What The Hell Happened In Vegas? Part Three: Everyone's Single in Vegas
24 September 2007 at 7:01 pm

By the time we'd checked in, done our makeup, strewn our clothes around the room attempting to make ourselves sexy, and chugged a few more beers, I was officially in Vegas Mode. Having been to Vegas three times in the past year (wtf), I was very familiar with Vegas Mode and knew I was in for an epic evening: I reach a point of bare existence where sentences are not formed very well, walking becomes a conscious effort (especially in three-and-a-half-inch heels), and my only priority is getting free drinks. This happens regardless of how much I've had to drink, but is particularly pronounced when I've been drinking for eight hours straight on five hours of sleep. Combine that with the three people who bring out the most boisterous version of me possible, think of the last place you went where you noticed a group of people who were clearly having the most fun in the room, and that sums up what I was expecting.

Now, (and I speak of myself in the third person because when I invite mood- and mind-altering substances into my body, a little part of me steps out of myself to tsk at what an idiot I'm being) Morgan's version of trashed is a little different than, say, Deanna's version of trashed. When Morgan gets drunk, she might go so far as to laugh a little more loudly than usual, to give more bitch faces to any boys who may be so bold and stupid as to try to infiltrate our group, hell, she might even initiate a hug with one of her best friends. Do you know why this is? This is because Morgan is a Good Girl. On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have Deanna, who, when she gets trashed, may go so far as to announce to the entire room, "I'm going to fuck HIM!" pointing at some random guy, and then take him up to the room only to have sex with him in the hallway. I mean, hypothetically, that's what might happen. If we all happened to be in Vegas.

Eventually, the night took us on a desperate search for a bathroom, as it so often does in Vegas (seriously, ask around to see how many people have peed their pants in Vegas. You'll be shocked. Almost everybody has a Vegas pee story). It must have been Euliza who needed to go RIGHT THEN, because I remember taking pictures with Deanna in front of the New York New York sign, and I remember looking at Katie. Here's what else I remember:

Standing against the guardrail next to the escalators, pulling a cigarette away from my face and turning my head so the smoke wouldn't blow back into my eyes. Seeing a group of guys walking and one of them stopping dead in his tracks and staring at me. Putting my elbows on the guardrail, crossing my right foot over my left, and cocking my head while glaring at him as if to say, "And what the fuck do you want, buddy?" Actually, I think that's what I said when he started walking over and I looked over at Katie. "And what the fuck does this guy want?"

As his friends were going down the escalator and yelling at him, he asked me how to get back to the Luxor (according to him; I don't remember this). I pointed in a general direction and he asked if I wanted to get a drink. I said okay, but that I had to wait for my friend to get back from the bathroom.

I'm going to stop for a minute here to clarify something: somebody once told me that I am a horrible judge of character. I was highly insulted when I was told this, but it has proven to be true over and over again. I am good at befriending shady characters and making them want to be better people. See: Cheyenne. Aaron. Derrick. The reason I do this, subconsciously and occasionally consciously, is because my father is a shady character and he never wanted to be a better person for me. Some people can know within minutes whether or not they will get along with the person they have just met; I withhold judgment until months after the fact. That's not to say I'm naive; it's very seldom I allow myself to get to know anybody beyond eye contact or, and even this is an extreme circumstance, if I give them my real name. But I can spend all night talking to someone and will not deign to think that I know them as a person or that I know how they could fit into my life. Maybe this also has to do with the fact that the people who have spent an entire night talking with me tend to be shocked when they actually get to know me. See: all of my closest friends.

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About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.