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<editorsnote> Hi, I'm Jen Friel, and we here at TNTML examine the lives of nerds outside of the basements and into the social media, and dating world.  We have over 75 peeps that write about their life in real time. (Real nerds, real time, real deal.) Sit back, relax, and enjoy some of the stories!! </editorsnote>

 

 

 

 

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Sunday
Aug122012

#RealDeal: One night in Vegas = one lifetime of shame

<editorsnote> Dear mom and dad, please do not read this story. Not even because of anything sexual, more so for just my ego. This was HANDS DOWN one of the most shameful experiences of my life!! Dudes, I walked THROUGH AIRPORTS with puke on my dress, in my hair, I smelled like octopus ... ahh I'm getting ahead of myself. Mom and dad, please don't read. bottom line. love you but no. kthxbye </editorsnote> 

So, earlier in the week I was asked out by this guy online and he invited me to Vegas. After everything that went down with Antonio I needed an adventure and I needed to get out of town and clear my head. What better place to do that than Vegas right? 

On Monday he asked me out, but I explained to him that I had a super busy week. 

You don't have one night to spare? Just one night? he pressed. 

I looked at my schedule and saw that I had nothing to do Thursday evening to Friday lunchtime. 

Alrite, I emailed back. Thursday night - but I have to have to have to be back in LA for a lunch on Friday morning. 

See, Antonio and I had agreed to meet up and talk about everything. I wasn't sure exactly how the lunch was going to go, but I knew I wanted to at least see him again and process everything that happened in our whirlwind romance. 

Not a problem he said. 

He then booked my flight to leave LA at 5:30pm on Thursday and leave Vegas at 9:25 on Friday morning. 

I then went to the airport, leaving out of Burbank since it's a smaller airport and there is less of a hassle in dealing with security. 

I arrive into Vegas and meet up with my date. 

Thank you for this, I said as I got into his car. 

(Also please note, I know a LOT of people in Vegas. As was the same with Antonio, Vegas is a very very very safe place for me. I've BEEN stranded in Vegas before so should the shit hit the fan with this guy not only did I have very dear friends I could call in a moments notice, but I know I'd have a place to stay and a car if I needed it.) 

We then exchanged pleasantries. I asked him about what he did for a living. 

Is it your passion? I asked. 

No, but it pays the bills. 

Seeing as to the fact that we were sitting in a SUPER SUPER SUPER high end BMW I can only assume it pays a lot of bills. 

<tangent> I always hate that answer btw. "It pays the bills." You can't take the stuff you bought with you which CAUSED those bills in the first place - so why the fuck does it matter? That's literally the number one excuse I get for people in not living their passion is money and I've genuinely never understood it!!! You buy things to make yourself feel better but if you were ACTUALLY JUST LIVING YOUR PASSION YOU WOULDN'T NEED THE MATERIAL THINGS?!?!?! bbbaahhhhhhhhhhh </tangent> 

We then pull up to the Cosmopolitan and I grab my CES backpack and head up to the room.

Do you mind if I shower first, and I'll meet you downstairs in a bit? 

Not a problem, said my date. 

He then handed me the key to my suite (I will not ever ever ever share a room with a guy just because we are on a date. Oh HELL to the N-O.) 

I then stuck the key in the room and was greeted to a MASSIVE suite. 

Massive. 

Massive. 

Massive. 

The size of my apartment in LA furnished with a jacuzzi, couch/ living room area, king size bed, balcony, borderline walk in closet with lights that came on as you walked in. I immediately started taking pics ... 

 

Filter Free Foto FYI

The room was TRULY spectacular, and having never stayed at the Cosmopolitan before - they've definitely secured my business. 

After one of the best showers of my life, and about 15 minutes of jumping on the bed - I got myself together and texted back my date telling him I was ready to meet up, where was he? 

Poker table, he texted back. 

He then told me approximately where he was and after about 20 minutes of running around in a circle (they really do LOVE to get you lost in casinos) I figured it out. 

We have about 45 mins before we have to meet everyone for dinner. What would you like to do? 

