Thunder and lightning.

I think we left off the Vegas storytelling somewhere around Saturday, right? That morning we did what any self-respecting 30-somethings would do on a weekend getaway: SPA DAY.

We're smart and savvy shoppers, so instead of paying bajillions of dollars for a 10 second massage on the strip, we ordered ourselves a Groupon for a spa day at the Hilton at Lake Las Vegas. I KNOW. So brills. A Zip Car ride later and we were in paradise. Facial. Massage. Sauna. Steam room. Healing waters. Lunch with champagne! Ahhhh.

After being satisfyingly relaxed (Caitlin might have proposed marriage to her masseuse), we got ourselves back to the Strip and prepped for another night of debauchery.

Dinner was at Crush at the MGM Grand and is probably on my top 10 list for life meals. If you find yourself there, get the sea bass, and that's not an Austin Powers joke. And for your general amusement, a dinner selfie:

Ooohh and if you're wondering what those dresses look like from the boobs down, keep reading.

Our next and final stop in Vegas was the Thunder from Down Under "show" at the Excalibur. Oh my. I've never seen so many......bachelorette parties in all my life! Legit it was a wild and fun (and surprisingly tasteful!) night. Caitlin and I achieved our singular goal, which was getting one of the two Scottish grandmas that were sitting next to us on stage for a little song and lapdance. Her 7 grandchildren would be so proud.

It is my life's wish that everyone has a bestie like mine. Someone to laugh with, cry with, and scream "Don't bring your children to Vegas!" with at strangers pushing strollers while walking down the Strip at midnight. Another epic trip for the books.

Vegas, cont.

Where did we leave off, my lovlies? Oh yesyesyes... Vegas, days 1 and 2.

Upon arrival to the airport, we slo-mo ran slash embraced one another, gathered our luggage and hopped into the hot mess of a taxi line headed to the strip. Also? Cait saw Dave Nevarro. NBD.

Dinner that eve was at Japonais at the Mirage. Sushi with a side of sass. Highly recommend.

The next morning, we jetted over to Rent the Runway at the Cosmopolitan. SUCH a brills business model: literally renting out designer fashions for any event. You can do it from home (shipped direct) or via appointment their boutique shops in NYC or Vegas. They rent pretty much everything but the shoes and the skivvies. Even wedding things! Anyway, I ended up with this little number from Trina Turk and this racy lace situation from Nicole Miller. Cait was delicious in Badgley Mischka and also Badgley Mischka. Hey, know what you know. 

Post-appointment, we dined at Holsteins. Their menu includes boozy milkshakes, so duh. And somewhere in the course of the morning hours Cait hit it big and won $10 at a Monopoly machine. Our friendship has a long and storied past with Monopoly, so it was sort of a sign that the day was going to be amazing. And oh, it was. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent lounging poolside, with my fair ginger bestie swimming in SPF one million, while I baked to my heart’s content with what I’m quite sure was actually just bottled Crisco. Also? We think someone had a seizure at the pool. Dear whoever you are: we hope you’re ok.

Dinner that evening was at Yolos, the Mexican joint in PH, because tableside guac.

Then, we BRITNEY-ed. You’ve been briefed on this experience already. But let’s just once again reminisce about how we were randomly selected from 4,600 people to sit in the VIP table section with the likes of Jessica Alba. MAGICAL.

Legit the only bad thing to happen to us the entire day was when I broke the straps on my super fave sparkly shoes, but in the long run, it was just one less thing I had to pack to go home. Win|win.

Tomorrow we discuss Saturday’s sitch. I tweeted this one out that night, so you’re in for a real treat.

That one time I sat front row at Britney Spears.

I've just returned from a whirlwind weekend in Las Vegas and I have SO much to catch you all up on. But first, in what might be the greatest story I've told in my life, I give you the 29 minutes leading up to this photo being taken:

It was 8:39 PM in Las Vegas. My bff and I had just gotten all dolled up for the night, due in special part to a genius little business called Rent The Runway. More on that later.

But this was not just any night. It was the REASON we traveled a collective 4,418 miles to be in Vegas. It was Britney, bitch. 

We purchased our tickets to Britney’s “Piece of Me” show at the Planet Hollywood Resort & Casino much like any other normal person without an Amex Black card would—via Ticketmaster and selecting the “best-but-also-the-cheapest available” option.

Our $74 seats, while not the best in the house, were just enough to satisfy our teenage dreams of seeing Justin Timberlake’s ex girlfriend shake her booty and lip sync her way through the entire soundtrack of our high school tenure.

