I had a lot of good moments last year.

I discovered my professional trajectory and freaking LAUNCHED myself down it. I traveled all over the country, for work and for pleasure, and found them equally rewarding (and often equally drunk. What?) And I made countless new friends in DC and beyond; people I now can’t imagine my life without.

But without a doubt, my greatest moment last year was the four days I spent in Las Vegas.

And I don’t even like Vegas.

Most of you are not new around here, and so you’ve undoubtedly heard me mention Bloggers in Sin City before. But I’m not sure I’ve ever really been able to do it justice. And so, with registration for the 2012 event winding down and just a few precious spots left (EIGHT, at time of publishing!)… I’m going to try.

Bloggers in Sin City (#BiSC) is basically this:

1. Take 60 bloggers, place directly in Vegas.
2. Add booze, sun, cupcakes, cheese, booze, brunch, chocolate, gambling, booze, dancing, bonding, belly laughs, and booze.
3. Mix.
4. Pour directly into face, and also heart.
5. Repeat for FOUR FREAKING DAYS.

BiSC is, honestly, a family. But it’s the kind of family you build, because you love them dearly and want them in your life; not because you’re blood. It’s an endless Friendsgiving where everyone is welcome at the table. The door is constantly revolving and new faces come, but the sentiment always stays the same.

It’s love and friendship and acceptance, and an openness to building relationships that’s such a mature kind of affection and bond. One that will last through us all getting hitched and knocked up and divorced and middle aged crises and retirement, until one day we’re all living together in our Golden Girls (and Guys) house in Florida, playing cards and drinking whiskey.

Also, and perhaps most importantly… someone is going for FREE. 

Yes, amigos, you read me right: the awesome Paper’d app (providing endless entertainment via hilarious iPhone wallpapers) is going to pick one of us lucky registrants and just pay for the whole damn thing. (All deets about how to enter are here.)

So if you’re wondering if it’s worth it, if you should pull the trigger… the answer, IMHO, is abso-freaking-lutely. And you should do it fast, because the number of tickets left is dwindling as we speak!

Mama said share.

This post is sponsored by Official Streetwear Shop

When I was in the magical land of Bloggers in Sin City last month, our fearless leader Nicole put together the most ridiculous swag bags for us all (emphasis on ridiculous, as they were full of hair tinsel, condoms, panties, and more).

There were a lot of treats in that bag, but you all know I am first and foremost a sucker for anything delicious, so one of my favorites was without a doubt the custom-iced cookie from Bitter Baking Co. Now, the cookie was good – real good – but it’s the company I fell in love with, and here’s why:

Happy Birthday, Asshat

Glad we're getting hitched, we could use some new stuff.

I hear prostitution is recession proof.

I'm thrilled you're going to be gay in public.

Happy Birthday. It's awesome you're still trying.

I wanted to apologize about the sex.

No one thinks you're a slut, lots of people have herpes.

Please enjoy this gift that you cannot sell for drug money.

They just… GET ME.

And from what I know about my readers, they get you, too. So I was stoked when they offered up a batch of cookies of YOUR choice for a giveaway. You can choose from their Snarky Cookies, mix cookie themes, or make your own (including custom photo cookies). So yeah, it’s pretty much just plain awesome.

Comment with your favorite cookie from their site, or an IDEA for a hilarious cookie below to enter! Tweet or share this post on Facebook for an extra entry (please comment that you’ve done so).

Winner will be chosen randomly on Tuesday, July 5, so check back then. Anyone in the US or Canada can enter. Woot!

Mama said share.

Visit Value Mags for cheap magazine subscriptions with free shipping.

I am not really one for the schmoop. Generally, I prefer sarcasm and bonding over self-deprecating jokes over talking about our feeeeeeeeelings. If and when we do discuss our emotions, we better be a bottle of wine (or three) deep, ya dig?

But this time, I can’t help it. The past weekend was one of the best of my life, and I just want to scream it from a rooftop, like I was an Italian lover with a heart full of song, or John Cusack in the 80s. (Or John Cusack ever, who are we kidding.)

I spent the better part of last week in Vegas at Bloggers in Sin City (#BiSC), surrounded by 50+ of the kindest, sweetest, funniest, friendliest bloggers this side of the US border. (Yes, that includes Canada, Brandy/Simone. See what I did there?!)

Listen, I’ve been to a lot of meetups, tweetups, and other “let’s take this party offline” festivities in my day – I’ve even put on a few (dozen) of them myself. But let me invoke the power of Sinead O’Conner for a moment, and just tell you that nothing compares to this.

