I went to Vegas on a frat invite
If you did too, you know all of this to be true
Last weekend I, like oh so many doe-eyed USC girls throughout history, accompanied a young gent on a romp around Las Vegas for his fraternity’s spring invite. I laughed, I cried (did I?), I partied. But mostly, I observed. For those of you who’ve been to Vegas for a frat invite or have spent a weekend in Sin City of your own accord, your weekend probably went a little like this.
You ate a breakfast that even you, a gluttonous product of the American McDonald’s culture, thought was just a little ‘too much’
I ate three red velvet pancakes with cream cheese frosting and white chocolate French toast. In one sitting. And, as I stuffed my face with fluffy red velvet delight, I felt the entire country weep tears of disdain.
Is this how you spell diabetes?
You found yourself staring at the lips/breasts/necks/cheekbones of every bleach-blond over the age of 40 and wondering, ‘Hmm…what are the odds that’s natural?’
I passed a woman whose boobs were shinier than a pair of latex balloons. Now, she could just be very good at contouring them with makeup. I don’t want to make any assumptions. But then again, I could’ve sworn they squeaked when she crossed her arms over them.
You tried to take a cute picture with a friend, but you suddenly found yourself incapable of being a functioning human being
This is the 12th take of 14. Kyra and I just wanted one good photo. Just one. This is the best we got.
You were on a party bus for way too long
When a dude wearing a pink flannel and holding a glass of Sprite mixed with tequila (because he had already drank all the vodka) starts dancing on a stripper pole to Fetty Wap’s “My Way,” you know the night has to end. Immediately.
You bought some special fruity drink in some special cup that turned out to be 32 special goddamn dollars
Frozen mango raspberry lemonade my ass, MGM Grand.
$32 for a hunk of plastic with a slush inside. America! Capitalism!
You pretended to be asleep at least 78 times, in order to avoid having THAT conversation with your date.
You’re not going to hook up. Especially because you were probably set up 48 hours before you wound up sleeping in the same bed.
You walked the strip at 4:11 in the morning because your friends said it would be ‘an experience’
How you long for the comfort of the fluffy hotel bed. The maids tuck the sheets in so tightly. When you crawl under the covers, it’s like a cocoon of warmth from which you hope to never emerge. But you must. You must, you beautiful butterfly…because your friends are forcing you.
Neon stuff?
You admired a stunning Nevada sunrise on your bus trek home
Ahhhh. This sunrise reminds me that God is always watching…he saw what you did in Vegas…and therefore, what happens there never truly stays there. We’re all going to Hell.
What happens in Vegas doesn’t really stay in Vegas