leaving las vegas... but not entirely

I popped my Vegas cherry this month.

And this wasn't a deflowering of the goin'-steady-promise-ring-back-of-your-Dad's-station-wagon variety. This was a hardcore-group-orgy-girl-on-girl-on-pizza-guy-porn de-virgination (not literally, mom, not literally). In my mind, I'm a jump-in-the-deep-end kinda girl. But, truthfully, these days, age and bruise-memory typically steer me towards wading in gradually. There was no room for wading. We went all-the-way Vegas (it was consensual).

Sure, yes, it was a work trip. CES, in fact. And we worked hard. Full days on our feet, smiling through the hangovers, shaking hands with shaky hands.

 

Proof.

I lost weight from replacing sleep and food with Red Bull (who AM I!?). Something I couldn't  manage to accomplish by eating salads and practicing yoga FOR A WHOLE YEAR. Is being healthy overrated?

(Full disclosure: my yoga/salad routine was intermittent and littered with burrito break-downs and way too much curry. Plus, I don't even like Red Bull.)

And... I gained back every pound in Utah a week later (next blog, peoples!). Back on salads.

So, well, here's the problem: this other facet of me was born (or better yet, re-born, born-again) in this strange, sleepless city. The dormant can't-stop-dancing party girl of my early 20s came alive again. Was I happy to see her? I'm still not sure. She's complicating my life back in the real world. She saw a poster on Pinterest this week that said "DO EPIC SHIT". She liked it. She adopted it as her mantra for 2012. Hubby reacted with a Marge Simpson-esque grunt. He is not amused. He prefers the adult me better, maybe. But will he ever understand unless he experiences it for himself? It's not really his bag. Yet, i didn't think it was mine either.

My overactive imagination has me wondering: was that the REAL me? Is the rest of this just pretending? Panic attack! It's true that I feel like an overgrown child most days. That I'm playing dress-up. I shared these concerns with Alex and he said, exasperatingly,  that I'm having a quarter-life crisis. That perked me up 'cause it means I'm living FOREVER!!! (Or, until I'm 132, to be precise.)

OK, so, it's like this dude I saw on Dr. Phil last week (I was at the gym, OK? Don't judge.). He had infantilism or a "baby fetish", as in he liked to wear diapers and be spoon fed and sleep in an over-sized crib (all "non-sexual" of course. riiiight...). But when the good Doctor asked him if it was hard to keep up the baby act, he said that sitting there in adult clothes sans diaper was the acting part. That the real him was the baby. OK, a severe comparison, maybe. But what if Vegas-me IS me??? Or at least a tiny part of me?

Melodrama. Obvi.

Really, maybe I just need more dancing in my life. And maybe "DO EPIC SHIT" doesn't have to mean base-jumping or quitting my job to pursue a career as an R&B back-up dancer (I WANT TO SOOOO BAD) or moving to Morocco or getting Nicki Minaj bum implants. Maybe it just means being that jump-in-the-deep-end girl that I imagine myself to be. Maybe it's just going out-out more. And wearing my purple sequined hat or my "fashion turban" no matter how many new nicknames I might acquire at work. And drinking extra dirty martinis past midnight on a Thursday. Check, check and check. "Epic 2012" is off to a good start. Getting the Mister on board is my next feat.

I'm committing a big Vegas no-no. I'm not leaving it all behind. What happens in Vegas... follows you home and moves into your house and stays a while? Epic.

Clearly my experience can't quite be explained in words or photos, but I'll give it the good Vegas try. Enjoy.

 

[ Gah. I need to go home. ]

Holiday style: All that glitters (and bows!)

Nicole just wrote about her very favourite party dress. I am envious that I do not have this sort of relationship with any dress in my current (and sadly outdated) wardrobe. Sure, I have a handful of LBDs (little black dresses, Dad) - holdovers from my short-lived corporate life - but very few Holiday-cheer-appropriate frocks. We have three events to attend during our short trip to Ottawa for Christmas. They're close-friend/family gatherings, so it's not like I have to impress.

But you know how I love pretty things.

I live for excuses to dress up. Sometimes putting the outfit together and getting ready to a ladies-of-dance-pop soundtrack is the best part of the night. I was very pleased with my outfit Friday. (Before the tights ended up with black knee stains, of course.)

So in the spirit of torturing myself (as usual), I perused online fashion while Alex slept in this morn, and "shopped" for my would-be (SHOULD-be) holiday wardrobe. If my ridiculously talented husband and his ridiculously talented band was as bloody rich-n'-famous as they should be, I would be stocking my closet with the lovely covets below.

I noticed a theme emerging: sequins and bows!  I think showing up at a make-out-under-the-mistletoe party dressed looking like a present is pretty much the best idea. 