Everyone was just so OPEN and ready to really get to know each other. And we were at an immediate advantage with this, because we’ve all been stalking each other online for months in anticipation. As Nico so eloquently put it in his video recap, “instead of feeling people out and starting from scratch, a lot of these friendships just kind of hit the ground running.”

I didn’t walk into that first happy hour on Thursday to a crowd of strangers. I walked in and was immediately embraced, figuratively and literally, by 56 friends (and more than a few life-size cutouts of Donny Osborne. That shiz is everywhere in Vegas.) And while I am lame and old and wasn’t really drinking (since by midnight I literally felt like I had been roofied from exhaustion - DAMN YOU, EST INTERNAL CLOCK!!!!!), the party didn’t stop until the moment I left on Sunday morning.

Nicole (our amazing organizer), you are like a fairy godmother who sprinkles vodka and hair tinsel and condoms down on us all. My life is approximately 529% better for knowing you.

Chelsea, take care of that piece of my heart that you stole because I AM BROKEN WHEN YOU ARE NOT AROUND. Jenn, Doni, Katelin, my life is cold and gray without you in it. New pact to never go a year without seeing each other EVER AGAIN, cool? Cool.

Jenny, I’m so glad we got to spend serious QT together this year. Welcome to the club of “My Favorite People on Earth”. (It comes with a gold star.) Ditto Molly – your bubbliness is infectious, and I don’t do bubbly, so this is saying something.

I want to list every single person I met but A) I’m lazy, and B) we’re too busy chatting in our top secret Facebook group anyway. #nerds #loveit

Suffice to say I love each and every one of you, and will continue to stalk you on the internet now that we are apart once more. (Tear.)

And now, I will finally shut up about how great my life is, and let the pictures speak their thousands of ridiculous words.

To everyone who was there, face licks and hashtag dances and slash scoops forever. I can’t wait to see you all again next year.

Mama said share.

Ahhhhhhhhh it’s been two weeks!!! What the what? How in the???

I missed you guys.

SO. Yes, the shiny new job is everything I hope it would be and more. I am a lucky, lucky girl… DON’T I KNOW IT.

There is so much going on my head is spinning, LIT-RALLY, but it’s all good- nay, great- so you won’t hear a peep of complaint out of me. I’ve been trying to scale back all those extra little projects I constantly seem to take on, but I think at my core I’m happiest when I’m busy and plotting planning and meeting friends and making connections, so as long as I’m “juggling” rather than “burning out at a terrifying pace”, life is what it is- one big, happy, crazy mess of STUFF ‘N THINGS that I adore.

For example, DC friends! It’s been far too long since we clinked a beer together. Let’s fix that at Tonic (Mt. Pleasant) on Wednesday, Jan. 26th, mmmkay? They’ve recently renovated the upstairs bar (next to Radius Pizza) and it is THE GORGEOUS. My dear friend Patrice, the best bartender in the world, will be personally taking care of our group, so RSVP here (no physical ‘ticket’ needed to come- that’s just Eventbrite’s way, just sign up and you’re good to go) and I’ll see you then! (Half-priced burgers, beers, and more… and don’t forget, Tonic is the king of the tator tot!)

Now! For everyone NOT in DC, it’s also been too long since I saw you. Particularly if we’ve never met.

Let’s fix that.

This May 19th-22nd, bloggers from all over the USofA and beyond will converge on America’s Playground, aka Las Vegas (Vegas, baby, Vegas!!!) for the renowned BLOGGERS IN SIN CITY ultimate meetup. Four days of drinking, bonding, sun, drinking, unicorns, hugs, dance parties, and drinking. All the info you need is here, but feel free to ask me any questions in the comments if you’re thinking about coming (please do!) It was an absolute blast last year, and with more organization and some crazy awesome sponsorship, this year promises to be even better. What what!!!

Next up: I finally decided to make one of those rad “Facebook pages” the kids are all talking about for this here blog, so if you want to add a little glitter to my day, head on over to the ‘book and LIKE this crazy thing. I’ll also be deleting my “blog” profile in lieu of that page, so if you wanna KIT, that’s where to do it!

Finally (housekeeping! You want me fluff your pillow?) – after a wonderful year as a contributing editor with DC Blogs, I’ve decided to relinquish my Tuesday slot to someone who has more time on their hands and is able to truly find the best, the brightest, and the most colorful from around the DC blogosphere. If you’re interested in being a weekly contributing editor at DC Blogs, shoot them an email with your info (name, url, etc.) and why you want to be a part of that stellar community (and trust me, it is).

