The Girlfriend's Guide To Vegas By Liz & Lisa

lasvegassignWe love Las Vegas for so many reasons. And not just because of it's lenient open-container laws and 24-hour buffets.  It's more about that Vegas feeling.  You know, that flutter in your stomach as your cab barrels down the strip, narrowly avoiding pedestrians?  It's the feeling that ANYTHING can happen.  Where else can you dance on the bar at Coyote Ugly, play blackjack with Nick Lachey and take a picture with a "little person" Elvis impersonator all in the same night?  What other city in America would be so tolerant when you throw up in a casino trashcan after your fifth kamikaze shot?  And where else can us thirty-somethings go to reclaim our youth by drinking with abandon and staying up all night? Las Vegas has a little somethin' somethin' for everyone. And not to be cocky, but we consider ourselves to be "Vegas Experts."  I guess that's what happens when you have a fake ID at eighteen and attend a college that's just a three-hour car ride away. Needless to say, we've had the best of times and the worst of times in Sin City.  Just about anything that can happen, has happened to us in Vegas.

And although we are true believers that what happens in Vegas should by all means stay there, we thought we'd provide a few pointers for your next trip.

Liz & Lisa's Girlfriend's Guide To Vegas


1. You and your boyfriend get two different offers for three-ways in the same weekend. And you choose not to focus on the fact that one woman had the body of a prepubescent boy and the other was so hammered she could barely stand.

2. A dashingly handsome British guy named Johnny sits next to you at the blackjack table and tells you that he thinks you’re 25. (And you promise to properly thank your boyfriend later for not correcting him!)

3. You listened to your psychic and confidently bet all your money on the number three. You not only win $1,000 but the entire table is begging you for your roulette recipe for success. You haven’t felt this good since twenty minutes ago when your blackjack table companion thought you were 25 (see #2).

4. The pit boss at Wild Bill’s upgrades your player’s card to “gold status” and offers you a comped night in the “penthouse” suite (on the 4th floor). And even though you’d rather spend the night sleeping on a pool chair at Circus Circus than so much as even stick your big toe inside the free room, you still feel like a “high roller.”

5. You take your pasty white complexion outside when it’s 110 degrees, lounge in the wade pool for hours and thank the Vegas gods when you don’t end up burning like the leathery skinned, There’s Something About Mary look-a-like next to you.

6. Your cab driver tells you that you’re the most entertaining passengers he’s had all night and you’re so caught up in his praise that you don’t mind that he’s missing four teeth and smells like a combination of tequila and pine air freshener!


1. You're starting to feel right at home with all the crazy UFC fans and consider their invitation to cruise up to their suite at Imperial Palace for an impromptu "fight club".

2.  You're shaking like a crackwhore after your tenth Red Bull and Grey Goose.

3. The drink lady at Hard Rock cut you off even after you tipped her $10 a drink. (see number #2)

4. You've smoked ten cigarettes despite the fact that you don't even know how to smoke.  That's probably why you made a rookie mistake and accidentally burned a hole in the shirt of the drunk guy next to you at the blackjack table.

5. You don't blink an eye when you open your hotel room door and discover your neighbor passed out facedown in a hamburger in the hallway.  In fact, you're so hungry that you consider taking a french fry off her plate.

6.  You literally don't have any chips to cash in!  That's when it's time to cash in your figuritive chips and say good bye to dear ol' Vegas. (Unless, of course,  you have a really great cash advance plan on your Visa!)

xoxo, Liz & Lisa

Confessions of a Third Wheel By Lisa

redtricycle I think the third wheel gets a bad rap.

And I would know, considering I've been a willing wheel for many years...

The third wheel has a negative connotation--conjuring up images of that tag along kid who followed you around on the playground. Or the girl your mom coerced you into inviting to your slumber party. And the roommate who regularly crashed your movie night on the couch with your boyfriend. (You know who you are!)

But not all third wheels are unwelcome guests. Some, like me, are invited--even bribed or begged into attending an event with the other two. (More on that in a minute but it starts with--MARE-UH-THON!)

The Tricycle

I've been a member of the tricycle as Liz, her husband Mike, and I refer to our arrangement, for at least a decade. (Maybe I'll get a special pin soon? In the spirit of "wings" for flying, I'll get a wheel?)

We first officially took the tricycle out for a spin for our 10th high school reunion. Liz and Mike had just gotten married and I had, well, just gotten dumped. On the way down we chatted, who had the bigger news?  Liz and Mike?

A wedding! A honeymoon! A new house!

Or me?

Depression diagnosis! A new bottle of Prozac! A singles support group!

As we tricycled to see our Vista High School classmates (go Panthers!), I remember feeling relieved that at least I wouldn't be walking in alone. For a few minutes, I could deflect questions about myself because I'd be standing with Liz and Mike as they discussed their new marriage. Maybe I could even grab a glass of wine before I began answering questions about why I was still single.

I never imagined that, instead of my life or even Liz's post high school life, it would be MIKE at center stage--fielding questions--about his height!? Had he ever played professional basketball? Were all of his friends tall? How did he get soo tall?  I mean he's definitely tall (6'6"), but he's not the Jolly Green Giant or anything!

But I'd still like to take this time to give Mike front wheel Fenton a special shout out for literally overshadowing me!

The Duallie

Recently, Liz asked me if I wanted to go to San Diego to watch her brother-in-law run in a marathon. And then, suddenly, the pitch of her voice got higher as she tried to sell me on the experience. And I knew something was up.

The energy is amazing! It's inspirational! And, um, maybe you can also help me watch the kids when Mike's off with his brother.

Bingo! Energy smenergy. She wanted this wheel to babysit!

I agreed, because, well Auntie Lisa does love Liz's kids and the fact that her two-and-a-half-year-old son, Shane, points to blonde models in magazines and thinks they're me doesn't hurt either. So, I showed up at 8:00 a.m. only to be relegated to the back of the minivan like a dog or the annoying aunt that no one wants to talk to. In all fairness, I was asked if I was okay. I simply replied,

Need. Air. Back. Here.

I asked Liz and Mike what we should call ourselves now that we were traveling with two children? When our friend La Sundra would join us, we'd refer to ourselves as  The Quad. But now, with five, what were we? We decided on duallie.

The Marathon was the next day. So that night, we stayed over at Liz's mom's house. It was then that I was told we'd be LEAVING for the run at 6:00 a.m.

At 5:59 on the nose, relegated yet again to the back of the minivan, I was politely asked how I was back there. I simply replied,

Need. Starbucks. Now.

On the way to the race, I listened as Liz and Mike chatted about how comfortable their bed had been the night before. I had to chime in. I yelled up to the front seat over Liz's four-year-old daughter, Riley, belting out Natasha Betingfeld's Soulmate. (Unbelievably cute, BTW!)

Oh really?  Was it now? Well, I think I can one up you. My COT in the dining room was freakin' fantastic! Wouldn't have traded with either of you if you paid me!

*Awkward silence*

Okay, so I'll admit that the Marathon did turn out to be lots of energy and excitement, just like Liz promised. Her BIL did awesome (although I stand by my convenient theory that it just cannot be necessary to run 26 whole miles) and it was fun to watch all the "Elvises" run by (it was the Rock N Roll marathon, after all).

And in the interest of full disclosure--since I've kind of thrown Liz & Mike under the bus (how many wheels is that?), I should reveal that Liz has been on the other wheel of a tricycle too...and maybe she wasn't exactly treated like a queen either.  She three wheeled it with Matt and me to the Midwest book signings. And we just might have made her sleep in Matt's 6-year-old son's twin bed. :)

xoxo, Lisa