As some of you know, I spent the last few days in Vegas and got to hang out with some pretty amazing people. Needless to say, it was wonderful.

I walked through the front door of my apartment at 11 a.m. yesterday, and I’ve been struggling with the lack of sleep ever since, but I wanted to share some of the most important things I learned while in Sin City…

• Casinos appear to be close together. They aren’t. (Hello, long walk from the Luxor to the Venetian and back again.)
• Alcohol makes those walks better. Especially after you’ve been drinking wine with 25 people inside a trattoria in the Venetian that had the #1 public restroom in the country.
• You don’t have to attend a show in Vegas to have a good time. While others checked theirs our, some of us searched for a karaoke bar, then ended up at a piano bar.
• Breaking it down to one of the songs with the Bellagio fountain is welcomed and hilarious. Especially once the song ends and someone turns around to ask a member of your party who sang the song and what it was from. Hooray, show tunes!
• I’m not much of a gambler, but it was great to gamble with someone who had never done it before, even if we just played the slot machines.
• My dog is really popular.
• It’s OK to change names of restaurants to fit the evening better. Instead of Diablo’s Cantina, it is now Druken Diablos to those of us who spent an extended period of time there.
• Late night conversations are the best.
• Going to a buffet is fun because the food is tasty. Going to a buffet with 25 other people is fun because of the company you keep and the conversations you share.
• Southern girls aren’t afraid to get dirty to enjoy their food. Did y’all SEE us with those crab legs?
• It is acceptable to get a drink by the pool at 10 a.m. Vegas time because it’s noon back home.
• Hater tots taste good with mustard.
• I have a recognizable profile, soft skin and a distinct accent.
• It’s incredible how much you can learn about a person by simply spending time around them. And how sad it is to leave everyone until we meet again.

As I sit here and reminisce about the trip, it’s hard for me to believe it was real because it feels like time sped up for the weekend.

All that I know is that I am so happy I was able to make the trip happen and even happier to really get to know so many new friends. My words cannot do it justice. And I seriously cannot wait for the next time we (plus more friends!) converge in the same place because it will be just as, if not more, amazing.

                          

I’m the kind of girl who simply likes to lounge around on the weekends because I work so damn hard during the week. True story.

This weekend has been a little different.

I drove 1.5 hours to assist a big-time photographer at a boxing event. I learned about round card girls, bouts, boxing rules, how incredibly bloody the sport can be and more.

Did you know that round card girls are generally found at local strip clubs? Me neither. Did you know about ‘technical’ knockouts? I didn’t until last night.

Simply being there was incredible. Since there were four bouts before the main event, I was allowed to photograph during them all. And I actually got some decent shots.

The atmosphere was electric during the main fight. As an assistant, I spent my time uploading images for the photographer and taking in the sights. Booze was everywhere, easily sloshing out of classes as fans jumped to their feet, chanting fighters names. And the bout? Not that I’ve seen much boxing, but I could tell it was an exceptional one.

We spent a lot of time ringside laughing about random things, whether it was about that chick who was wearing a dress I own in the crowd or about his extensive knowledge about the sport and how the cups boxers wear are apparently HUGE. (Don’t ask me about this. This was my first time at boxing, and I am only speaking on hearsay.)

I had a fantastic time, and I didn’t leave the casino until 11:15 because we ended up talking shop. And I think I made an important contact in this photographer.

And, if all else fails, I have connections to become a classy round card girl. (Somehow, I don’t think that’s possible, but we laughed about this for a little while. Also, I would need a to choose a different name. Think along the lines of ‘Candi’ or ‘Sapphire.’)

                          

It started on an average February day. I was in the third grade, and school had just let out. Elated, I ran to the front of the building to wait with my little sister for my mother to pick us up.

Something funny happened while we were waiting outside: snowflakes began to fall.

While this was no unusual occurrence in my hometown of Memphis, it was strange simply because no weatherman in the city had informed us of a potential snow flurry.

