Kim Wetter

Singed Eyebrows and Fake Vegas

My weekend almost destroyed me. I. am. exhausted.

Friday was my last day at work, so, naturally, my coworkers took me out to happy hour at 3pm. I’ve been to a fair amount of “last day happy hours,” and I have never seen this many drinks go around. It’s probably (read: is) my fault for accepting any drink offered. I wouldn’t want to be rude and say no or something. Jager shots and good times were had but it also means I was drunk by 7 and had a whole night planned that I had to attend.

I convinced my very straight but awesome coworkers Jana and Stephanie to come meet me at R Place. The plan was to get there at 8pm and stay until at least a bit after 9pm when they start giving stamps. That way, you avoid cover charge for the night. They were late and I was doing my best to drink nothing until they arrived. Of course, when they arrived, Jager shots were had and drinks were ordered. We didn’t leave due to the slush of the recent snow storm that hit Seattle. My brief ventures outside already left my shoes soaked and I had to ask Stephanie to bring me socks. Besides, a drag show was about to commence.

Another group of friends showed up, which inevitably led to shots and I am frankly impressed that I was able to stay till close. My friend Eric likes to tell a story of me that night: I saw a booty pop from out of the corner of my eye and just went up and started dancing with said booty. Turns out the girl was straight (or not interested – your choice) and her larger friend swooped in to take over dancing with me. After a dance, a third in their group walks up and starts making out with me with not so much but an introduction and she swiftly leaves.

When I arrived home at 2:30am, I had a cigarette with me and was determined to smoke it. I wasn’t going to let this lone cigarette I had bummed from a gay boy go to waste. I looked everywhere (read: two likely places) and couldn’t find a lighter. My roommate convinced me to just light it on the stove by turning it on and giving me the nod. Now, let me be clear, I have seen my best friend do this on TWO separate occasions and burn her face each time. But at 2:30am with a lonely cigarette in hand, you don’t think of things like that.

I singed my eyebrows.

They aren’t burnt off, just a little crisp. You cannot tell unless you touch them. They’re rough.

Obviously I woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of my life. I attempted to get out of bed at noon and showered and dressed and crawled immediately back into bed with wet hair, jeans, et al. There I stayed, in pain, until 5pm when Eric came to collect me for a friend’s birthday celebration. Hangovers are not expected on the evening of fake Vegas.

For those of you unfamiliar with fake Vegas, it is the Tulalip casino north of Seattle. For such an excursion we had to prep with dinner for the birthday boy at Red Lobster. I’ve never eaten at Red Lobster before but I walked away with two pieces of knowledge: 1. Lobster is good anywhere. 2. There’s so much melted butter in that place, you can feel it in your pores.

So with my strict budget of $200, we set off with our stomachs full. 3 drinks in and I was on top of my game. And by game, I mean feeling like a human again, not in bed. I do not mean game as in being good at gambling. I’m terrible at gambling. I love it, but I have never come out on top.

At dinner, I decided I had to wear a lobster bib. I just had to. I’m at Red Lobster, bring on the bib. Seeing this, a friend at the table bet me that I wouldn’t leave the bib on in the casino. I asked for how long and he said after I had lost $40. Easy. You know how quickly I lose money? So, I did. I don’t think they all realized how embarrased they would be walking around with their Red Lobster bib friend. I tried to leave it on for a while after the bet was paid (he technically said “all night” first until he amended it to the $40 loss and I was only trying to be fair) but my friends ripped it off my chest as soon as they could. No one likes a girl in a Lobster bib.

I lost all my money by last call. Did you know there is a club at the Tulalip casino? Bimbos dress up as if they are actually in Vegas. There was a line. I may have been a sad sight being the girl in the bib but I wasn’t as sad as the line outside the “club.” That counts for something.

I polished off the night by going to bed at 6am and was woken at 10am by most of our group, ready to leave. 4 hours of sleep – Vegas or fake Vegas – sucks. I could say “lesson learned” but we all know I’d do it all again.