Booze, Boys & Free Sandwiches: A Vegas Bachelor Party

Okay, you guys, gay bachelor parties are the best.

Like, equality under the law and not being treated like a second class citizen is great and all, but the biggest perk of this whole marriage equality struggle (that we're totally winning) is the attention that can be garnered by go-go boys when you shove a wad of singles in their waistbands and slur the words, "My friend is getting MARRRRRRRRIIEEEEEEEEED!"

Seriously. I'm probably just going to start pretending that's what's happening every time I go out now. So if you're ever at a bar with me and a glittery, sweaty, beefcake congratulates you...be cool, okay?

Bachelor parties every weekend!

We flew out for Vegas at 7am on Thursday morning, meaning we had to leave Mankato by 4am...and I had to be awake by 3am. Months ago, at the time of booking the flights, I'm pretty sure we were thinking something like, "We'll fly out really early, and then it'll be like we have an entire extra day in Vegas! Brilliant!"

When my alarm went off that morning I know I was thinking, "Oh god, it's not enough time! Why is this happening to me?! I don't care about you or your f#%!ing wedding, Jamie! Where's the damn caffine?!"

How is it that it's 2014 and teleporting places still isn't a thing?

After a shower, some early 2000's Michelle Branch, and an impressive amount of Diet Coke I was feeling better about the situation. The entire morning was actually a breeze. I was fast tracked through security without even needing to take off a flip flop, our flight was boarded right away, I ended up without anyone in the seat next to me or behind me, and there was a hot straight dude in my row from one of the other bachelor parties headed to Vegas.

Our bachelor's trip wasn't as quite as painless. It took him so long to get through security that I was pretty sure they were stopping just short of asking him to squat and cough.

Sorry...that was vulgar...I've been watching too much Orange is the New Black.

We spent the entirety of Thursday wandering the strip, trying not to fall asleep whenever we sat down for extended amounts of time, and stepping in to make sure Jamie didn't accidentally buy a timeshare anytime someone tried to talk to him.

The guy refuses to be unpleasant to anyone.

So while I felt like I was competing in the bitch face Olympics (what I've been training for my entire life) while walking the strip...

"Does it look like I want to take a picture with you, Terrifying Bert and Nightmare Ernie?"

Jamie literally made it across the street on our first trip onto the strip before all of a sudden he was talking to some random guy, taking coupons, and we were being escorted into the sketchy backroom of some bar.

To be fair, we did get 2 for 1 drinks at noon out of it, and I discovered that Dorito Mac & Cheese is a thing. He got lucky, but we weren't going to let this need to be pleasant to street urchins become a habit. We quickly formed a buffer around him, terrified that if we separated for even a moment we'd find him hopping into a free limo to a strip club, slapping on wrist bands for some club we weren't ever going to go to, or, as one horrifyingly sweaty man in an "Orgasim Clinic" t-shirt offered, motorboating a vagina.

After we got the first to drinks in, we continued throughout the entirety of the day, but none of us could really get into it. By 11 o'clock, after being awake for 22 hours and drinking for 11 hours, we finally threw in the towel, and decided to call it an early night in preparation for the next day.

My Snapchat game was on point that weekend

And the next day started early. Between the mimosas, the Jell-o shots, and the drink I poured for my shower (because shower drinking is literally my favorite part of vacation), I was drunk by 10am. I'd forgotten that this was a marathon and not a sprint, but still I figured I would be fine. We had an entire day laying out by the pool ahead of us, and I planned to spend most of the day in a lounge chair, shamelessly napping in public.

I didn't account for the heat.

I'm officially calling bullshit on the whole "But it's a dry heat" thing. It was f#%!ing hot. Unbearably so. I was guzzling water, my heart was pounding, I was getting light headed, and I was sweating in places that I really didn't realize could sweat. The longer I laid there, the more refreshing the pool looked.

I'd decided in the weeks before Vegas that my body was nowhere near swimsuit ready, so I would just be spending my time hanging around the pool, covered completely in an adorable matching swim trunk, tank top, and beach towel combo.

