Southern Boys, Michael Jackson, Day Drinking, You Know, The Usual.

I haven’t wanted to post anything because really all I can do these days is complain about not being in Vegas with all the pretty sexy blogland people, and I just figured I’d spare you the whining. Also, sidenote, I get mad when I see the BiSC bloggers blogging about anything that’s NOT Vegas. But I’m not really MAD. And it’s nothing personal. I just am jealous that you people have been able to resume your lives as normal since we left. Or maybe it’s all a big lie and you really are just as upset about leaving Vegas as I am. Or maybe you’re pissed off that everyone is STILL talking about Vegas but HEY! It’s not my fault that Bloggers in Sin City is the best thing ever invented. You can blame Nicole for that. And by ‘blame’ I obviously mean give her unlimited big wet open mouth kisses. And then listen to this story which I have nothing elegant to say about, except for it was awesome, awkward, and embarrassing but not really because I was too drunk to notice and/or care that little kids were around. I mean, what?

Here goes:

Eating isn’t really a thing for me in Vegas, apparently. I mean, some of the most amazing restaurants in the country are located there, and yet I managed to only eat four meals total, three of which were in the hotel, and one of which was sponsored by Serendipity for winning the scavenger hunt (because I’m ridiculously competitive and don’t mind sweating profusely and flashing the street). Also, I’m broke. So the 6 bottles of 2 buck Chuck I put in the trunk combined with little to no food, chlorine, and the hot Vegas sun? Made me a drunk wet mess. Every day. During the day. Did I mention I love day drinking possibly more than any other kind of drinking? And that day drinking makes me have tunnel vision so I literally can’t see or care about anything that’s not in my immediate line of sight? Did I also mention that I somehow have infinite things to say to boys without actually SAYING anything? And that I’ll do this rambling nonsense for hours on end just to get free drinks from said boys?

No?

Well, there was this boy in the pool. He had a drink and a cute Southern accent. He had no problem giving me and J-squared sips of his drink. He was a sharer. How nice.

We decided to go explore. He carried me across the pool. I like when boys hold me. And all the drunk and all the loss of motor skills! I needed to be carried. Until I saw the little kids playing basketball in the pool. As a former varsity athlete I had to get in there. And I love little boys! I mean, ew. I’m not a pedophile, I swear. They’re just so cute and innocent and they always get so excited when you play with them and OH MY GOD STOP TALKING ABOUT THE 12 YEAR OLD BOYS YOU ARE NOT MICHAEL JACKSON.

But so drunk! And why are the little kids getting to the ball faster than me! And why can’t I make a shot! And where’s the boy with the vodka! And weeeeee squeeeeel I don’t care if I look like wet rat anymore because THIS IS THE BEST DAY!

And then this Southern boy (we’ll call him Cole, because, well, that was his name), in all of his charm, convinced us that we should kiss him. Or he should kiss us. I don’t know, but then there was kissing. First on the cheek, and then on the lips. And then the three of us were in his lap, all of us making out with each other, sipping vodka, and giggling profusely. And it was all fun and games until there were fingers in my vagina. IN MY VAGINA. IN THE PUBLIC HOTEL POOL. NEXT TO THE 12 YEAR OLDS. Except I didn’t realize it was happening at first because of all the tongues and all the drunk and all the water splashing everywhere. It was like some alien time warp and I was completely over-stimulated and all I could do was think about whether or not you could have herpes on your fingers and whether or not the chlorine from the pool would kill the finger-herpes before they went inside my vagina and if it didn’t kill the finger-herpes, would we all get them? And should I tell my girls that I was currently getting fingered in public while they were making out with him? AND WHAT ABOUT THE 12 YEAR OLDS?

Just! Too! Much!

So I just giggled some more and let him lead us back to where some of the other bloggers were apparently trying (and failing) to keep an eye on us. And his fingers continued to be in my vagina. And I thought about how funny it would be if I orgasmed in the public pool, and would they kick us out? Is this indecent exposure? And then I giggled some more. And then he made me feel his boner. And I decided it just wasn’t big enough to make any of the herpes worthwhile. He told me I should come back to his room with him rightfuckingnow so he could take care of me and give me the ‘best sex of my life.’ HA. Really bro? Really. You’re from like Alabama or some shit and I think your penis is maybe average sized but average just isn’t big enough because THIS IS VEGAS and as I always say, go big or go home. So go home. GO TO YOUR HOME. And leave us pretty bloggers alone!

Yay for leaving the little kids out of the fingering! Yay for not succumbing to peer pressure! YAY FOR MAKING GOOD DECISIONS! Vegas! FTAW!

Hi J-Squared! HI COLE!

Listening to: The White Panda – The Next Starf*cker