When you think about a ski trip out to Vail, Colorado, you may think of hitting the slopes, snuggling by a fire and drinking hot cocoa. Well that sure as stuff isn’t my style. We never even saw the mountain, let alone participated in physical activity other than lifting our alcoholic beverages to our mouths.
Let me tell you a little something about Vail. They all got their money and their fancy hotel rooms and condos but those bitches get down and dirty. They have what’s called a “Turtle Bus.” Best invention EVER. It’s a green bus that takes you from different areas around Vail down into where the good clubs and bars are. Now, a green bus alone may not be that spectacular. But this bus also has a bar in the back and A STRIPPER POLE. This may have been the first and last time I’ll ever be able to say the bus driver bought me a shot.
Once we got into the club we fanned out, attempting to find prime location and the best looking men. We ended up snagging a booth with some guys who had already paid for it, along with a giant bottle of Greygoose. I like their style. We leave this bar after countless drinks to head back to the hotel suite of what I can only describe as the Mexican cartel. Here we are in a room filled with spanish speaking men dancing and raging with their ring leader, Heffay, the giant Mexican drug lord.
I eventually leave this hotel and move onto the next with a group of guys befuddled that I can rage like this with my mother (did I mention I went with my mother?). We get to their hotel room and their roommate opens the door completely covered in blood. It looked like something out of a horror film; the kid was caked in red, sticky dried-up blood. Mind you at this point I’m with guys I barely know, alone, with no phone, no money and no dignity. Fuck. They ended up calling 911 and some police, EMTs and an ambulance came to take their roommate away due to his mysterious head injury.
The next day was just as much of a stuff show. After hours of laying on the couch trying to talk our livers back into functioning, we headed back out to do some dancing and damage. We hit the clubs and danced all over the place until suddenly we could smell the Mexicans! They came back for round two to hang with their favorite American girls. They came back to our condo along with some random guys from New York who thought they were Rico Suave. It starts blizzarding and we are driving through white out snow. There are three of us in the front and a countless number of mexicans in the back. Gee, I wonder what that looked like. We smoked some medical marijuana and then decided it was time for these cats to bounce. So my mother decided to tell them that they had small penises and no one would want to have sex with them in this condo so they should leave. Did I mention she did this with a drawn on mustache I had put on her earlier, equipped with curly q’s and a flavor saver?
Once we got back to Boulder the party didn’t end. We got kicked out of 3 restaurants and bars for being too loud and having far too much fun on a Sunday night. Probably didn’t help that we were stealing everything from cut-up limes to full serving sets from these establishments and putting them in my mom’s purse. Also, a member of our crew decided to sing “Happy Birthday” Marilyn Monroe style to the table sitting next to us. We were amused. Blow me, we like to party. Be jealous.
So if anyone asks, I was skiing all weekend. Shit I’m still skiing. My body is so sore… from all that skiing. 😉