My sister and I were overjoyed, convinced if these little snowflakes kept falling, we would have a much-needed break from school. And we would get to play outside the entire time. It would be incredible.

Those little snowflakes did keep falling. As the day turned to night, ice began to fall from the sky as well, making our entire city an ice skating rink.

Sure enough, we learned we had a snow day the next morning around 5 a.m. as we waited for the 5 o’clock news to air.

That instant, we rushed around the house, grabbing random items of huge, warm clothing. We threw on our trusty Chucks. We shoved gloves on our fingers, and as the sun rose, we were ‘skating’ (not really — we didn’t own ice skates, but we were scooting around in our shoes) around our winter wonderland of a backyard.

My mother says that our eyes were wild that day because we were so excited. She even claims she and my dad ran the hose on a portion of our lawn so we could have an even bigger skating rink. (I don’t remember this fact, but I’m sure it’s true.) And we played and played and played and played.

LL and I spent that entire day, taking momentary breaks to run inside to throw clothing into the dryer as we picked out new warm ensembles to continue our fun.

However, the storm turned ugly the next evening. Ice coated everything, weighing down power lines and trees until they began to buckle under the weight. And even though the snow and ice stopped that night, the worst was yet to come.

We were in for a surprise when we were playing Super Nintendo the next morning. The novelty of our skating rink had worn off, and we were taking a break inside to warm up. LL and I were sitting on the couch that backed up to a huge picture window that displayed the backyard. And while LL was taking her turn at Super Mario Brothers, we heard a cracking noise then a huge BOOM!

We turned around to quickly assess an 8-foot branch had crashed into the window, knocking off the screen and scratching at the glass.

That was the moment when we realized our outdoor fun was over. There would be no more fun on our skating rink. We would be stuck indoors until the ice melted.

Trees continued to fall throughout that day and the next. We were fortunate enough that no branches landed on our home, but some of our family and family friends were not so lucky.

As the days passed, our home became a refugee camp for people in our lives who didn’t have electricity. And while it was a lot of fun for a kid like me, I’m sure it was grating on my parents’ nerves.

Days passed, and after what felt like forever, the ice and snow melted. Our friends and family got their power back. And our lives went back to normal.

The only thing I have to commemorate that storm today is a photo taken on the first day. A photo that just happened to end up on our Christmas card for this year.

You don’t have to say anything. I know we look awesome.

                          

Editor’s note: I figured since we just rang in 2009, I should share a New Year’s edition. This tale is decidedly less wild than the other stories I have shared so far, but it’s still amusing. Enjoy!

Going to school an hour away from the Crescent City definitely had its perks, and I spent many a night in NOLA, whether it was for a concert or just to grab a good dinner.

That made the decision for me to spend New Year’s Eve in the city. My friend N (who I have known since kindergarten) drove down with me from Memphis so we could celebrate together — something we made a tradition of for a few years. However, she hadn’t been to the city since high school, let alone since Katrina washed ashore, so she determined to do it big. I, on the other hand, wanted to have a good time but didn’t want to be miserably hungover like the last time I had been in the city.

We arrived in the city around 4 p.m. on New Year’s Eve, giving us enough time to grab a meal with one of her good friends before heading out to enjoy the celebration with some of my friends.

I had absolutely no expectations for the evening, and we were all in for surprises.

I’ve noticed that every time I venture into New Orleans, stranger things happen as I spent more and more time there. This time was no different.

Around 10 p.m., N, my friends and I were perusing the Quarter, taking our time and savoring the $10 drinks we purchased on Bourbon Street. (Thanks, Crescent City bars, for raising prices for the New Year and taking ALL my money. Thanks a lot.)

While making the turn off Bourbon, we ran into an old co-worker of mine (who I had the BIGGEST crush on when I was an office newbie) and his friends.

They mirrored us for about an hour, and this old co-worker? He was definitely showing some interest.

N and I giggled about the situation after I explained our past to her to her, and we parted ways with him and his gang around 11 p.m. after the he insisted we should hang out (I rolled my eyes a little) and gave me his number since I’d deleted it out of my phone.

