All Of The Smell - No Hazing Required
Vegas. It's a messy sort of town. And it always manages to bring out the sloppy drunk in me. I'm not much for "real" gambling, but I'll sit at the bar playing 25 cent video poker while downing free vodka-sodas all night long. I'm a sucker for the touch screens, what can I say?
Some friends and I went to Vegas last weekend. Why? Well, because I actually had like 8 spare nanoseconds left in December that weren't TOTALLY crammed full of holiday parties, and working overtime to finish big projects before the Christmas shut-down, and finishing up my class at Stanford, and trying to get my save the date cards out, and trying to find a wedding dress/photographer/caterer. And we simply CAN'T have spare time in December. No no. So Kyle and I agreed to hop on a super snazzy Virgin America plane (you should check them out - very cool!) and head out for 2 nights in sin city.
I think it was around 4:30 in the morning on our first night there when I achieved a new low - sitting at the 24 hour fried food joint in the hotel, I reached into my purse to grab... umm, I have no idea... but instead of whatever I was looking for, I found half a Corona. Oh yes. Apparently I was saving it for later. Drunk Courtney is always thinking! Thoroughly grossed out by the warm beer sitting in my purse, I decided I had had about enough for the evening. We finished our fried whatevers and went to bed. Luckily, my outfit for Saturday's debauchery required a different purse all together - one that was much too small to smuggle an open bottle of beer in. But on Sunday, hung over, feeling like death, ready to fly home, I tried to use to Friday's purse - it's my good big purse that I always take on planes with me because it holds so much - hmmm. Now I distinctly remember giving my beer-transportation-bag a good rinse off in the sink when I got home Friday night. I was *sure* this would fix any issues that might have arisen from dumping some beer into the bottom. I was wrong. Sunday morning, standing the lobby, waiting to check out of the hotel, I think to myself, "Eww. What's that smell?" Assuming it was the stinky looking man standing in front of me in line, I quickly moved behind Kyle. But the stench followed me. "Kyle, this hotel smells like a dirty frat house, we are never staying here again," I proclaim. And then I realize that the smell is my purse. Awesome. My purse smells like the 30 year old carpet of a fraternity house after the frat's biggest party of the year. Ewe.
Additional, more thorough, washings have done nothing to remedy the situation.
Dear Santa,
For Christmas I would like a new purse. I promise not to hide open beers in it. Thanks.
Love,
Courtney.
Some friends and I went to Vegas last weekend. Why? Well, because I actually had like 8 spare nanoseconds left in December that weren't TOTALLY crammed full of holiday parties, and working overtime to finish big projects before the Christmas shut-down, and finishing up my class at Stanford, and trying to get my save the date cards out, and trying to find a wedding dress/photographer/caterer. And we simply CAN'T have spare time in December. No no. So Kyle and I agreed to hop on a super snazzy Virgin America plane (you should check them out - very cool!) and head out for 2 nights in sin city.
I think it was around 4:30 in the morning on our first night there when I achieved a new low - sitting at the 24 hour fried food joint in the hotel, I reached into my purse to grab... umm, I have no idea... but instead of whatever I was looking for, I found half a Corona. Oh yes. Apparently I was saving it for later. Drunk Courtney is always thinking! Thoroughly grossed out by the warm beer sitting in my purse, I decided I had had about enough for the evening. We finished our fried whatevers and went to bed. Luckily, my outfit for Saturday's debauchery required a different purse all together - one that was much too small to smuggle an open bottle of beer in. But on Sunday, hung over, feeling like death, ready to fly home, I tried to use to Friday's purse - it's my good big purse that I always take on planes with me because it holds so much - hmmm. Now I distinctly remember giving my beer-transportation-bag a good rinse off in the sink when I got home Friday night. I was *sure* this would fix any issues that might have arisen from dumping some beer into the bottom. I was wrong. Sunday morning, standing the lobby, waiting to check out of the hotel, I think to myself, "Eww. What's that smell?" Assuming it was the stinky looking man standing in front of me in line, I quickly moved behind Kyle. But the stench followed me. "Kyle, this hotel smells like a dirty frat house, we are never staying here again," I proclaim. And then I realize that the smell is my purse. Awesome. My purse smells like the 30 year old carpet of a fraternity house after the frat's biggest party of the year. Ewe.
Additional, more thorough, washings have done nothing to remedy the situation.
Dear Santa,
For Christmas I would like a new purse. I promise not to hide open beers in it. Thanks.
Love,
Courtney.
Labels: life is funny, maybe it's me
posted by Courtney at 10:48 AM
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