I Thrive on Embarrassment

Have you seen the “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” commercials? There’s one with a limo full of sweaty bachelorette girls on their way home from the club. One girl looks particularly shamed and there is a lot of giggling. After my 28th birthday in Vegas, I have a pretty good idea what all that giggling was about.

So it was Sunday night and we were at a club off the strip. The club was dead. Really. Really. Dead. But dead doesn’t matter to my friends because we make our own party. We were enjoying the extra space on the dance floor and the music was good.

I am a total spaz. I busted out with a pathetic “Elaine” dance move and a handsome brutha nearby reciprocated with the Running Man and Roger Rabbit. I was in heaven. In response to his uber geeky dance moves I decided to drop it like it’s hot, all the way to the floor.

Unfortunately, doing this caused a dire wardrobe malfunction. I felt a rush of cool air to my nether-regions. The seam of my pale khaki capris ripped from the bottom of the zipper to the belt loop in back, exposing my white ass and hot pink mesh thong.

The feeling of hot embarrassment in my face is burnt into my memory. I was mortified.

I shoved my ass into the front of a dancing girlfriend. She mistook my cry for help as a dance move and gyrated against me.

Me: We have to leave NOW.
Her: What? (Smacking me on the ass, then pulling my hair.)
Me: I have a fucking problem with my pants and we have to go back to the hotel. RIGHT. FUCKING. NOW.
Her: Huh?
Me: (Bending over to show her my exposed white ass.)
Her: (Eyes growing wide) Hollllly shit!

While holding me against her front she motioned for the RogerRabbitBrutha to come over.

Her: My girl has a little problem over here and we need to borrow your shirt.
RRB: What?
Her: (Shoves my head, bending me over, sharing my predicament with him.)
RRB: Da-YAM girl!

After a lot of hollering and profanity, and sharing my bright and shiny ass with his boy, RogerRabbitBrotha offered up his XXXL short sleeve button down.

We stayed at the club till it closed. Any embarrassment I felt was numbed by the hundred, or so, Kamikazes I consumed. The oversized mens dress shirt looked a little funny, but not half as funny as my blinding white ass hanging out the back of my khakis.

So when the club closed down we all headed out to the front. RogerRabbitBrutha asked for his shirt back. I panicked for a moment before I realized I was never going to see him again. No point in worrying, why not really play this off? So I handed him his shirt and bounced my ass to the cab like I was on Soul Train. I didn’t realize he and my friends were doubled over with laughter until I was inside of the cab. In my drunken stupor I had turned lemons into lemonade, or more appropriately, lemon drop shots.

My pants malfunction was comedy gold.

Our cab driver asked what the big deal was. I was full capacity drunk and bent over after hopping out of the cab, “THIS IS WHAT’S SO FUNNY.”

The worst/best part was that I insisted on walking through the casino level before returning our room. The first thing I did was get a drink at the bar, as if my liver needed any more of that. Then I pranced up to a blackjack table, bent over and asked, “Does anyone need a little luck?” I scared the living shit out of two Japanese tourists and made the dealer laugh so hard she cried.