*phew*

So that’s my news! What’s yours?

Mama said share.

Okay, people. I know you want your Vegas. Get the fuck ready, cause I’m not holding back. 

My ten favorite most memorable things that I wish I could scrub from my brain with a razor blade, a la Vegas… 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

1. Whenever Maxie, RS27, Lbluca77, Shine, Mary and I are in a room together, someone’s going to get hurt. (Pride not included.) Also, this only makes me love them more, which is scientifically impossible but still true. 

RS27′s arm after battling Maxie’s curling iron: 

Maxie managed to keep a picture of her head wound from being taken, but… 

And finally, this is my own UDI (Unidentified Drunk Injury): 

That’s what happens when you snuggle Maxie too hard, I suppose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

2. Doing a party dress fashion show (fashion show! fashion show! fashion show at LUNCH!) that involved me changing multiple times in what I did not know was an entirely see-through closet. In a hotel room full of people. And none of them TOLD me. 

Also see: me asking Shine to zip up one of said dresses. “No, really. Go ahead. Just pinch me if you have to! PINCH IT!!! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

3. Finding these shirts in Wisconsin: 

Words clearly not necessary.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

4. Discovering the art of fake retweeting friends on twitter. See Exhibits A through E. Okay, and F. (Btw that last one totally backfired on her, because some dude DM’d her “Not to be dirty… But the footjob tweet was f*cking hot! ” 

Ew ew gross get me a shower holy vomit in my hair GROSS. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

5. Sharing raunchy sex stories in one of the hotel rooms with some two dozen ladies… and RS27. 

That's about right.

My own submission? Walking in on my grandparents doing it. 

God, I’m great at parties. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

6. Surprise Trust-Falling Rachel into the pool. And by trust-falling, I mean surprise dive-bombing. She’s a sport, y’all. I did at least asked if she minded getting wet first. I did not, however, wait for an answer before shouting “TWSS!!!!!!” and launching our bodies into the air. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

7. Friday night dance party was the most magical thing ever. Two things everyone from Vegas now knows about me: 

A. If you put me in the center of the dance circle, the grand finale of my repertoire will probably be flashing the girls at my love bunnies, Katelin and Vixations. 

B. If a guy from a group of creepy straight boys passive aggressively unpops the collar of our favorite gay because he has the jealousies, I will bitch slap him upside his head. That is all. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

8. Maxie, RS27 and I dancing through the hotel singing the Always Sunny Dayman and Troll Toll songs from start to finish. Like, a dozen times. How did we not get beat up, bozos??? 

“Stage freeze!” “Don’t SAY stage freeze, just do it!!!” 

This is how you dooo iiiiiiiiiiit. (This is how you do it.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

9. Face-licking the hell out of Chelsea the moment I met her. I mean full-on tongue, to the ear, people. AND YOU ALL THOUGHT I WOULDN’T DO IT. 

Also, she rocks. See? 

No drop of beer shall go undrunk! Undranken? My head hurts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

10. Zomg, I’m still hungover. I quit. Here’s a bunch of pretty pictures. 

We're on a PLANE!!!

Proof that Maxie is an elf.

Proof that I need a helmet.

Look! I'm normal sometimes!

Jay kaying, jay kaying. Never normal.

Adam Lambert, I mean RS27's boyfriend, I mean Ben.

Apparently, Ben thinks I should inform you guys that this was a theme party. LIKE YOU DON’T WEAR THAT EVERYDAY. Not buying it.

GIVE ME YOUR HAIRRRRRRRRRRRR (ps love you Katelin!)

Bottle service. YES WE ARE THAT BADASS. Bishes.

Finally, I have my own Ebony to my Ivory!

Me OWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Airport french fry breakfast. And yes, my shirt says "Bayside High Technology Team." You may judge me for neither.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Everyone who came, it was a blast meeting all of you. I only wish we’d had more time and less tequila. 

LOVE YOUR FACES. 

Now excuse me while I go throw up.

UPDATE: Yes yes yes Maxie has surrendered a picture of the head wound!!! Here it is in all its purple glory…

Mama said share.

Not going and really fucking sick of hearing about it? I don’t blame you. It’s going to be awesome.

Uh… quick, look at this!…

Moving on.

So. You MAY have heard that I’m going to be traveling to the great state of Nevada tomorrow, to the land of slot machines and margaritas-the-size-of-heads, and all things sequiny and delightfully tacky.