Uh huh.

After that time, my friends and I made our way through the crowd to Jackson Square, picking up more $10 beverages on our way. The area was jam-packed, and we ran into one of N’s college friends from Ohio. We saw more of my friends in the mass. And we listened as everyone’s favorite mayor, Ray Nagin, counted down to the new year.

There was no New Year’s kiss for me, unless you count the ones N and many of my other friends planted on my cheeks moments after 2007 began. It was the perfect way to begin the new year — with good friends.

After the cheers died down, we ventured farther into the French Quarter to find some more drinks. We ran into another old friend and co-worker of mine who gave us all obnoxiously large beads without us having show anything for them (because that’s skeezy on multiple levels) before we ended our celebration at a friend’s friend’s house.

N was enjoying her drinks and the company while I was savoring every moment with my friends. I had stopped drinking after I bought that $10 amaretto sour after the new year had begun, citing the drinks too expensive and the potential hangover too uncomfortable.

It was around that time that I realized my phone was beeping and alerting me to a message. I was puzzled, not sure who would call me on NYE and leave a message (instead of texting a ‘Happy New Year!’), and listened to it.

The old co-worker had called right before midnight from Jackson Square. He made sure to state the time in the message. We can all guess what he was hoping for, and I got a laugh out of it, closing my phone and going back to soak in the new year with my friends.

I got a text message shortly thereafter, the old co-worker asking me to come to Cafe du Monde with him and his friends.

I couldn’t make it, sending a message for him to have fun, and my friends and I continued partying into the night. Around 5 a.m., after many more drinks for some and lots more discussions and photos snapped, we ended up at another friend’s parent’s home and passed out on the couches.

When I woke up in the morning, there were numerous texts from the old co-worker and other friends awaiting me. N and I laughed about the ones he continued to send as we drove back to Tiger Town, pulling over every so often as she battled her hangover.

But all in all, it was a fantastic, random way to celebrate the new year.

                          

Between my junior and senior years of high school, I had the opportunity to travel to central Florida and work at as a member of its ‘work crew.’

We work-crewers were all high school students and performed odd jobs around the camp including (but not limited to): waiting tables in the dining hall, life guarding, outdoor crew (taking care of the grounds), pits (washing dishes) and ropes. Girls outnumbered boys about 4 to 1, but we still made do and had a great time.

The first night, we found out our assignments. And I was placed on the ropes team, meaning I would be belaying, strapping in and making sure kids were safe on our mini ropes course. Oh yeah, and sometimes, I would have to go up into the trees to rescue someone who was stuck/scared. *dies*

It ended up being a lot of fun, despite my fear of heights, and nearing the end of my time at camp, the boys played a lovely prank on us girls.

We came home from dinner one night to find HUNDREDS of crickets inside our cabin, and everything we owned turned upside down.

We weren’t happy about it, so we began plotting our revenge as we spent hours cleaning up and doing damage control inside our tiny living quarters.

Movie night, we arranged for them to be on duty inside the main room while a few of us (not all because they would KNOW something was amiss) would go into their cabin and wreak havoc. Thanks to the help of our bosses, we were going to pull our prank off. And it was going to be incredible.

I was one of the girls left in the main room, and my job was to make sure the boys didn’t suspect anything. Luckily, we had to make a few runs to and from the kitchen, so they didn’t realize four girls were unaccounted for.

The story of revenge was told later that evening to the entire girls cabin, and it made me smile.

All was fine and dandy until the four pranksters reached the door and found it locked. One of the girls, bless her heart, jimmied the lock, and they were in. They found their belongings easily — in their suitcases — and in a moment of genius, someone said they should take the boys’ belongings down to the lake and place them inside canoes.

Brilliant!

Arms full, they hurried to the dock, filled the canoes, and with no thought, pushed the tiny boats into the middle of the lake. A lake that had an alligator or two residing in it.

After rushing back to the main room unsuspected, they went back to our roles as work crew members, smiling and enjoying the movie like everyone else.

