Me (hobbling out of the bathroom 5-weeks post-abdominal surgery): “Oh my God.”

(flops on bed)

Me: “I shouldn’t have showered.”

Mandi: “Yeah.”

Me: “What are we watching?”

Mandi: “A documentary on hot dogs.”

Me: “Oooh! I’ve seen this before.”

(crawls under covers)

(silence ensues)

(time passes)

Me: “What the hell time is that party tonight?”

Mandi: “I dunno. Six? Seven?”

Me: “But we need to finish this show.”

Mandi: “Yeah. But you’ve seen it before.”

Me: “It was that fucking good.”

Mandi: “Oh fuck yeah.”

Me: “Parties are bullshit. Let’s fucking stay here and watch this show.”

Mandi: “We have go.”

Me: “Yeah. YEAH. Fuck. I’m so comfy.”

Mandi: “We need to finish this documentary. Period.”

Me: “I wonder what’s up next?”

Mandi: “Ooooooh! A documentary on Amelia Earhart.”

Me: “Let’s order room service, yo.”

Mandi: “Okay.”

Me: “We know how to PARTY.”

Mandi: (makes sign of the horns) “FUCK YEAH.”

13 thoughts on “What Happens In Vegas

  1. I really need to lay off huffing white board markers. I can’t tell if I went back in time 9 months, you don’t know what city you’re in (and had more surgery?), you had a random post burble to the top of the posting pile or you’re rockin’ it hard at Type A (vajazzled beav and all) and this was just study in contrast.

    Or I may need more coffee.

  2. I’m not gonna lie, one of my favorite parts of vacation is chilling on a comfy bed in a strange place with no one bugging me and nothing in particular to do. Screw parties. Big fluffy comforters and bad TV are where it’s AT.

  3. I’m with Beth. I have lied, even to my darling old grandmother, about dates I’m in town so I have a couple on my own with nobody and nothing but the crap I want to do – or not. (Sorry, Grandma.)

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