My date mentioned being a big gambler, so I piped up and said, can I watch you gamble?? 

He looked at me kind of shocked ... really? he asked

ABSOLUTELY! I replied. I'm not a gambler at all, but I find the strategy required for it FASCINATING and unless you're playing they don't really let you watch. None of my friends gamble either, so I never get a chance to watch. 

Do you want to play, he asks? 

No, I'm good, I say back. 

We then head down to the tables, and he scours the place for the perfect one. 

This one, he says. 

I then sit down as he gets credit from the pitt boss. 

(See, in Vegas you can take out money on credit. You have 30 days to pay it or you got to jail ... literally ... it's a felony.) 

Are you sure you don't want to play, he asks? 

Alrite, I say. 

He then hands me a series of $25 chips. I don't count them. 

I'm warning you now though, and I don't say this to brag - but I have very freaky luck. 

My date laughs as he says, alrite. Let's see. 

ANNNNNDD just like that, in 45 mins I got blackjack 6 times. 

 

They don't let you take pictures of the chips, but because I was betting with $25 - however it came out to, I kept getting these half dollars in addition to the chips. I had blackjack 6 times, but one time the dealer had it too and I didn't get the insurance. 

My date then grabbed his initial investment from my pile of chips (which was $200) and I counted my earnings. 

$275 in total. 

Look at that, you've made a profit off of this date, he said. 

I laugh as we cash in the chips.  

I'm keeping the half dollars, I explain. These are very cool bragging rights. 

We then go upstairs to Milos and wait for his friends. 

It's my buddy's birthday tonight, he said. He's a casino host. 

The words casino ... host .... and birthday .... escaping his mouth quickly made me realize this was going to be a night for the record books. 

This isn't what I signed up for, I thought. Whatever, Friel, just go with it. Say yes to everything in life. I have no option at this point. 

I then meet his friends followed by 4 very beautiful women, and we all walked into the restaurant. 

Multiple hosts then come out to greet us as I see one of them then open this very large glass door to the left of the restaurant. 

We're dining behind the glass, I thought? HAHA now THIS is going to be a new life experience. 

See, at the super duper fancy restaurants you'll always see a room off to the side that is secured by large panes of glass. I'm assuming they're mostly used for the rich and famous - considering this guy was a casino host, I'm sure he's considered the latter. 

The group then grew to 16 and all it was a tri-lingual meeting. I heard French, and Spanish, and because I had taken both of those in high school (even being a foreign exchange student in France and Spain) I definitely kept my ear to the ground as much as possible. 

My date and I spoke a little at dinner, but I was genuinely surprised how little questions people asked. Normally when you're in a big group and you're the new person people start grilling you. 

Not. 

A.

Single. 

Person.

Asked.

A.

Single.

Question. 

This is really really really weird, I thought. 

Because I'm around people morning, noon, and night running the brand I have no problem asking people things and being naturally social. 

I asked a few of the guys where they were from, and what they did - but the second they told me the conversation quickly changed. It wasn't as if they were being intentionally cold, it felt more like they just genuinely didn't care. I'm not sure how else to describe it. 

I then turned to the guy sitting to my left (my date was on my right) and I said, your wife or girlfriend is truly beautiful. 

The SECOND the sentence escaped my mouth he SHARRRPPPLLLLYYYYY turned right back around and in his heavy accent said, how great is your date? He's a really great guy. 

I smiled and nodded, but immediately thought - that is NOT a normal reaction to that question. What. The. Fuck. did I just get myself into?? 

This woman was truly, truly STUNNING. A woman THAT beautiful that is on your arm provides a sense of pride to a man. She carried herself beautifully, I mean everything about this woman SCREAMED class. A man would be PROUD to have her on his arm ... unless of course... he paid for her. 

I filed that away in my head as unconfirmed - but I just kept thinking over and over and over how weird this entire thing was. 

We then dined family style and I had octopus, oysters, and tuna tartar. 

I couldn't help but keep staring at the women. Three of them were sitting next to each other (directly across from me) and the other one was sitting two over to my left. 