They boys didn’t know what hit them. And we didn’t hear anything about it until the next morning.

They figured their clothes were in the canoes when they realized the canoes were drifting around the lake aimlessly. And they had to swim out to retrieve the canoes. (No one lost a limb to the alligator.)

They weren’t too happy about the way their night ended, and they made their complaints known to any girl who would hear them. Because, obviously, the girls had been behind the attack.

We did our best to listen, but made sure to remind them about the crickets. The crickets we spent hours evacuating from our living quarters. The crickets we were still occasionally finding in our clothes, our belongings and our beds.

We didn’t feel so bad about it.

It would have been a different story if the alligator had gotten a hold of one of them or some of their clothes, though.

                          

Happy Sunday, freaders! I’m still laid up on the couch and sick as a dog, but I’ve decided to use this sickness for good. Instead of whining all day (like I did yesterday), I’m watching Harry Potter and working on my Christmas cards. Awesome, no?

A few weeks back, I posted about a certain prank my friends and I played on our boss. And, during the weekends from now on, I’d like to share a story or two about my so-called ‘wild’ days. (Because they were so scandalous, ha!)

This week’s story was suggested by my BFF Eli. Because we were totally rebels.

This shouldn’t surprise anyone, but I was a goody two-shoes in high school. I didn’t like to break the rules, so I didn’t. Ever. (I had a pretty exciting existence in high school, as I’m sure you can tell. But I was OK with it.)

When the spring of my senior year rolled around, my BFFs (Katie and Eli) and I decided we wanted to perform a senior prank. (They were every bit as good as me, if not more so.)

In years past, crickets were let loose in the school. The exterior of the building was spray-painted with obscene phrases and crude drawings. Locks were superglued shut. Handicapped signs were painted on every teacher parking spot outside of the school. (That was one of my favorites.) A cow was led up the stairs of the annex building and left to roam one , and since cows (apparently) can’t walk down stairs… yeah.

We wanted to do a prank that would better the school, and one day at lunch, we realized what would be perfect.

Students are allowed to eat outside of the cafeteria if the weather is nice, either picnic-style on the grass or at old picnic tables. We sat outside nearly every day, enjoying the spring sunshine and the feeling that we were not longer trapped inside the building. The picnic tables had seen their fair share of weather, and their old boards were worn and decorated with student doodles. How wonderful would it be to bring some color to lunchtime?

It was perfect, and we were in.

Katie’s dad bought the paint for us — blue, pink and yellow. My mother laughed and immediately approved. We didn’t tell Eli’s parents. And then we were ready to go one spring night, just days before graduation.

We drove up to the school, sneaking around to the backside where the tables were located. Quickly, we each took a bucket of paint and brushes to decorate.

Within minutes, the tables were more spunky and colorful than they had been in years. We continued our artwork, adding splatter paint and some hand prints for fun.

A few minutes later, we heard sirens.

We dropped everything and ran back to the car only to realize that a cop car was blocking us in. We were covered in paint, and guilty was written across our faces.

A janitor, who was standing next to the officer, had been inside the school and  called the cops on us. He insisted he would not press charges because he saw us around school and knew we were good kids. However, it would be reported to the principal, and after the cop slapped handcuffs on Eli and shoved him into the backseat of the cop car, we were let go with a warning and a date with destiny the next morning.

I got home and broke the news to my mom. She wasn’t upset, and she held me as I wept myself to sleep that night.

The next morning came too soon, and the three of us made the walk of shame into the main office before the late bell rang. We were three of the only seniors in the school — seniors are released about a week earlier than other students — and after my volleyball coach poked his head into the office to laugh at us, we were called into the principal’s office.

We were so nervous. None of us were bad students or kids — we had NEVER been to the principal’s office, and since we were so involved in our school, the principal knew who we were. I remember my hands shaking as we walked into her office.

Dr. W, the principal, was stern, but lenient on us. She told us we would have to repaint the tables for the school and that we might not get to walk at graduation — she was saving that judgment for later, but it was very clear to the three of us that she got a laugh or two out of our prank.

