? Shh. Seriously. My life has felt like a series of hangovers, day drinking, napping, and really, really trying to not die.

But, Vegas. VEGAS. Bloggers in Sin City. I think I’m a bit incoherent because I just got home and one of the first things I did was stand in the shower for eighteen hours and then use the face scrub I couldn’t bring with me and jump for Miley Cyrus delight because my face scrub? Like, ridiculous amounts of important to me and going without it for however many days I was in Vegas was somewhat torture, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I had so much alcohol and adrenaline due to all the awesome, I couldn’t even stop for a second to think.

My brain is actually functioning at half mast.

I can’t put together anything that makes sense. So, I’m going to write a list. Because, it’s easier and I don’t need grammar or paragraphs or anything in that vein. Things I learned from waking up in Vegas with 68 other hot and amazing bloggers:

1. Bloggers really like sex toys. And talking about sex. And hearing about other people’s really awkward sex stories, which include lots of parents walking in and something about a helicopter and something about being seen in the nude by a fraternity. The details are blurry.

2. I’m never allowed to nap in Vegas. So, like, on Friday I tried to nap. I got in bed and was so excited and then all of a sudden, every single blogger came to our room to drink obscene amounts of alcohol. Then, the next day, I knew I needed a nap in order to even, ya know, function at night, so I got in bed, so happy, so warm, so excited about THE NAP THAT WAS AWAITING ME. Then, within five minutes, there were like 30 bloggers gathered in a Kumbaya-like circle, talking about embarrassing sex stories in order to win sex toys. No nap, which meant, I was too tired to go to Chippendales. TOO. TIRED. TO. GO. TO. CHIPPENDALES!? NOT ACCEPTABLE, JAMIE. TSK TSK TSK FOREVER.

3. I surprisingly know how to spell Kumbaya.

4. I didn’t learn that in Vegas.

5. I learned that just now. I’d like to thank god, the Academy, Google for affirming the correct spelling, Katy Perry, and my fantastical brain.

6. Female personal bloggers are really into boobs. Or, just into my boobs. I think at least twenty of the bloggers got to second base with me. Don’t worry Vegas, I’m coming back in July. I can pick up my dignity then.

7. I’m actually jealous of both Tia and Ben because they are best friends with each other. Like, I want to be best friends with Tia AND with Ben, but they have each other and I couldn’t bring myself to ask if I could have a BFF threesome, but if they are down, please tell them I am down, and that we can live happily ever after and okay, fine, Nicole, you can join, too and we’ll have a BFF foursome and all will be right in the world.

8. Wait. I actually want to be BFFs with so many people that were at BiSC that #7 is null and void. Can everyone please come to San Francisco and live in my pocket?

9. Vegas ruins me. It hurts so good. But, also hurts really bad. Flower.

10. I really don’t enjoy gambling, but give me a pool and a giant water bottle filled with Malibu and Pineapple and you’ve found my glory hole situation. Add in some of the best people on the planet surrounding me and I’ll believe I’m in heaven.

11. All my Twitter followers that were not at BiSC earned a medal for sticking around and not unfollowing me. And, if you unfollowed me, you were probably bound to do that anyways, because at some point, I give no value on my Twitter stream and all I do is keypunch irrationally and repeat words three times in a row and link to YouTube videos that make me wet in the pants area.

But, for realsies. You bitches at BiSC? All of you? You make my life. I didn’t get to make out with enough of you, but all of you make me so happy.

Also. Don’t tag me, bros. Those pictures? There’s just no way those are flattering. Just. No. Way.

flickr credit