B will not be joining me because he is a sane person (wha wha wha???), but as I told him last night, it’s cool because Aunt Flo’s in town. So not only does he get to miss out on THAT business, I can’t cheat on him! Really, I’m going to Vegas for HIM.

Such a giver, I am.

The things I plan on doing over the next three days are as follows:

Have an ass-slapping contest with Lbluca77.

Not be totally weird with my most favoritest Vixen.

Have a baby with our resident mama bear, Rachel. (Don’t worry, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? Babies totally count.)

Make naughty kitty-cat jazz hands with verybadcat.

Maul Tia wildly and inappropriately the moment I see her. (Sorry, Ben. It’s happening.)

Swap “funny boyfriend” stories with Michelle.

Make Kathleen eat some cheese, even if it’s just the schmoopy kind.

Swoon over vampires with Ali. And maybe bite her a little when she’s not looking. What?

Call StaceyParadise “Tootsie Pop”.

Get Mel drunk off wine and make her tell me about her worst date of all time.

Embrace my quirks and inner klutz with Mandy.

Give Lindsay 1,000 bear hugs so she’s not scared of us all. Even though she probably should be.

Immediately go up in flames when Nicole‘s crazy and my crazy finally meet. God have mercy on us all.

Draw on someone with Sharpie with Leahchristine.

See Amy’s feisty in person. It may not be on the blog, but I know it’s there.

Drink endless mimosas with Doni.

Indulge in a boatload of unnecessary carbs with Jessica.

Do karaoke with Chelsea, because she can actually sing + I am the most tone-deaf person of all time = HILARIOUS.

Make poop jokes with Nicopolitan.

Help RondaMarie drink to forget.

Reminisce about the days when the BoSox didn’t suck with ohhayitskk.

Steal Katelin’s awesome hair. (Yes, I know it’s not a wig. But put enough tequila in me and I’ll swear it can be done.)

Get 412 makeovers from the fabulous Lizzy Marie, my bi-coastal BFeffinF.

Make listen to because I’m not brown people jokes with Rahul (dot not feather).

Try not to make Mary and Shine sorry they agreed to room with Maxie and me.

Belt out Backstreet Boys everywhere we go with GingerMandy and Just A Girl.

Remarry my beloved Maxie, preferably by an Elvis impersonator, or someone wearing an ascot.

See what the hell it is that Ben got her, in reference to this tweet:

To all the rest of you I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, in person or on the interwebs… I can’t freaking wait to fix that. And every single one of you should prepare yourself for a too-tight-hug.

See you tomorrow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mama said share.

You know how sometimes after that fourth beer, people will accidentally say something that reinforces a known stereotype, and at first everyone gasps in horror (if strangers are around- I mean, what?), but then someone goes “Well, stereotypes exist for a reason, after all,” and at some point in history that became an entirely valid argument for being just a little bit racist or bigoty or whatever your judgment of choice is?

Well, I would like to extend this same courtesy to clichés.

Look, clichés exist for the same reason we’ve decided to consider all Jews funny, and all Latinos passionate lovers with pimped out Civics, and all white people as horrible dancers (unless an 80′s beat is involved and The Sprinkler is a bona fide dance move).

Partly because it’s just plain funnier that way… but most of all, it’s EASY.

Think about it. You go to a new place for the first time, you don’t know what the hell to do. So, you go dance on the piano key steps of FAO Schwarz, or have dinner on top of the Space Needle, or visit the Kendall Jackson winery in Napa, or lead a parade through the streets of Chicago singing “Twist and Shout”.

Wait, maybe not that last one.

My point is, what’s so wrong with these things? Just because millions of people do them every year, we’re supposed to look down on them? It’s so WAY TOTALLY COOLER to come home and brag about how you got off the beaten path and found this local bar with a local band playing and and drank the local beer the local bartender recommended and got to talk with the local people, man!

Well, you know what? You were probably annoying the hell out of them, and they all made fun of you as soon as you walked out the door.

(Really, you can’t blame them. You *were* wearing a scrunchie.)

All I know is that when I’m in Vegas in nine days, we will take a totally cheesy picture in front of the Bellagio fountain. We will scream “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, except herpes!!!” about eleventy billion times, and someone will most likely get married by an Elvis impersonator.

And that’s? Okay.

It’s okay to go out in Adams Morgan and end up at a Jumbo Slice every once in a while. Hell, ride a segway around Penn Quarter, for all I care. Do whatever makes you happy! Life is too damn short to not see the ball drop in Times Square or show your boobs at the Mardi Gras, just because zillions of people have done it before.