 Alice + Olivia sequin top

 Kurt Geiger velvet pumps

 Bebaroque BEDAZZLED!! tights

 Balenciaga suede pumps

 Adam sequin dress (via netaporter.com)

cream bow flats (via moxsie.com)

 Thread Social shorts

 Bird by Juicy Couture sequin racerback tank

 cocktail dress (via modcloth.com)

nordic sweater (via yessstyle.com)

miu miu GLITTER!!! oxfords 

 Betty Draper-esque dress (via modcloth.com)

 Oasis bow-print sweater

 patterned tights by Emilio Cavallini

 Kurt Geiger platform wool bow pumps

 Miriam Ocariz wool dress

But, instead, I will have to make do with what I have, plus any pity-purchases my mother makes for me the next time we're shopping (Boxing Day, obvs). I do have a glittery CM party skirt similar to the one below (but more sparkly!). It should be a decent jumping-off point. I've been known to work thrifty miracles before.

[ All photos via polyvore.com, except where noted; collage by me! ]

Intervention.

It's Wednesday, and Alex is at the Horseshoe jamming with the boys of Dwayne Gretzky. I would normally be there, but not tonight. Why? I'm still dying of embarrassment. I'm still of the "I'll never drink again" mindset. Here's why.

I'm not technically addicted to anything, except maybe caffeine. And shoes. And curry. 

 

 

 [ My drugs. Photos via: shoptometrist, mrs.january, saffron ]

OK, rephrased: I am not addicted to anything that will kill me. Has anyone ever OD'd on fashion or spicy food? Probably not. In terms of "substances" (y'know, the ones that DO kill), I'm an in-moderation kind of a girl. I'm probably even on the lower end of the alcohol consumption spectrum among my peers. 

(I have no supporting statistics whatsoever)

But still.

I can't help but have flashbacks of some of the worst episodes of "Intervention" (another healthy addiction of mine) when I think about Friday night. Sure, drinking too much and falling on your face  once in a while is OK. Right? Even at my age? 12 years into my drinking-age years? I clearly don't need an intervention, then. We're all allowed the odd slip up, aren't we? Or am I just too old for this?

This is the question I've been mulling since Friday.

Via texts/tweets on Saturday and Sunday, I was consoled with amused pity. I even had three friend requests on Facebook. People still wanted to be virtual friends even though I was a complete trainwreck in person? I guess I was pretty fun prior to face-flopping. The message was clear: "It happens to everyone, Dayna."

But does it? I am racking my brain to remember the last time one of my late-twenties/thirty-something friends ended up face down in a bar bathroom. It's a college-age right of passage. Until we get our drinking legs, there are bound to be a few spills. But still, I know my rules by now (Slow down. Drink water. No shots. Avoid hard liquor. Say no.) and yet, probably once a year, I forget.

It happened so quickly, apparently. Let me paint a picture: 

Friday night. Mod Club. A gaggle of my Besties. Sweet Thing's last show of 2010. New shoes. Glittery skirt. Dancing. So far, so good.

Here's where it went wrong: I happened to end up in possession of the last handful of wristbands for the after-party. Obviously this made me momentarily very popular. Everyone felt the need to thank me with drinks (really guys, just a hug next time, kay?). Can one turn down an already-purchased vodka-soda? Problem #2: two of my biggest bad influences (also two of my favourite people) were there and we hadn't spent much time together lately. Obviously shots were in order, according to bad influence #1. Do you see where this is going? Yup. Jäger-bombs. 

The scene went from me having the best time of life to being too drunk to stand. Alex came to rescue me after Tyler noticed me slumped over in a chair and I had apparently just taken a huge flop on the ground.

Social-etiquette-fail. 

Fast-forward to the next day. I don't remember much except for flashes as Alex filled in the gaps. Horrifying memories were flooding back. Throwing up in front of half of the band and their tour manager (nice first impression, Day). I vaguely remember a fall. But then, to my mortification, as purple-y mystery bruises began to form, I noticed a conflict: the two grapefruit-sized bruises on my knees, a welt on my elbow, a bruise on my shoulder blade and a sore tailbone couldn't possibly have been sustained during the same fall. So, I wiped out TWICE?! At least twice. Good lord. 

Graphic...

(Take THAT, Miss "Medium Party" Cheesbrough :)

An incoherent outgoing text message to Alex ("take me hokebBBLpp" translation: "take me home"), cell-phone photo evidence (care of Alex) and stained-forever tights confirmed it. I was toast.

My hangover lasted two days. I slept through a photography class, hair appointment and dinner date. I was pretty much the most useless human being. Like, ever. I deserved the punishment, of course. 