For the next three days, we spent hours at the school repainting our works of art. Many times, students came up to us to ask why we were repainting them because they were so fun with the multicolored paints. We would just shrug.

Once the repainting was complete, we were told we would be able to walk at graduation. On graduation day, we learned we could all wear our National Honor Society hoods, too.

That day, we were thanked in Dr. W’s graduation speech for our “latest community service project.”

My grandmother still smiles about that to this day, and whenever we talk about high school, we still laugh because who would have thought that we would get caught completing our harmless senior prank?

If nothing else, it makes for a good story.

                          

I feel like I’ve been all about responsibility, work, being a grown up and all that jazz on here lately.

I got to thinking about it last night and came to the conclusion that it’d be good to tell some stories from my ‘wild’ days. (The wild has quotes around it because my wild days were, in fact, quite lame. But they were wild for me…)

Shouldn’t we all have a little fun on Saturdays, even if it’s just remembering some random events that happened back in the day?

Here goes…

It was January of 2007, and I had been invited to my friend G’s apartment for an evening of fun. Fun evenings almost always included drinks of some kind, and that night was no different.

Our friend EB was leaving our college town for a larger metropolis, and we wanted to say farewell the best way we knew how.

I arrived early to help G prepare for the mini-party, and we decided that it would be both classy and incredible if that evening was a Boone’s night. So we drove to the skeezy gas station around the corner from her apartment and bought about 10 bottles of the flavored wine. (My personal favorite flavor is strawberry hill. What’s yours?)

By the time we got back, EB and a few of our mutual friends had arrived.

G set the rules: We would each drink a bottle of Boone’s before deciding what we would do next. And while I was fortunate enough to be sipping out of a bottle of cheap, not real alcohol, I took my time because I am an incredible lightweight. (Two beers back in the day was all it took.)

Whatever the case, most everyone finished their bottles (not me), and EB was to make the decision since he was leaving town. And he decided it would be fun if we post-it noted the editor of the student paper’s car. (The editor who was my ex boyfriend. THAT one.)

EB thought it would be hilarious, and everyone else jumped on the bandwagon quickly. I was left shaking my head because things never went the way they should when HE was involved. Everyone was telling me it would be fun. I wasn’t so sure — the ex would certainly blame me for masterminding this plan and would inevitably make my life more miserable than he already did. But my friends laughed at my response and dragged me along.

EB’s roommate showed up to be our driver, and a few more kids from the paper caught wind of EB’s prank and came along for the ride.

We went to a drugstore and spent about $25 on all sorts of post-it notes. Then we set off to accomplish the mission.

His car was easily spotted — a bright red hatchback sedan. And almost immediately after we made the turn onto the street, my friends, co-workers and cohorts all hopped out of our vehicles, eager to perform the task. I, on the other hand, hung back and was the lookout because of my reservations.

They started at the end of the car, covering the bumper, trunk, windshield and everything else in post-it notes. And after about 30 minutes, it looked like this but a lot less organized/cool. Think of lots of colors placed with no particular rhyme or reason, and you’ll have a better idea of what the car we covered looked like.

Just as they were finishing up, I spotted someone in the window of the home. I sounded the alarm, and they slowly made their way back to our cars, keeping watch for the figure in the window. Whoever it was didn’t seem to care that this car was being post-it noted before his eyes.

We made our excape and giggled on the way back to G’s apartment. Once there, we drank a little more Boone’s, and I somehow cracked the screen on top of my phone. (Don’t ask — I have NO idea how it happened.)

The next day, we expected everything to be normal when we made our way into the newsroom for training.

That was not so.

The entire management staff was sent a scathing e-mail, basically blaming you-know-who and others for ruining his car, stating that he was going to lose his lease since so many things had happened since he moved into that house and how he wanted someone to fess up.

Fat chance.

To this day, whenever someone mentions post-it notes, I have to smile. Because, while I wasn’t a real prankster that night, it brings back the memory of that car covered in that neon-colored paper.