We entered the concert hall and purchased the obligatory $40 souvenir tees and tanks and also got in line for the $15 tequila gingers that our high school selves could have only dreamed about. Once we found the entrance to section 208, a nice little granny usher flashlighted us over to our corner of the auditorium, where we quickly took our seats and made fast friends with the other gays and gals around us.

As we sat sipping and chatting, waiting for Brit Brit to take the stage, an unassuming woman in a suit approached us.

“How many in your party?” she asked.

I held up 2 fingers, confused.

“And how many in yours?” she asked the group in front of us.

“Four.”

“Awesome. Come with me. I have better seats for you.”

We assumed this was all a joke, and that Ashton Kutcher was about to pop out from behind her walkie talkie—but chose to follow her anyway. I mean, if it all went south we still had our original seats to come back to, right? Giggling to each other and wondering what was happening, we just kept following her and getting closer and closer and closer to the stage.

We had walked nearly the entire length of the venue, and were literally reaching the steps to the stage access when the woman in the suit—Katie, we learned—waived her arm in the general direction of the usher who was taking tickets to the VIP section. The TABLE section. The section that Regular People Like Us do not sit in.

To further illustrate my point, here is a map demonstrating our path to excellence:

“Give me your left arm,” our new usher said and smiled as she slapped an iridescent pink VIP band around our wrists and handing us our NEW AND FREE $500 tickets. She has the BEST and funnest job.

I don’t think any of us actually believed what was happening, and though my memory of these exact moments is very foggy, I do remember jumping up and down and squealing at the pitch of a dog whistle “IS THIS REAL LIFE?” while Katie just laughed and nodded. I think I said, “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” 3,647 times consecutively while trying to remember to breathe.

“We have to fill these tables every night, and this one was empty. It’s your lucky night,” Katie told us.

Lucky doesn't even BEGIN to describe what happened. It is legitimately incomprehensible how, out of an audience of 4,600 total seats, she would approach us—two undiscerning 30-somethings trying to live out a high school fantasy in the third-to-last-row of a Britney concert. Why didn't she go to any of the literally hundreds of raucous bachelorette parties or, better yet, the probably 50 groups of girls dressed in astonishingly historically accurate Britney costumes from years gone by? At first glance, they seem like a much more obvious and enthusiastic choice. WHY US?

I honestly have no idea. But I do know that it was one of the greatest and craziest happenstances of my life to date and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to enjoy a concert from the “cheap seats” ever again. I've seen and tasted how the other half lives and I’m REALLY into it. Tables. Bottle service. Bodyguards. Oh, and Jessica Alba seated two tables over. YES. It was amazeballs.

And now, please appreciate this photo overload from The Greatest Night Of My Life.

Fab dresses via RTR. More on that later.

The stage is the green lighted area immediately behind me.  

Note the price, upper right. WHAT.

You better work, bitch.

No zoom on this. Bootylicious!

She's flying!

This costume was ridic in real life.

Circus.

That post-Brit glow.

I will probably tell this story with unapologetic enthusiasm for the rest of my life. It was just that great. And tomorrow I'll tell the tales from the rest of the trip, which included a spa day,the best sea bass of my life and some male strippers. What I'm saying is that I know how to celebrate Mother's Day.

Expensive food tastes better.

So now we're to Wednesday, my last full day in Sin City. Post-seminar, the Liz and I got our drink on, hotel style. (Because when wine is $7 a glass and you can get the entire bottle for $8 down at the Quickie Mart, that's just how you have to roll.)

We had 6 p.m. reservations at what is now my most favoritest place in all of the earth: L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon. Um, hi. If you are not a foodie, please stop reading now because I will probably just bore and annoy you and you won't understand why I (of all people--and arguably the cheapest person on earth) paid $100 for a single meal. Moooooving on.

The vibe of this place is so awesome. Everyone sits in what feels like a bar area around the kitchen so you can watch the mad geniuses at work cooking your food. The head chef was a French badass, checking and tasting everything and plating with immaculate detail. The expediter wore a 3 pc. suit that probably cost more than my college education and worked with the finesse of the high rope aerobatic performers from Cirque the night before. The waiters were so polished and knew the menu and all its details as if they had created it themselves. As you can tell, my first opinions of this place were through the roof. And it got better from there.

We ordered cocktails and our dinners and then proceeded to do what all 20-something excitable diners do, we tweeted our every course. My first tweet was this picture with the caption "The chefs at Joel Robuchon makin' my dinner! Cook minions!"

