The 11[SUP]th[/SUP] Annual Bleach and Botox tour began as a typical Saturday morning. I was up with the dog at 8am and headed to an early morning appointment at Lovely Nail (Yes, singular. Those Vietnamese have an aversion to all words plural.) On my menu was a mani/pedi/eyebrow wax. The technician asked me if I wanted my mustache waxed as well. When I declined, she told me “You look like man.” Ok then, well, I am a manly looking woman going to Vegas in 4 hours, so put THAT in your PHO and eat it. Home by 11:00am to unpack and re-pack the 38 pairs of panties and 17 shirts I put in my luggage. As a side note, I am unsure where my unnatural fear of running out of clean panties comes from. I have only sharted once in my life, and I was in the comfort of my own home when it happened, so not having access to clean panties is not something I have experienced. Maybe being raised by a Jewish Mother who constantly reminded me to always have clean underwear on, in case of an accident, caused this? I never did see the point- honestly. If I am involved in an accident so traumatic that I must be taken to the Emergency Room and have my panties removed by medical personnel; I can most certainly assure you I would have shit in my pants before arrival. I digress. I took 38 different panties. I kid you not, dear reader. 38. For a 4 day trip. My panties and I were dropped off curbside at 12:00 and I had to stifle the urge to throw my hand in the air ala Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club until the family truckster was out of sight. Handed my bag to the skycap and made my way to security. There was no line and I was standing with my hands over my head in the xray machine 10 minutes after getting out of the car. Evidently my newly purchased bras are full of wire, because as I stepped out of the machine, I was face to face with an extremely handsome woman TSA agent who felt me up without warning. I mean, hands under my boobs lifting them, between them, then up and down my legs. I was so shocked that I didn’t even have time to wonder if she should have asked permission? I’m all for heightened security, and granted, I COULD hide something pretty epic under my boobs (Hey, I nursed two babies-they sag!) but this was downright creepy. I guess she realized I was not returning her affections, and not hiding anything, as she waved me away to gather my things from the belt. I grabbed a $15 chicken Caesar salad from Chili’s and headed to the gate for my B boarding group. I secured an aisle seat and a short 4 hours and 40 mins and one very expensive chicken caesar salad later, we landed 30 mins early. My bag was waiting for me when I arrived at baggage claim and there was no wait for a cab at 4:45pm on a Saturday. I got in the cab and told him Harrah’s (with an H) and off we went. I was texting my family to let them know I had arrived, and when I looked up, we were somewhere I didn’t recognize. Oh hell no! This asshole was long-hauling me. By the time I got my bearings, I realized he had taken Flamingo ALL the way to Twain and we were up on the backside of Wynn. I kept my mouth shut, and when he pulled into Harrah’s, the fare was $28.10. I got out, he handed me my bag, and I turned to walk away. He said “ You need to pay me!” I said “Do I really? You took me through Bangladesh, I am sure the taxi authority would disagree that I owe you anything!” He started arguing, saying there was traffic all over the city, it was Saturday night. I took out my phone and started pressing numbers, and he called me a **** and drove away. Thanks for the free ride! Ass. It got a few laughs from nearby limo drivers, who agreed that I was long hauled. My bestie, G was 3 hours behind me, coming from Philly, so I went to check in. Of course, we were both on the comp, so they charged my credit card for what it would cost me to stay alone ($19) and told me to bring her to the desk when she arrived and they would remove the charge. We were booked in a 2 queen premium High Roller room, but it didn’t have a balcony, so I opted for a non-premium room with a balcony. It was over the pool, and right above Carnaval Court. As a side note, the music really only got too loud on Tuesday night. I got up to the room, unpacked, and headed to Carnaval Court to start drinking. I was there all of 5 minutes when I met Noah. He was young and dumb. Just how I like ‘em. We talked, had a few drinks and made plans to meet later that night at Luxor, where he was “ living.” I explained my friend was coming, and he said he’d call a friend too, and we could all have dinner and hang out. With a good buzz going, I headed back upstairs, watched some TV and waited for G to say she was in the lobby. Once she arrived, we took care of the room charge, and went upstairs to get her unpacked. At this point, it was 8pm, so we went downstairs, and I quickly played some slot machine that I now call the Orgasm machine. I think it’s called Hot Hearts? All I know is it makes orgasm noises when bonuses hit, and sometimes when randomly touched. Like “ Ohhh baby,,, yeah… go baby.” I turned a $20 buy in into $108 and we went upstairs to get ready. I texted Noah at 10 to let him know we were ready and heading to Luxor. He said to go to Harrah’s cab pickup and wait, he was sending a car. Ok then. Within minutes a limo pulled up, driver got out and said my name, and off we went. Turns out, Noah is not only young and dumb, but quite the high roller. We had some drinks at the center bar, then went to dinner at Aurole? I don’t know, I was calling it Areola. It was pretentious, and stuffy and oh my god good. And when the bill came, he charged it to his comps. We found out after dinner WHY he was a Noir card holder. He was playing $100 machines at 3 credits a spin like I play pennies. I was in awe. I have NEVER seen money like that. Hand-pays left and right, stacks and stacks of money. He kept handing me money, and I kept playing, and winning. I handed him all winnings, and won’t lie, put $200 in my pocket instead of the machine at one point. After he put no less than $10K through the machines with my help, we went back to center bar. His friend was sloppy drunk at this point, and G wasn’t into him. Noah’s host came down and ordered us about 6-8 rounds of Don Julio. All I know is I was white girl wasted, and money horny. He asked if we wanted to see his room, which I knew was code for ‘see his penis’ so off we went. Just OH MY GOD. It was HUGE!( The suite, not the penis) It was on the 22[SUP]nd[/SUP] floor of the towers, and was crazy. I think he said that Criss Angel stays in that room when he’s staying in house. We had a few more drinks from the bottles in the room and it was 3am. (6am to me, and 22 hours awake!) G had passed out, so had the friend, so I figured I was about to “pay” for my dinner, but I told him I was pretty drunk, and I was sorry. He was a complete gentleman and said he understood, made me promise to text him before we left and I woke up G and off we went. Not before stealing the pen, notepad, and the king sized Snickers bars and Starburst off the table, cause we are high class, you know. He handed me $20 for a cab, and we were back at Harrah’s, feeling like the low rollers we are by 3:30. I fell asleep immediately and woke up at 7am, feeling right as rain. I called my husband and told him of my night. He said I was horrible person. I should have at least given Noah a handy. Next up, will Courtney see Noah again? Will the orgasm machine pay? Is the Buffet of Buffets a good deal? Is Circus Circus really as dirty as it appears??