WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN?
You could say I didn't act my age this weekend. Which doesn't seem quite right because 22 is prime Vegas age. (After 21, that is.)
I now own my own bingo dauber and will probably never take a Vegas trip again that doesn't involve a round of bingo. It may have a senior citizen stereotype, but you don't know how intense bingo is until you try it. (Especially when you're running late and have to catch up your cards after 20 numbers have already been called.) Did I win? No. But I only lost $30 to funding two hours of bingo instead of God-knows-how-much down in the casino at Blackjack and Wolf Run.
And then my sister and I channeled our inner preteen for a bit. All I have to say is: Backstreet Boys and Jesse McCartney? Still got it. (Jesse's dancing alone may have been worth my $40.) However, Pauly D was the worst. No one needs to fist pump for a straight 30 minutes while listening to him play iTunes. And OH MY GOSH THE SCREAMING GIRLS. Pretty sure my ears were still ringing when I woke up at the crack of dawn to drive back to Orange County.
Weekend well spent? I'd say so.