Hey guys, remember me? I’m the blogger who took a honkin’ break over the holidays…and let the re-entry period totally take over my will to blog/get dressed. Eight 14-hour drives in five months will do that to you. (I’ve heard.)
So what’d we do? Enjoyed a not-so-restful but superbly family-filled Christmas on the East coast, rang in the New Year in our jammies (by 11pm), and…went to Las Vegas. (The latter of which is not a thing I do/have ever done. But when one’s husband finds FIFTEEN DOLLAR flash sale tickets from Chicago to Vegas, one gets herself to Las Vegas quicker than one can say “is this legally binding?”)
Btw, this adventure was brought to you (us) by my mother-in-law, Natalie, who amazingly and generously agreed to watch our children for our quick getaway. Because those of you with three (or more) kiddos aged five and under know that the offers to babysit your entire family don’t just come rolling in. She rocks. She rocks rocks.
Okie doke. Here’s what we did. Part 1. (Apparently I’m terrible at that whole “What happens in Vegas” thing, because= over-sharer.)
Thank you, squintily bright sign!
We stayed at The Flamingo, which was glamorous, old school and, most importantly, hot neon pink.
We were alone in this sporadically hot pink hallway. Probably because it was 1am. (Did I mention our flight landed at 11:30pm on a Wednesday? BALLERS.)
Check that sweet vinyl headboard. And you know you’re overtired when you see a king-sized bed like that and
YOUR FIRST THOUGHT is “Oh, the sexy, sexy sleeping I could do in a sleep-inducing bed like that sexy bed.”
“Hey, P.J., can we get a TV in our bathroom mirror like this one? Why are you making that unattractive sound?”
This is what we saw when we stepped out of The Flamingo. Hey, it’s Paris! (Fun factoid: that showgirl on the right beside the Bally’s sign? P.J. grew up with her. Actual quote- “I should look up my friend, she’s a showgirl here- hey, look! That’s her!”)
Let’s go lose some money at this Rolling Stones slot machine, shall we?
(It went exactly as you’d expect.)
Look at this guy. This is a guy who knows how to play craps like whoa.
I am one thousand percent serious.
Another true story: I had been borderline ravenous since our flight at 9:30pm, Chicago time. We landed four hours later. Two hours after that, we had wandered around The Strip in an attempt to see what was open and edible. Two hours after THAT, we discovered a Johnny Rocket’s right off of the casino in- you guessed it- The Flamingo. It’s no exaggeration to say this is the best burger I’ve ever had in my entire life. (Pinkies up!)
…And then there are those times you find yourself staring up at the Crystal something-or-other slot machine at 3:30am (which is really 5:30am YOUR time), so you decide to go to bed. Which you totally do, after two more machines and one more greyhound cocktail.
So, this was the view from our suite. It was killer. (At dawn- you know, right around the time I was heading to bed?- the wheel lights turned from pink to purple to blue. It was gorgeous/inappropriately bright.)
The beautiful people at The Flamingo upgraded us to a king suite for free. Just ’cause.
Here’s the living room, and my husband- an extra on Mad Men.
There are SO MANY buffets in Vegas. But the Bacchanal at Caesar’s Palace? I will have daydreams about this place. The stations went on for miles. This was the raw bar, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I made a damned fool of myself here.
Oyster shooters! Crawfish! King crab legs! Mussels! Another type of mussels! Smoked trout!
Salmon remoulade! A potentially unwise amount of seafood!
P.J. and I clearly have different priorities; he jetted straight to the BBQ bar, with chicken n’ waffles (in a waffle CONE!), pulled pork sliders, and something else he wished I’d stop photographing.
And then I turned the corner and found the Japanese food and dim sum bar. MORE SEAFOOD!
By the time I found the dessert bars, I was feeling shame/slightly fuller than usual.
And this was only one of the walls. There were four dessert bars in total.
And see those cupcakes? They had little infusers in them, with jam, juice, and STRAIGHT AWESOME.
I love that they have to put a “display only” sign on the empty shells for those fools who don’t know when to stop gnawing on the raw bar…HEY, WAIT A SECOND.
Part 2 of Keely And P.J. Do Vegas For 27 Hours will commence on Thursday. Because- obviously- Wednesday is my round up day, and- obviously- I have a gazillion more photos of things I ate.
(2015 will be the year of elastic-waisted pants. Happy New Year!)
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