Vegas

Only one closet of several, lined with dresses
and shoes, none of which belong to me

In the Bay Area, this past weekend was the Head of the Port, held in Port of West Sacramento, hosted by River City Rowing Club.  Results are posted here.  It looked like a good day for Lake Merritt and the Cal Lightweight men who raced several heavyweight crews.

Instead of doing anything productive, such as racing at Head of the Port, the weekend was spent in Las Vegas for a good friend's bachelorette party.  Living it up in style at the newly-built Planet Hollywood Westgate Tower suites, there was plenty of sleeping space, alcohol, junk food, and bathroom space for ten girls.  If you have not figured out by now, I am an old lady who is married, has a kid, and just struggling to get by with a clean house.  Partying and Vegas are not really ever in the cards.  So this trip was a trip to see how this whole Vegas thing is really done.

Going out to town required a three to four hour getting-ready, make-up period and the experienced party girls made it look like a controlled massive production line--shower, make-up, dress, hair.  Apparently, for girls, it is key to look the "part" in order to cut lines at clubs and get free admission. To my chagrin, my one-and-a-half inch black heels that I normally wear to work was not going to cut it.  After much peer pressure, we went shoe shopping (luckily, the Miracle Mile shops were right downstairs).

I have this bad habit of acquiring new shoes when I travel.  My husband who owns maybe three pairs of shoes and who wears his shoes until the soles are falling apart, always has this skeptical look of when accosted by the latest shoe acquisition.

Latest and greatest (and absolutely non-function) pair of shoes

Unlike the last pair of shoes I brought home from Colorado, this pair from Aldo were wedges, which, as I was informed, are quite in-style now, and had a heel about three-and-a-half inches.  Trust me, there were many other more extreme choices, but this was the pair in which I would not break an ankle and which I might possibly where on another occasion.

The first night was spent at two clubs.  By the third hour, I felt like Cinderella who had managed to squeeze her foot into the glass slipper, but found out that the more she stands, the larger her feet become.  Every other woman was wearing shoes like mine or even more ridiculously taller and uncomfortable.  If there was a woman there who said that her feet did not hurt, she is LYING.  The absolutely stupid things women do for beauty.

The second night, I ditched the new shoes and wore my plain black, grandma shoes.  Much more comfortable.  Thank goodness.

Picture with the bachelorette and grandma shoes