There is something comforting about awakening to the sounds of a dump truck on a Monday morning. I am reminded of the smell of oatmeal sprinkled with cinnamon, toast with peach jam and chicken apple sausage. My mother's morning call to action, "Puddin', are you up?" In Las Vegas, however, if I'm hearing the truck in lieu of my heathen alarm clock then I'm experiencing the delicious pleasure of sleeping in on a weekday. Thank you, Dr. King. After last night's festivities at McFadden's, I am glad about it!Sunday night's romp began with the consumption of a Jr. SuperMex shredded beef burrito and copious amounts of water, followed by a series of stretches, lunges and squats while watching America's Best Dance Crew. You see, McFadden's is a bar that liquors up its female guests with complimentary drinks and then demands that those sauced individuals get atop the bar and shake it. The last time I danced on the bar in three inch heels without stretching, my legs were sore for two days. I did not plan on getting on the bar, but I figured that McFadden's tiny dance floor would entice me at some point in the night. In case any songs directed me to get low, I wanted to be properly prepared.
I arrived at the Rio around 10:05pm and was reminded of the night of November 4th. Walking 
through those corridors to the Democratic Party's celebration to share in our candidate's victory. Shouting out "OBAMA" as I walked past those unassuming tourists feeding the slot machines. Lovely! McFadden's was only partially crowded with implant-proud, drunk chicks and their male cohorts. We were able to score a table. The deal for that night is pretty much the same deal at every McFadden's function. Ladies drink free while gentlemen pay a $20 fee for unlimited drinks from 10pm to 12am. Wristband securely fastened to wrist, my pal and I grabbed our table and then began collecting drinks to stockpile in anticipation of guests who would not arrive until about 11:30pm.
through those corridors to the Democratic Party's celebration to share in our candidate's victory. Shouting out "OBAMA" as I walked past those unassuming tourists feeding the slot machines. Lovely! McFadden's was only partially crowded with implant-proud, drunk chicks and their male cohorts. We were able to score a table. The deal for that night is pretty much the same deal at every McFadden's function. Ladies drink free while gentlemen pay a $20 fee for unlimited drinks from 10pm to 12am. Wristband securely fastened to wrist, my pal and I grabbed our table and then began collecting drinks to stockpile in anticipation of guests who would not arrive until about 11:30pm. McFadden's promotes their shindigs via email and you would have thought from the flash of their announcement that one would enter into an atmosphere decked out with pictures of Dr. King wearing pajamas and a green top hat since it was the I Have A Dream Pajama Party. Not so. All of the waitstaff were wearing bedroom attire, some more exposed than others, and there was no sign of Dr. King anywhere. Silly me.
Many of the guests had dared to wear pajamas. I love how some folks are just without shame. A few bodies 
had not been exposed to sunlight for quite some time. Others were badly in need of a sandwich. Many had obviously squeezed themselves down into their younger siblings lingerie. Some had dressed up as cows for God knows why. Still others were not bad at all. (Yes, my friends this is what America looks like when it goes to bed. Not Victoria's Secret! )I raised my plastic cup to them in solute. Do you! Personally, I hadn't even considered the thought of leaving my home in pajamas. It's nowhere near summer in Southern Nevada and I am no longer 23 and hot in the ass. The last time I did wear pajamas to a party, I was living in Southern California about eight years ago. In exchange for tastefully exposing my goodies, I was rewarded with Omega Psi Phi's in purple diapers and golden boots. Oh, those boys and their oiled, muscular bodies. Woof!
had not been exposed to sunlight for quite some time. Others were badly in need of a sandwich. Many had obviously squeezed themselves down into their younger siblings lingerie. Some had dressed up as cows for God knows why. Still others were not bad at all. (Yes, my friends this is what America looks like when it goes to bed. Not Victoria's Secret! )I raised my plastic cup to them in solute. Do you! Personally, I hadn't even considered the thought of leaving my home in pajamas. It's nowhere near summer in Southern Nevada and I am no longer 23 and hot in the ass. The last time I did wear pajamas to a party, I was living in Southern California about eight years ago. In exchange for tastefully exposing my goodies, I was rewarded with Omega Psi Phi's in purple diapers and golden boots. Oh, those boys and their oiled, muscular bodies. Woof!The festivities reached their climax at about 11:20pm. By then the beer pong table had been rolled out. Rob Bass, ACDC, Justin Timberlake, Nirvana and Beyonce's Single Ladies had already been spun by the DJ. Girls were up on the bar drunk, dancing off beat. That one random, obviously European tourist was in the corner dancing as if he was auditioning for Cats on Broadway. It was time for me to visit the restroom. There I found, on first glance, what appeared to be an extremely happy lady standing by the sink. Fancy! I love happy people. I started to chat with her when I discovered that she was beyond blitzed and was in danger of cracking her head on the adobe colored tiling. (Nice tiling, Rio!) Ever the Good Samaritan, I helped her buckle her pants, tried to get her to tell me who and where her friends were and then lead her drunk ass out to the casino to find a seat. She would not speak. She just sat there smiling like a developmentally disabled Cheshire Cat. People please! You should have a ball in Vegas, but you don't have to lose your mind. My thoughts and prayers are with that woman but I had to go back to the party and collect more free Screwdrivers.
I did make my way to the dance floor eventually. Pointed and laughed when some broad decided to "pop that thang" on all fours on the dance floor. Sheesh. I'm sure I managed to make the day of two shy male tourists. They look so nervous while their dancing clutching their beer bottles. I always remind them to smile and then force them to turn around and back it up while I give it a smack. I nearly lost my two front teeth while posing for a picture doing the Kid n Play spin. Good times.Next party is the Inauguration. .... Happy King Day!
LOL....You're too much!!You know I'm laughing at the "developmentally disabled cheshire cat" line. You're having too much fun....time to come home to the Bay.
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