Within seconds, whoever runs the Robuchon Twitter account retweeted it, and tagged us in a tweet reading "Bon Appetit!!" And then we died, obviously. Liz tweeted her entire meal, course by course (see here) and Robuchon retweeted it all - and even replied to some. For the next three days, I think she was mentioned in 2 of every 5 tweets from the account. It is for this reason that I'm quite certain she's got an "in" somewhere. Someday, I will get her drunk enough to confess it, but in the meantime we'll just pretend they are lovers. In related news, why didn't they comp our dinner, then?


After consuming what was far and away the greatest meal of my life, we went back to the room so this tired girl could take a nap. After a much-needed re-charge, we headed out to explore "old Vegas," also known as Fremont Street. What a cool place!

I don't have any pictures from the next day, but we took the few hours between my seminar ending and plane leaving to eat at Pink Taco, explored the Hard Rock, and rode the coaster at New York, New York. I screamed the entire time like a little girl, and I'm not proud of it. 

VIVA LAS VEGAS! I'll be back soon, Sin City.

Galentine's Day.

If you don't get the reference, you need to start watching Parks and Rec, like, yesterday.

Anyway, I spent Galentine's Day 2012 with Liz in Vegas. A perfect combination of awesome and magic. As such, we thought it would be appropriate to see LOVE at the Mirage that evening, and it was SO AWESOME. Like, it hurt my face it was so awesome. I'm not sure if the writers/creators of Cirque shows are drunk or high or sucking helium when they come up with some of this stuff, but whatever it is, I'll have what she's having. SO MINDBLOWING.

Prior to the show, Liz was a real lady and brought me Galentine's Day flowers. Made of chocolate. We frolicked all over town like little girls. Well, little girls that can drink legally and have legitimate credit cards with which to buy ridiculous Las Vegas souvenirs. We watched the Oscar-worthy "Sirens of TI" show (more lipstick! more heels!), saw the fountain show at the Bellagio, and sang to one another in the long, narrow halls of the Venetian. In short, we perused everything good Vegas has to offer.

Chihuly Ceiling @ The Bellagio.

The rhinestone horse @ Bellagio.

Oh, and a bride. SO many brides on V-Day.

New York, New York.

Sneak peek: we rode the rollercoaster on Thursday. 

Par-ee!

 Vegas at night. It literally sparkles.

Highlights of the evening included: seeing two randoms get married in a hotel gift shop, a serendipitous dinner at the only restaurant in all of Vegas where you didn't need reservations on V-Day (whoopsie), and hitting it BIG at the casinos:

Tomorrow we shall discuss the greatest meal I ever ate and why I'm certain Liz is boning whoever runs Joel Robuchon's twitter account.

What happens in Vegas goes on my blog.

Four days in Vegas is about 2 days longer than you actually need to experience Sin City. Lucky for me, I spent my 9-5 hours in a (totally rad and nerdily educational) seminar, so my evenings were free to roam wild. And by "roam wild" I mean catch up with an old friend who recently moved to Vegas (She's what I like to call a "traveling nurse" - and a totally legit one. Like at a hospital. Not a naughty nurse. Though I can't be totally responsible as to what she does with her free time out there, mind you.)

Anyway, Liz and I met a katrillion years ago (circa 1996) at summer camp. Our story and friendship goes far beyond our years at camp and really is worthy of a blog entry unto itself. In the meantime, meet 1996 Kristi and Liz:

As you can see, I've always had a flair for the ridiculous. Here's the slightly more mature and refined 2012 Kristi and Liz...reunited and it feels so good!

I know, we're adorable.

But back to my travels...I knew I was in for it when I saw the hot mess of individuals on my flight from DTW to LAS. For instance:

Once landing safely in Vegas, I made my way to the taxi line. For the record, no one warns you about this little piece of humanity before you go. It's literally a mad house. Hundreds of people (in well-organized lines) frenetically herded to get into the next taxi. These people are jonesing for their slot machines and free drinks. Most have oxygen tanks and are simultaneously smoking. It's a mess. Anyway, guess who I saw in line? Sheree from Real Housewives of Atlanta! You can deduce two things from this: 1) Bravo TV does not pay that well; and 2) She is NOT as richy-rich as she would like us all to believe. MY luggage was nicer than hers. No LV in sight! And girl was wearing Uggs. THE HORROR.

I think that's enough for recap day 1. Tomorrow I will commence with the shenanigans of Kristi and Liz. Kriz. Or maybe Lizti. Either way, more to come!