And then there was Britney (Night One)

This has been in mind for over a month but don't worry this is what my brain capacity has been dedicated to.


I saw Britney Spears in Concert at the fabulous MGM Grand Garden Arena.

Consider my world rocked.


Here's the set-up:

Sunshine (myself plus the space cadet and the busy beaver let's call them) decide that we obviously must reconvene in order to live the Britney Experience. We couldn't get three seats next to each other at the $150 price range in LA or Anaheim (before they added more dates) so we obviously see this as the perfect excuse for a Vegas trip ( I am sure that at some point down the road I will pontificate on my love of Vegas, so don't you worry). After buying our tickets and booking flights (I drove because I love to drive and continually disregard the fact that my car is made for Tokyo Drifting or whatnot and as a result the seats are equivalent to the back row of a transatlantic flight).

The Beav can't make it till Saturday so I drive in on Friday to spend the day with Space Cadet. I grab some In-N-Out (any excuse really) and meet up with her in the parking lot of the Tropicana. We figure, who cares where we stay because most of the time won't be spent in the room. We head up to registration and begin checking in when the concierge (that doesn't seem appropriate) informs us that they are "out" 500 rooms and they will be sending us to a different hotel. My mind swims with thoughts of slightly more upscale digs. She then finishes her sentence by saying "and you'll be staying at the Hooters Hotel, just next door." It's hard to describe the noise I made in response. A chuckle of disbelief? A chortle in jest? At any rate she gives me a look as if I told her that I enjoyed rubbing my shit on her mom's face and I make like I didn't just make a chortle of any kind. As I didn't book the hotel and Eager Beaver was still at work in LA, we reluctantly drag our shit back to the car and drive even more reluctantly, into the Hooters Hotel parking lot.

As I kick open the doors (like I am going to touch anything in the fucking palace that Valtrex built), my sense of dread only deepens. I didn't really think about what the "theme" of the hotel was (tits? ornithology?) but as it turns out it's basically as if someone decided to bring all the luxury and glamour of St. Petersburg, FL to Paradise, NV (just to be a nerd, techincally Vegas, the strip part, isn't in Las Vegas...kinda like the Vatican!)

I am not really good at negotiating in spite of being told that I have "solid gold balls" since approximately 4th grade (they retract when I really need them), so I don't really put up much of a fight with the agency that we booked the hotel through. We were going to make the best of it. We get into the room, that doesn't even have a mini-bar mind you, and what lovely accessories have they left for us? A plastic Bud Light ice bucket and a Hooters magazine which should really be renamed Busted Faces Monthly.

After settling in to our new surroundings, the Cadet and I start to prepare for the evening's festivities. A friend set us up by putting us on the list of the members only Hard Rock Foundation Room at the top of Mandalay Bay. It's pretty ritzy and if anything I stand for refined elegance with a rock n roll twist. We pre-game like champs and the night is going pretty well. Cadet even learned a lesson! If you use a bathroom item offered, you must tip the attendant, it's like the only reason they are hanging out in the loo (aside from the scat fetish...dirty bitches). Basically after that the old lady allowed us to basically pass off the flask of Jimmy Beam in the stall. There wasn't actually a dancefloor which was quite dissappointing but they were at one point showing The Lost Boys on the TVs. We head out onto the balcony where we start basically drinking out of the flask out in the open.

It should be said that I don't really make "friends" in bars (or anywhere...) but this is not the case for the Cadet, who caught the eye of a tiny Azn. One should note that the Cadet stands proud at 5'11" and the azn, didn't. But he and his friend who finds me so fascinating that he literally walks away in the middle of saying something and doesn't really ever come back (swoon!) do buy us drinks. Cadet ends up with a beer and I got a crown and dc (I don't really know how I swung that one) after the drinks and he continually slaps my friend's inner thigh, we declare it high time to leave.

As we walk out the Cadet hands me the flip flops that she brought in her purse for aching feet. Interestingly enough, my feet didn't actually hurt. Until I put on the flops that is. It was like when you wear those soccer athletic spa massage-y sandals for the first time and what should feel like comfort, seems more like searing pain. I do not change back into the heels, that would make too much sense.


Here's where it gets really good. We head back to the hotel and I promptly put in my silocone ear plugs (they are AMAZING, I started using them when I lived in a room with 7 roommates) and pass the fuck out.

I awake later, being tapped on the shoulder. I sit up (at this point I should mention that I do not sleep with a shirt on) and see the Cadet standing above me along with about 4 burly security guards.

"Tell them you know me"

Slowly pulling the sheets up I respond, "Yeah, I know her. Way to go" then promptly fall back onto my pillow in time for me to see the men RUN out of the room. It was like I had some Total Recall shit going on.

In the morning I find out that dearest Cadet got locked out of the room (she doesn't remember why) and had to walk down to Security in the lobby wearing a sleep t-shirt, no bra, soccer shorts and was of course, barefoot. Since the room wasn't registered to her name and she had no ID anyways, they had to check with the occupant to make sure that they weren't letting in a lunatic (that I didn't previously know).

Way to go indeed.

Part 2 to come.