Vegas

Vegas. I'd heard about it, but never truly understood its mystique, and wasn't convinced it was for me. WRONG. Vegas was for me alright, but it wasn't only for not sleeping & margaritas by the pool, no this time it was about seeing the girls I love & miss, and about spending a weekend back in the comforting routine of a constant laughter and the familiar foggy scent of extra hold hair spray- the click click clicking of 14 5-inch stilettos tromping down that famously sinful strip in the city of lights, a reminder of easier days, when all these smiles were but an arms reach away.

I look back fondly and am overwhelmed by the thought of brightly cocktailed evening toasts, spilling words of memories once made and promises of future excitement to be had, of party-of-seven-is-nothin' stares laid upon snippy hostesses at 3am, ("yes I guess I understand you need a shirt to come in...") and of how easy of a slip it feels to fall into a place where a friend's eye-roll you've missed dearly sets off a fit of unbelievable happiness, complete with wet lashes, smeared eyeliner, and an ab workout you'd planned on deeming necessary post-bloody mary's by the pool the next day.

It was an unbelievable display of all I'd hoped it would be both emotionally and in the physicality of it all. I can very gladly say the experience met even the highest of expectations I'd unknowingly set aside for it. Bittersweet, experiences like that are- only leading to the inevitable low that follows, wishing just as passionately you'll have an experience in comparison floating somewhere in your future. If ever there were a feeling of sadness however it was for but a moment, the magnitude of how magnificent a time was had quickly engulfing the sorrow, leaving you smiling alone, browsing ticket prices every afternoon & keeping your eyes peeled for that gold glitter leotard on sale in November at Forever21.