It’s been brought to my attention that I update too sporadically. (See, I can use it in a sentence.)
Since I apparently have a biggest fan—-the creepiness of that can be discussed at a later time—-I decided it’s necessary to write something said fan would actually appreciate.
So. Let’s talk about Atlantic City.
First there was the bus ride. I was actually completely willing to overlook the crack-whores and general degenerates because:
1. The ride cost 1 dollar round trip. No lies.
2. the bus had wi-fi and outlets. No really. This is the future, my jetpack will be arriving within the week. Well, it better be.
We finally got there, a shiesty cab driver tried to rip off 5 girls who live in Manhattan (bitch please) and we found out DJ Pauly D was within walking distance to our hotel.
Too bad we never found him.
Anyway. As comforting as it was to hear the sound of slot machines and partake in secondhand casino smoke in a vegas-esque kind of way AC is not Vegas. At all. Anyone who tries to compare the two needs a serious talking to because they’re on completely different playing fields. Even though there are generally groups of girls running through casinos half dressed and delirious (oh hey, those are my friends) there’s an element of class to Vegas that can’t be replicated. And we all know there’s nothing classy about New Jersey. Even attempted gilded class failed miserably.
The one thing AC got right? The Pool. Harrah’s turns their indoor pool into a nightclub after 10PM and since most of my friends were wearing tights and refused to get naked I was pretty much Snooki dancing alone in the pool for an hour, and I’m convinced the warm water saved my feet from a day of pain.
All in all: 1 room, 8 girls, roughly 24 hours and 8 of them were spent partying. I have no reason to complain.