Those body issues lasted about twenty minutes before I had one of the most freeing revelations of my life.

As if anyone there cared what I looked like, and if they did, what the f#%! did I care?

Well, it was probably a revelation...but it's also possible that I had a heat stroke that clouded my judgement.

So I joined Jamie in the loungers in the pool itself...and it was magical. I'm not sure I've ever been so relaxed in my life. I ordered a $15 cocktail that had mint leaves and dragon berries (whatever the f#%! those are) in it, and started to really appreciate vacation. That one drink turned into two, and by the third I was just pointing randomly at the drink menu and slurring at the waitress,

"Jusssss gimme this one."
"Umm...just so you're aware, sir, this drink has red peppers in it, and it has a bit of a kick to it. Is that okay?"
"Thasss fine...Idon'tevencare...you can juss put whatever in there...sssssfine...wait...didju jusss call me, sir?!?!"

At one point, while we were loudly admiring the impressive...assets...of the French guy in the speedo next to us, another one of the guys from the group came up and in a concerned voice asked, "Have you guys seriously not moved in 3 hours?!"

I stared blankly at him for a few seconds before explaining, "No...ssssssfine. I got up to pee once."

Thank god I'm so good at applying sunscreen...

After leaving the pool, we went out to do a bit of gambling and go to dinner. I had $20 that I was willing to not drink and throw into a slot machine. I'd been eyeing the Sex and the City machine that promised me I could be Carrie Bradshaw, but the other guys in my group were much more interested in finding the Roulette table.

I stood behind the table learning the game for awhile before my excitement took over and I bought $20 worth of chips and started playing myself.

3 1/2 minutes later my chips were gone, but the cocktail waitress had just returned to our table with my drink saying, "They accidentally made two, sweetie, here you go."

Not even mad.

I lost complete interest in what was happening at the table when it stopped being directly related to me, so I turned my attention to drinking and my phone.

Before coming to Vegas, I had finally taken the plunge and downloaded Grindr. For those of you who don't know what Grindr is (straight people), it's a gross and amazing app that's all the rage with the gays. It's like other "dating" apps, only Grindr will tell you exactly how close you are to the nearest homosexual. For instance, as I type this paragraph, there's a gentleman a mere 360 feet from me also logged in.

It's fascinating.

As I was browsing what the crowd in the Flamingo had to offer, I received a message. "Hey Chris! I'm the VIP host at Xposed! at the Tropicana, the new LGBT beach/pool club. I wanted to invite you to it on my guest list, free entrance before 2pm CST."

I mentioned it to the group with a laugh (since we already had a cabana reserved there the next day). I was just about to respond letting him know we were already on the list when Jamie stopped me with the wide eyed, almost maniacal look on his face. I actually thought he was going to slap the phone out of my hand.

"No! Wait! Tell him we haven't decided what we're doing! See what he'll do to get us to come. See if he can get us free sandwiches!!!!"

Sandwiches? We've got a VIP club promoter courting us, and you're not interested in private tables, fruity drinks with umbrellas, or sexy shirtless men fanning us with palm fronds? We've got a VIP club promoter courting us, and the first demand you can think of is...sandwiches?

He was teased mercilessly.

That night we had a reserved table and bottle service at Krave. This was the club that we thought would be the hottest gay club in Vegas. We anticipated walking up to the club to a line of people and flashing our VIP reservation to be whisked through the jealous and adoring crowd, all whispering to each other, "Who are they? Are they famous? I think that one writes a blog that a ton of people love and share with all of their friends!"

The reality was a bit more...disappointing. We walked in to a completely empty bar (save for one guy on the dance floor who was giving himself life with his sweet moves). We were led to our table by our gorgeous and super sweet server, Roman. He got us settled in, poured our drinks, and promised that it would pick up soon.

If this were a wider shot, you'd see the whole bank of empty "VIP" tables.

