Surviving A Las Vegas Bachelorette Party

Are you fucking kidding me? I just spent four days in Las Vegas, Nevada with eleven women for a bachelorette party. To paint a better picture for you, most of the women there were from New Jersey or Long Island.

Have you ever seen “The Nanny”? Picture nine of those for four days, plus myself and my friend Tamara (we’re both from Brooklyn). Abu Ghraib doesn’t have torture like the kinds we endured to see our friend through this milestone before she weds. Had I known government secrets, I might have talked. So, as Tamara and I landed in Vegas ready to set the town ablaze, and wincing whenever one of the other girls emitted a high-pitched squealing sort of a laugh, I mentioned to her that I had started writing for ToyWithMe.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” She yells, because Brooklynites really don’t have much of a sense of the whole “indoor voice” deal. I explained to her that in fact, I would not shut the fuck up, and that I was really excited to be writing about sex, and Judaism, but mostly sex. “OH my gosh! We are SO in the right place for you to come away with a story!” Little did poor Tamara know how right she was; we only barely survived the ordeal. So here, for all you sweet, innocent, virginal readers, are my tips for surviving Las Vegas with a bachelorette party. Good luck.

Don’t Go

Barring that, if you must go, pack light and leave extra room in your bag for all the useless crap you’re going to buy and bring back with you. I know what you’re thinking, “Oh, I’m not a big shopper.” Me neither. I also have $43 left in my bank account, and a 1940’s era style dress. I can’t explain it.

Don’t Expect The Party To Begin In Vegas

The party actually begins on the plane TO Las Vegas. It doesn’t really matter where you’re coming from, it could be Salt Lake City, and there will STILL be at least two or three drunk chicks on the plane talking loudly about how much fun they’re going to have, until you want to toss them off the plane. Then, someone is going to say something incredibly funny and they’ll laugh loudly about it for the next hour.

Tattoos – Take A Pass

I was in a mall, and they had a tattoo parlor in a clothing shop. You know what? That whole thing about going to Vegas and coming back with some dude’s named tattooed on your ass? That should be a joke you tell at parties, it should not be YOU. Same goes for piercings, by the way.

Vegas – The Birthplace Of The Dude Who Thinks He’s Funnier Than He Actually Is

For some reason, in Vegas every dude thinks he’s the funniest thing to ever hit that town. Every guy has a joke to crack, and if you happen to be a woman, he’s going to crack that joke and look suggestively at you. What he’s suggesting? Who knows? I took it as a suggestion to get off the elevator two floors early and wait for the next one.

There’s Always One Horny Girl In The Group

One of the most stressed out women I had ever met was the girl in charge of planning this debacle. This was also the girl who made it her personal mission to sleep with as many men as she could over four days. I’m not trying to be a bitch, I’m stating a fact here. There is always going to be one woman in your group who is going to look at Las Vegas and think of it as a throw-back to college days when anonymous sex was the name of the game. Which leads us to my next point…

Vegas Is Like The Marines; Leave No one Behind

Yes, it’s five fucking o’clock in the morning and that Venezuelan dude is sticking his tongue down your friend’s throat with no sign of stopping. Your eyes are gritty, your shoes are cutting your feet, and your dress smells like the mixed drink that dude spilled on you earlier before he puked in the corner. Now is the perfect time to go back to the hotel. But you know what? The women’s code still holds: don’t leave your girl behind. When you go to Vegas, you’re making the agreement that where one of you goes, you all go. To the bitter end, my friends! So throw some ice on your dogs, and send the cab away, then get ready for the next hour of sweaty, drunken make-outness, because you don’t leave until she does.

It Doesn’t Matter If You Don’t Wanna See Boobs, It’s Going To Happen

Surprisingly, I have enough boob to last me a lifetime. I was born with a pair, and they got bigger as I got older, which allows me to see even more of them. We’re close friends. That’s good, I’m done. I don’t need to see more, and I thought I had escaped that until the last night we were there, and we landed free tickets to a “burlesque” show, which actually turned out to be a really bad strip show. All I can say is, at one point I was debating with someone whether or not the “chick” on the left was actually a dude, and at another part, there were crucifixes up on the stage. I just have no idea what happened.

There’s a hell of a lot more I could write about Las Vegas and how to handle it (preferably in small doses), but we don’t have the bandwidth. Suffice it to say that Las Vegas can be great; the shows, the parties, but you gotta be ready to take the good with the bad. When that town is done with you, you may need another vacation to recover. I do!

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Related posts:

1. My Bachelorette Party Debacle
2. What Happens In Vegas Gets Blogged
3. I’m Throwing My Husband A Vasectomy Party

About the Author

The Kinky Jew and her husband got married last year, and live and work in the DC area with their two cats… who don’t actually work at all, but sort of freeload. KJ is a Consultant, and leads a very normal daytime job, which mostly includes Project Management, and working in a predominantly male dominated environment. The Kinky Jew also maintains a blog on PNN where she posts as Hannah Banana. She enjoys discussing sexuality, finance, religion, as well as any other topic that comes to mind.