I meant to. No, really. Seriously. Stop laughing. I honestly intended to pay the twenty bucks a day to keep you updated on all my hijinks in the first real vacation I've had on this side of single living and only the second I've had since *cough*fiveyears*cough*. But then I went to Vegas and inhaled all that second-hand smoke and got all relaxed by $8 bottles of beer and all overstimulated on the ding of slot machines and the lovely shh-shh of vinyl rubbing 22-year old ass just barely contained by said vinyl, and then...well, clearly it was ovahhh.
Not ovahhh as much as a fun and funny and sparkly and spendy long weekend with one of my best grrrls, Mack, for the wedding of one of my favorite guys (and by guys, I mean boyyyz, which is what I hear all the vinyl-assed kids in Vegas are saying these days).
We hit a show, had a great dinner, got some sun, and did more walking than one should on vacation.
I am sure this will lead you to ask: What is the appropriate number of pairs of shoes a respectable shoe whore should take to Vegas?
The answer's after the jump. More hijinks to follow. As soon as I find the pics of Mack in her brand new vinyl skirt.