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Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Chapter 18, or My kick-ass divorce party (day 1)

           Remember when I found out I was divorced [February 2009] and started making plans for a weekend in Vegas?  Well, I’ve always liked the Venetian because it’s among what I consider the best part of the strip...and they give you slippers.  I looked through their accommodations and came across the Concierge Suite.  It was perfect. You get complimentary breakfast, afternoon hors d’oeuvres, and evening cocktail hour.  Ok, let’s face it; what really caught my eye was the evening cocktail hour.  Free drinks for three hours?  I’m going to say no to that?  Drinks are stupid expensive in Vegas, I figured in three hours we could definitely drink more than $100 worth of cocktails and end up saving money.  It’s really all about the math.  So I booked it.
Apparently I’m not the first person to have a divorce party because you can get all kinds of cool party stuff on the Internet.  Right there with the bachelorette stuff.  I got a black sash with red blinking lights that said Just Divorced, a big bag of chocolates with wrappers that said things like “forget the ring, I want alimony”, “free at last”, “divorced is the new engaged”, “next time I’ll marry for money”, etc., and divorce party themed candy bar wrappers to make favors.  My sister Kimmy and I made a button for me that said “Kiss me I’m divorced!” and buttons for the rest of the group that said “Jen’s kick-ass divorce party”.
My friend Anne found a bunch of stuff online, too, and everyone pitched in to get me buttons that said “just divorced, buy me a drink” and “back on the market, reasonable offers considered”, shirts that said “we all know I was too good for him” and, my favorite, “does this shirt make me look divorced?” a mug and coaster that said “love is grand, divorce is a hundred grand”, and a magnet that said “I’m even more kick ass now that I’m divorced”.  I was so Divorce Couture.

I ended up having five girls come to My Kick-Ass Divorce Party: Ailene, Suzanne, Anne, my roommate, and Kimmy.  Kimmy flew down on Wednesday night, stayed at my house and we drove to Vegas on Thursday.  Everyone else had to work so they would be joining us Friday night.  We stopped at the grocery store on our way to stock up on booze and snacks for the weekend.  Disgusting snacks you would otherwise never buy are also important.  Armed with the essentials, plus a playlist entitled “my kick ass divorce mix”, we headed off to sin city.
When we checked in, we were told it was cocktail hour and would we like a martini while we check in?  Um, I would love a martini while I check in, thank you.  By the time we were done checking in we were ready for another martini.  I wanted to make sure our luggage got to our room so we could beautify for cocktail hour. 
I said, “Kimmy, let’s hurry and get ready so we can come back up for more cocktails.”  The lovely Concierge said, “Would you like to take a cocktail with you?”  Um, I would love to take a cocktail with me, thank you.  We were given two more martinis and headed off to our room.  It was the best hotel treatment I’d ever had.  I don’t know how I’ll ever slum it at a regular hotel again.
Our luggage arrived shortly after we did so we beautified quickly.  (We only had about an hour before cocktail hour ended.)  Dressed in our little dresses and big booby bras, we slapped on our buttons and headed back to the lounge where martinis were waiting.  We had enjoyed three more martinis and some teeny tiny appetizers when we realized we should eat some real food.  We decided to go to Margaritaville; it was a quick walk.  On our way out of the hotel we ran into two older men who noticed my buttons.  I was wearing the one that said “Kiss me I’m divorced” and the one that said, “Just divorced, buy me a drink”.  They both laughed and slurred drunkenly and one of them planted one right on my mouth.  My first button-influenced kiss!
When we got to Margaritaville we headed straight to the bar where there was a swarm of men.  We ordered margaritas and waited for my buttons to be noticed.  It didn’t take long.  The first guy that approached me was dressed all in white with a white sailor hat on.  We called him Popeye.  Well, not to his face.  He asked me what my buttons said so I pushed out my chest and let him read them.  He opted for the kiss.  So did the rest of the group he was with.  We nicknamed them Cougar Chaser, Sister Lover, Jail Bait, Chocolate Hotness, and Two Brown Guys.  I don’t know if their opting for the kiss over the drink meant they were super cheap or I was super hot.  It could have been both.
Jail Bait was so named because he was 23.  Which doesn’t make him legally jailbait, but I was 31 at the time.  That’s quite a bit older than 23.  But besides Popeye, he was the most interested in me, and the one I let kiss me with tongue.  Popeye tried to stick his tongue in my mouth, but I kept my lips clamped shut.  I think the most likely reasons I gave in to Jail Bait were because he was super tall and kept telling me I was beautiful (you know I’m a sucker for that).
I got a total of eight kisses that night and Jail Bait’s phone number.  We closed down Margaritaville and on our way back to the hotel, Kimmy and I realized we hadn’t paid for any of our drinks and we had forgotten to eat.  Oh well, good thing we had nasty processed crap waiting for us in the hotel room.

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