The conversations were all so shallow and superficial, I kept thinking these women are being FAR too nice to each other and WHY are they skimming the surface picking such neutral things to talk about? 

One of the girls in particular kept serving me. Even with ALL of the servers we had around us, every time a new plate came out this girl got up and would ask me if she could get me anything. 

I'm not even intentionally trying to intimidate any of these women. I am the quietest one at this table. Why is she doing this? 

I then realized that she didn't understand how I fit into the group so I genuinely feel like she was just playing it safe. 

It was the oddest game of social chess. 

Not a single one of these girls knew who I was, knew about the site ... nothing. (AGAIN no one even asked a fucking SINGLE QUESTION) But simply based on the fact that they didn't understand or know, instead of asking questions, they just kissed my ass. 

I've ABSOLUTELY never seen anything like it.

I was pretty sure at this point all of the girls at the table were hookers, but the strangest part about that was the fact that the casino host's PARENTS were also there from Paris. 

This guy would not only bring hookers to his birthday, but would he really bring them around his parents?? 

I was trying SO hard to stay UNBELIEVABLY open minded - but absolutely NOTHING in this situation added up, and I didn't feel comfortable enough asking my date about it. 

I then tried tweeting out a few of my uncomforts, but realized that in the glass dining room you don't get cell service. 

#firstworldproblems, I thought. 

The bill then came $3,180 I heard one of the guys say in spanish.

I pretended like I was clueless, but then I went up to two of the guys that I saw pay as we all stood up and made sure I said thank you.

I might not know what these guys do, or even who the hell they are - but out of courtesy they did treat me to a wonderful dinner.

The guys then said that we were going to get a car and head over to Haze.

As we were walking through the casino the three girls spot someone that they know and they walked over to greet them.

The guys continue to walk without blinking an eye.

I think it was my date that piped up and said something about them leaving. Without skipping a beat one of the guys said, "they're replaceable. We can get new ones."

Now THAT was the confirmation I was looking for, I thought.  I laugh to myself thinking I'm partying with a casino host on his birthday of COURSE there would be hookers here. 

We then head outside and there is a car waiting for us. 

Not just "A" car though ... a rolls royce. 

 

I climb in the middle as my date and two of his friends also climb into the four door. 

Actual photo

We then walked through the hotel (I believe it was Aria since it was literally a 2 min car ride) and skipped the line at Haze being ushered right into VIP. 

 

Actual photo

I LOATHE clubs so I quietly just copped a squat on top of the booth and sat down checking out the scene. 

My date then sits next to me, and we talk about the dinner. 

So, these guys all have wives or girlfriends. 

Thank you captain obvious, I thought. 

The guys are allowed to do whatever they have to do when they're here, they just can't bring home any illegitimate kids into the family. 

I then laugh remembering what my buddy told me once. See, he's a big commercial actor and he would tell me all the time about his paid sexual conquests. I was perplexed why someone (especially someone who's famous) has to pay for sex? 

His response was simple ... 

"I don't pay to have sex with them. I pay them to leave." 

<editorsnote> Apparently my buddy stole that line from Charlie Sheen. I am absolutlely absolutely absolutely not associated with El Senor Sheen. My buddy who, again, is also recognized in that regard is NOT Charlie Sheen. Not mad at the dude, but I do not kick it with him FYI. </editorsnote>

The second he said that I TOTALLY got it, but it was just one of those ... wow! this is real life moments that my very sheltered Connecticut upbringing did not prepare me for. 

My date and I talked briefly then moments later bottles of Dom garnished with sparklers and the letters of our host's name spelled out. 

That is a LOT of dom, I thought. 

A glass of champagne was then handed to me, and I ABSOLUTELY do not remember anything else from that evening. 

At that point, I had mojitos while gambling, speciality cocktails and wine at dinner, plus champagne and ALLLLLLLLLL on a semi-empty stomach. (Seafood served family style does not count as dinner. Even if it did cost of 3K ... I only had one piece of bread and genuinely needed starchy food to absorb the alcohol since I hadn't eaten earlier in the day either.) 

