Because I Wanna Be a Rockstar...

So as I was lying in bed tonight, I realized what it is.

I got back from Vegas yesterday. At 4:30am on Sunday night/Monday morning my friends and I walked into the Venetian. As soon as we hit the casino carpet the heels were off. And, yes, we went straight for the 24 hour pizza place... they had HUGE NY style slices. Pizza for breakfast.

NOM.
NOM.
NOM.

Then up to our rooms we went. We fell into our fluffy beds and set our alarms for 6am. At 6am I could have chosen to wash my face, brush my hair or even put on some semblance of adult attire. But that's not really my thing.

I threw on my black leggings, a white spaghetti strap and a grey cut off t-shirt with hippie fringe and an indian style design. My half wavy chlorine saturated hair went up in a messy ponytail, the black eyeshadow and the random specks of glitter that managed to stay on through the pool party the night before were definitely staying (and yes, I did have make up remover pads). I threw on my diesel sunglasses with orange trim and pushed my bags over my shoulder.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

This is why I go to Vegas. Maybe its why you go to Vegas, too. Because in Vegas I can be a fucking rock star, even if it is the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. (Frankly, I doubt it is.)

Sure I could walk around Atlanta everyday looking like I'm fucked up. But that would not be cool. And it wouldn't be cool where you live either (unless you live in Vegas)... because lets be honest it's not cool to be fucked up all the time. It's only ok if it's every now and then.

The funny thing? I think I got tipsy once during the trip. Once in THREE days. Not because I have a high tolerance, I don't (I like to be economical, so I don't drink much anymore)... but, because I really didn't drink that much. But damn is it still fun to dance all night and look like a rockstar. That's what Vegas does to you... and me. It makes us rock stars, no matter who we are. (Ok, I take that back. It does not make you a rock star if you are a creepy mccreeperston. So, yea that rules out most guys that go to Vegas. Sorry, better luck next time... don't be a CREEPER!)

All in all it was a successful trip, good food, great friends, awesome, awesome dance parties. We just wanna dance *wink*.

Oh, yeah and I didn't blow my tuition money. So that's always a plus, too.

Cheers to the freakin' weekend in Vegas... see you in December viva.

xoxo. Jildo

P.S. Despite successfully looking like a rock star with my rad ass shades, giving the semblance of fucked up (over what really looked like fucked up), I ran into an old boss and and co-worker at the ATL airport and had to take them off. Yeaaaaaaaaaa. Haha. So, that was interesting. But hey...who really fucking cares?

PEACE OUT. A-TOWN DOWN.