While everyone was pretty forgiving and sympathetic (while enjoying a bit of a laugh), I can't help but still feel completely horrified. Telling this story on the WORLD WIDE WEB (!!!) is not meant to gain any sympathy or to glamourize the incident in any way. It's actually more of a confession/apology. And to seriously ask the question: DOES it happen to all of us? Or do I disproportionally end up this way far more frequently than the people in my circles? I mean, guys, I'm frickin' 31. THIRTY-one. 

(Please comment. I want actual recent humiliation stories. Your pain is my comfort!)

Analysis: I'm stubborn and strong-willed, generally. But I'm weak to the power of suggestion. 

Examples:

    Me: "I can't afford them. I shouldn't" (re: buying shoes)

    Mom: "Oh, buy them. I'll throw in twenty bucks"

OR

    Me: "We really should cook dinner tonight. We've eaten way too much take-out."

    Alex: (puppy-dog eyes)

In both cases, I cave. Waaaaaaay too easily. I guess my protests are hollow. It was the same on Friday. My efforts to curb the drink flow were easily rebuked. Not that I'm blaming anyone else for my stupidity of course. 

Conclusion: I'm just not really that convincing as a responsible person, I guess.

But I WANT to be. Really, I do. And at my age, I should be. New Year's Resolutions, perhaps?

In the meantime...

Formal apology: To birthday-boy Owen and the rest of Sweet Thing (except Alex - he puked on my birthday and this was payback), I'm very embarrassed and so sorry to have created a complete spectacle of myself at your party. To fellow party-timers, the Mod Club, our cab driver, my stylist, Mark & Elena, and everyone I met for the first time that night, I also apologize. 

Alex says it's unnecessary but I'm just licking my wounds.

Where in the WORLD?!

Yeah, sorry, MIA. So where have I been all week? Catching up with my long-lost Mister, of course! Oh, and: job interviews, BlogTO business, sewing, celebrating, pretending to care about politics (more ranting about this later), bootcamp, and watching endless amounts of Mad Men, Hoarders and LA Ink on Netflix (yay). 

And, Alex had a Toronto show this week - the last one of their recent tour, at the Phoenix. I, still coming down from my camera scare, left the poor girl at home and didn't snap any photos of the event. Soo, I had to swipe Sweet Thing fan photos from Facebook to share (*yoink!*). Here are a few good ones from across the country:

 [ c/o Jesse Coker ]

 [ c/o Laura Sheppard ]

 [ c/o Justin Chin ]

 [ c/o Sarah Bradley ]

 [ c/o Justin Chin ]

 [ c/o Erin Deli ]

[ c/o my gorgeous date, Vicky ]

[ ...and a video! c/o Sarah Bradley ]

Speaking of Ms. Sarah Bradley, she's a fellow girl-about-blogs that I finally had the pleasure to meet (albeit too briefly) in person at the Phoenix show. I suppose I need more flesh-and-blood friends, over the www variety. It gets me out of the house. And you know I love my house.

After the Phoenix, Vicks and I headed to the GelaSkins 5-Year Anniversary party (where my music-man met us later). The owners and brains behind the operation are friends of ours, c/o our lovely long-time friend that just happens to be shacked up with one half of the duo.

SO happy to spend time with a small representation of my old high-school crew (and some of my best friends of LIFE). Philam and Andrew even came up from Montreal. The party was swankier than most weddings (cha-ching!), and included a live band (a new favourite of mine! Check out The Pass), and a midnight poutine bar! I admit that I saved myself for it. I didn't even touch any of the ample yummy snacks up for grabs earlier. I may or may not have had 3 poutines. They were small! And I shared #2 and #3. Sort of.

Again, my camera rested from her traumatic swim, and I had to steal FB pics from my friends:

CAUGHT!

 [ photos c/o D.Laing, P.Nguyen, V.Chabot and Shawn Gillis ]

 

I'm currently gathering "research" for my newest BlogTO post: Best Sex Shops in Toronto. Yeah, I'm just happy this one isn't related to carbs and fat! Loving this piece. My last post is up, too: a store profile for Common Sort Parkdale. 

 

Oh, and the interview? At Sears Corporate again. Three times a charm? This one wasn't as terrible as the last two and I think I may have a shot! Waiting for a follow-up... *fingers crossed*.

Alex is off to 2 back-to-back shows this week: tonight, supporting Down With Webster in Brantford, and tomorrow, a private radio listener cruise in Kingston. I won't be tagging along for either. Getting him out of the house means productivity for me. I have so, so many new pet goodies to upload to my new little online shop soon! Can't wait to show you!

 

xo