Literally the dumbest thing I have done in a while. I'm PAINFULLY good at pacing myself when drinking. My roomie (@itsmejoolie) can even vouch. She totally makes fun of me but every time I realize I am even BORDERLINE intoxicated I dip out, put myself in a cab, and go home. She's seen me tip toeing into the apartment and every. single. time. she cracks up. I get MORTIFIED of embarrassment when I am publicly intoxicated. 

MORTIFIED.

MORTIFIED.

MORTIFIED.

Even in writing that sentence out right now by body is literally cringing. 

I'm irish, we know how to hold our own ... but wow. That was just not good. 

I woke up the next morning at 8:35. (I'm naturally up before 9 every day anyway.) 

As I lift my head up from the bed, I realize I am in a pool of my own vomit. 

OMG OMG OMG, I thought. Fuck the vomit, what about my FLIGHT!!!!!!!! 

I grab ALL of my stuff scattered around the room. 

While grabbing my toiletries in the bathroom I notice puke literally all over myself. 

Realizing I don't have time to shower, I dump my entire head under the faucet. 

Cold water SHOOTS down with incredible force all over my face and hair. 

Must. Get. To. Airport. I thought. 

Not only do we have the live show tonight, but I HAVE to make my lunch with Antonio. 

I didn't even have a hair tie, so puke and all I tucked as much of it into the back of my dress as I frantically searched for my shoes. 

Shoes ... 

Shoes ... 

Shoes ... 

Where the FUCK are my shoes??? 

Fortunately, I am always prepared, so I had my Nike flip flops in my backpack as a fail safe. 

 

I obviously didn't expect to LOSE my freaking shoes, but in case I ever have to run somewhere I will always put a pair of flats in my bag anytime I'm in heels. 

I then grabbed a cab at the front and said to the guy, I have literally 20 mins to make my flight. Can we make it? 

I will have you there in 5 he said. 

I then realize how ridiculous I must look. 

I need to document as much of this as possible, I thought. Yes, I have wet hair and puke on my dress, but take pictures of yourself Friel!! 

So ... I did ... 

 

I am scared shitless in this photo and that is actual puke in my eyebrows. Yep. This is happening.

The sort of taupe colored flecs are all my vomit. I tried getting it off as much as possible, but it just wasn't happening.

And of course having this in your hair doesn't exactly help either. 

I very honestly didn't even know if they were going to let me on the plane looking like this. I just knew that I ABSOLUTELY had to make that lunch, and I was going to do whatever it took to make sure I was on that flight. 

I make it all the way to security and I try to stay as calm as possible. The security line is NOT a place where you want to show that you are frazzled. The LAST thing I'd need right now is to be pulled aside for an extra screening. 

After about 10 minutes I finally get through, but I am too late for my flight. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I thought. 

I then head over to the counter and explain my situation. 

We can't get you on another flight into Burbank until this afternoon, she said, but we do have a flight leaving for LAX in a half hour. 

PERFECT, I shouted. Can I get on it? 

You should be able to, she said. 

I then used the money I won from gambling and bought my very dehydrated self a Jamba Juice. 

 

I was genuinely shocked I wasn't more hungover. I think my body was just running on so much adrenaline it literally wasn't registering that I was hung over. 

My name was then paged on the intercom as I got my new boarding pass. 

 

Moments later I got on the plane and the second I landed in LA I texted Antonio. Throughout ALLLLLLL of this I just didn't want to miss out on our lunch or even have to move it!! He's super busy and I didn't want him to just brush it off and offer to meet up at another time.

My hands were shaking as I texted him ...

  

He had no problem changing the time, but suggesting meeting at 2 instead to allow for extra comfort. 

::sigh:: That's just like him. 

He then told me a town car would be at my place at 1:45 to get me. I laughed thinking how WONDERFUL that was considering the bad luck my day has been with transportation in general. 

I then get off the flight and RUNNNNNNN downstairs to catch as super shuttle to head back to Hollywood. 

The second I reach the super shuttle guy he shoots me this look of, what. the. hell. are. you? 