More and more people trickled onto the dancefloor in the hour that followed. Roman was super attentive with refills and flirty winks tossed towards the bachelor, but we could all tell that Jamie wasn't happy being in a place with only a smattering of other people. He was clearly frustrated that we were stuck here until we finished the bottle. Trevor, the best man, did his duty in figuring out where we would be going next. I felt like I needed to do my part to help turn the night around for the man of honor, so I tapped him on the shoulder, leaned in, and shouted over the music, "Would it make you feel any better if I asked Roman if he could bring us some free sandwiches?"

He wasn't impressed...but I laughed so hard I nearly wet myself.

I now only want drinks that have been served by cute boys in their underwear.

We moved on to the club Share after we finished our bottle, and it was exactly what we were looking for. We walked in the door and not only were there wall to wall bodies on the dancefloor, but they were playing RuPaul's "Sissy That Walk." I died. 

Turns out, Vegas Chris has some game. I mean...not like a ton of game, but I got a few cute guys to join our group to help celebrate Jamie's final single night out on the town. There were the foreign boys who I struck up a conversation with by accusing them of being liars.

"You're f#%!ing kidding me with that accent, right?"

"No, I'm from Scotland, and my friend is from England."

"Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaah riiiiiiight! You guys are faking it to get in guys' pants."

"No...if I was going to fake an accent, do you seriously think I would choose Scottish?"

"Fair point..."

After trying to explain to the British one what Minnesota was like twenty times, I lost interest in talking to them any more and moved my hunt elsewhere. 

That's when I saw him...the love of my life/my weekend.

He looked like he spent all of five minutes getting ready to go out in his baseball shirt, khaki shorts, and ratty leather sandals (meanwhile, my moisturizing routine took me 15 minutes). He clearly hadn't shaved in a few days, and he looked like it was entirely feasible that he drove a pick-up truck. I was obsessed.

Growing up in small town Iowa has ruined my taste in men.

He and his friend joined us for awhile. We chatted, we danced, and I watched as he made out with a bunch of other guys. 

So, obviously, it was going well enough that it wasn't weird at all for me to invite him and his friend to join us at the pool party the next day.

I was hesitant about this pool party from the start. I mean, I'm a chubby pale guy from the Midwest, and this was a Vegas pool party called "Xposed." Clearly not my scene. But I'd had a pretty good day self esteem wise the day before. I'd dealt with my body issues (kind of), and our night out at the clubs had convinced me that I was really good at talking to boys. I was feeling pretty confident...

Until we actually got to the pool...

I really didn't think that people who looked like this actually existed. We're talking, like, magazine perfect bodies in bathing suits so tiny it was almost pornographic. 

I immediately bee-lined for the cabana. 

And I stayed there for quite awhile too. I probably would have stayed in there the entire day had Jamie and Trevor not walked into the cabana with two guys in tow saying, "Umm...Look who we found!"

That's when I learned that the guy who I'd decided the night before I would gladly spend the rest of my life with, was named Greg. He was a satellite engineer from L.A. and he was perfect for me. After about an hour or so of sunbathing, pool time (his talent for bouncing an over-sized beach-ball around the pool without even getting hit in the face was swoon-worthy) and heavy, heavy drinking, the two of us retired to the cabana.

The next hour, as I remember it, was spent sweetly and innocently flirting with each other. We held hands and talked about life and love. We shared our hopes and dreams. We found out we had a shared love of literature and television shows. He told me that all he wanted in life was to meet a nice guy and get married, and I said to him coyly, "You know, people get married in Vegas all the time..."

Now, I was pretty drunk, so I can't be sure that this is how it actually happened. In fact, I do have one specific memory of rubbing ice on his nipples that makes me think it didn't happen as adorably as I remember.

I think what actually happened was probably something more like,

"You're cute..."

"No, you're cute..."

"No, YOU'RE cute..."

"No, YOU'RE cute..."

"We should get f#%!ing married....do you have any ice?"

We parted ways after the pool party. I never asked his last name, I didn't ask for his phone number, and we didn't add each other to Facebook. 

It was pretty clear to both of us that this wasn't something we should be revisiting. 

The rest of the trip was amazing, but this post is already so f#%!ing long, so excuse me for just glossing over the highlights.

Highlight.

Can't wait for the wedding, Jamie! Pre-ceremony sandwiches are on me!