Because after all, is there ANYTHING more cliché than some hipster or otherwise pretentious d-bag saying, “Oh, that is so cliché” *condescending hand wave*  ?

I think not.

Bee tee dubs, a very special lady is going to war with a very assholey brain tumor today. Please head over and wish her the best of luck in her fight against Wallace!!!!!

Mama said share.

Ten years ago, the best long distance runner on our track team was jealous of MY legs, and I was competing with the shot putters to see who could do more push-ups during calis.

Yes, it was ten years ago. Yes, I was 16 and didn’t yet have a curve to my name.

I don’t care.

I want it back.

I want that feeling… that strength. That swagger.

I want to rock it at my girl’s wedding. I want to make this look goooooood in Vegas.

Now, I am not a big girl by any means. I know this. 

But I am SOFT, y’all. I’ve gone from sharp chedder to a ripe brie… and I’ve had enough.

I am sick of feeling weak. I am tired of feeling self-conscious.

It is time for a real change. It is time to get EXTREME. 

And so, my friends… with the power of B by my side, an absolutely insane hour-a-day training program, and a devastating lack of cheeseburgers from my life… I will do it. I will get it back, with a side of Michelle Obama arms to boot.

Please and thank you.

Three months, six days a week.

Half the booze, none of the fried.

(Somebody shoot me.)

Mama said share.

I’ve mentioned a few times how I have a little trouble with The Sleeping.

It makes no sense, right? It’s one of the few things we as humans are supposed to be PROGRAMMED to do. Eat, sleep, bone a little, eat afterwards, pass the eff out. In a perfect world, that’s how it would be.

But for some reason, MY body prefers to “pass out, wake up to pee at 5 am, fitfully try to go back to sleep but end up thinking about omgthereissomuchtodotoday and I forgot to take the rent check downstairs and it’s the 5th so I actually need to do it today and I can just SEE the dirty dishes in the sink mocking me and my skills as a good housegirlfriend and OH EM GEE I still have not unpacked my suitcase(s) from ten days ago, am I really a grown up? REALLY? because I’m pretty sure my grandmother who taught home ec for 50-odd years would be ashamed of the woman I have become…

…until Axe Murderer inevitably reaches through the end of the bed and sinks a claw into my big toe, at which point I sigh heavily, give up on sleeping all together, and shuffle out to the living room to begin what already feels like A Helluva Day.

So, a few weeks ago, my doctor gave me a prescription for Ambien. Which I put into action over the vacay last week… and found to be positively magical. I slept through the night, woke up rested, and barely noticed the kitty teeth gnawing at my itchy witchy toesie wosies in the wee hours of the morning. B even high-fived me on Sunday when I woke up at the oh-so-late hour of NINE THIRTY (gasp!!), and said, “Great sleeping, baby!”

And all was right with the world.

EXCEPT.

I’m not much of a dreamer. Maybe a flash here or there, but it’s been years since I woke up and actually remembered a dream.

Apparently, Ambien changes all that.

Suddenly, you’re dreaming- vividly- about cleaning out your grandfather’s recently-deceased (fictional?!) neighbor’s house, when you happen across a program for an old ballet recital you had, oh, TWENTY YEARS AGO. And you’re so out of it you can’t even remember if it was sweet or creepy in the dream.

The next night, I had no eyelashes. They were just… gone. I desperately tried (and went through) about a bucket of falsies, at which point of course I was covered with them and they, naturally, turned into bugs. Creepy crawly bugs. On my face. (Wait. Did you hear me? MY FACE.)

Last night was the kicker. We started watching “Deadwood,” and I was all stoked for some cowboy dreams.

What did I get? A little Seth Bullock “Montana” action? Maybe he rescues me from the evil Al Swearengen and we live happily ever after running the swingingest saloon in town?

Rawwwwr. Lasso me, baby.

Alas, my friends. I dreamt that Maxie and Lexa and I were in Vegas, feeding tigers cinnamon and accidentally killing hookers.

I think.

It could have been a panther.

But it was definitely a jungle cat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

P.S. Oh, dear god. Apparently I am also here today. With back up singers @lexalemmy and @katierose_ . Um, sorry I didn’t warn you guys?

The shame.

P.P.S. Did you vote for me yet in the 20SB Bootlegger Awards? You totally can. Til Sunday. I won’t even get mad. Swear.

P.P.P.S. Yesterday, my friend Rob’s blog about the documentary he’s directing looked like this.

Today, it looks like this.

Thanks to little ole me.

LOVE.

And cavy? You’re next.

Mama said share.