I know it wasn't my proudest moment in life, but there I was standing in front of him in a puke stained dress, now no longer wet but matted down hair, and mind you it wasn't JUST vomit, it was SEAFOOD VOMIT. I smelled like octopus, tuna tartar, and oysters. 

I couldn't help but laugh. I have to own this situation, I thought. I LITERALLY have no choice and if anyone can rock a puke filled dress and hair, why can't it be me? 

I got into the shuttle moments later, and then my date started texting me. Here is our actual exchange ... 

 

I've MAKE FUN of the drunken hot mess girls ALL THE FREAKING TIME!!!! I would always laugh and say some peeps just can't hang!! NOW ... after this experience ... I am going to HUG those girls!! Offer to get them a cab!!! Call their friends!! ANYTHING!!!! 

I literally have no recollection of anything after sitting in that booth until I lifted my head up in my own vomit. 

I won't say that this was at all a proud story. I DEF won't say that drinking that much alcohol on an empty stomach is EVER a good idea. But I will say that I FINALLY HAVE A SUPER WILD VEGAS STORY!! Prior to this, I had my ride along with a Vegas cab driver during CES, but I'm NEVER that drunk girl. Even on my 21st birthday (which was spent in Vegas), I def got messed up - but I remember everything that happened. 

I hit a new level this week. I ABSOLUTELY NEVER NEVER NEVER want to repeat it but yay new life experience and yay for trying something new to know SO THROUGH AND THROUGH that it was not my scene. 

I then got back to my place, and got ready as quickly as possible. 

By 1:45 on the dot, there was a car at my door. 

I took a deep breath as I climbed in.

 

Again, I wanted to see Antonio very badly, but I wasn't sure because of how we left things what he was feeling and how I was going to react. Everything with him is so visceral. I can't be Jen, the tough emotionless chick, around him. Antonio melts. my. heart. 

We then have lunch (which shall remain off the record) and I surprisingly kept my cool. 

We talked until about 6 and then I said I had to go get ready for our live show. 

He dropped me off back at my place and we parted with a very long hug. 

I love love love the way he smells, I thought. 

I then ran inside the house, got ready for the live show, and to my surprise Tim Armstrong from Rancid was in the audience!! 

 

I ADORED Rancid growing up - Time bomb all time super duper fav ... 

I got to meet Tim after the show and he was genuinely SUPER sweet. I love it when you meet someone that you're a big fan of and they don't suck. 

Either way, I've had an absurdly wild couple of days. I gotta jet right now to a meeting ... but good lord. These stories are all starting to top one another, and I'm not quite sure how much more my liver or now bruised body can take. Look at these brusies!! 

 

That's my arm and that's my thigh. I'm assuming the one from my arm came from someone grabbing me, and the other one came from one of what I can assume was the many times that I fell. 

Lesson learned from this experience: 

Hug a hot mess. She's a sister, and needs help not your laughs. 

#yaylife

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Reader Comments (3)

That is an interesting story. I'm glad to hear your date was cool, but still - he should have cleared the Dom from a bucket and held your hair !!!

August 12, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterMike Wolke

O.M.G. Jen I'm glad you made it home okay. Puke all over your hair & clothes... SEAFOOD PUKE. Bahahahaha! Thank you for sharing and you even took photos of yourself. Awesome! You are my hero. xoxo :-)

August 13, 2012 | Unregistered Commentermaryanne

Oh man, that's a rough night. We've all been there at least once, Jen. Men and women both. Those that haven't will get there someday eventually. Those nights always make for the best stories though. ;)

I'm Scott-Irish, Greek, and German. If only I had a little Russian too, I'd have all the alcoholic food groups covered. The only benefit my heritage has brought be though seems to be an immunity to hangovers as I've had shameful nights of drinking to excess not just once but twice with a few mild cases mixed in between. One even got me labeled a local bar 'hero'(former roommates words not mine) for my little escapade.

Short story, let's just say the night ended with an attractive female bartender, a particular drink placed between her legs, a lot of vomit, and me singing Beck's - Loser..."I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me"...over and over with my head over a toilet while my roommates made sure I didn't drown.

Lesson learned? No liquor for me anymore.

August 14, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterMatt T.

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