Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 2 of 2)

September 11

September 11

Once Brittany had finished giving Greg and I the rundown of her hook-up last night, the three of us finally fell asleep. Considering it was about the same time I would have gone to bed after a regular Vegas bender, sleeping in this morning was absolutely necessary.

As with yesterday morning, Greg was out of the room when I woke up. God only knows what he was doing downstairs – likely the penny slots – but he returned fully showered and dressed before Brittany and I were even close to getting out of bed.

While Brittany and I slowly rubbed our crusty eyes open, it was decided that today would be devoted to a classic Vegas buffet. Since I had wanted to experience one for so long, I was totally on board. After a lot of research and texting, we settled on The Buffet at Wynn. There was a bottomless alcohol option on the menu, so it was a no-brainer.

Even before we left Bally's this afternoon, today's vibe was already quite different than Friday and Saturday. This is exactly why I always insist that three nights in Vegas is more than adequate. It's not that you run out of things to do, but I think the regret of each day and night's debauchery slowly creeps up on you. By the time the third day of your trip arrives, your liver simply can't handle any further gluttony. With each extra dollar you withdraw from your bank account, the voice of reason in your head grows louder and louder. Not to mention your bloated stomach, which swells larger with every passing minute. Of course, it's easy to say all of this in hindsight. This morning, I was completely game for more food and drink.

Following yet another pilgrimage along The Strip, we arrived at the Wynn. After forking out $80 each – ouch – we settled into our booth. I kid you not, we were at this buffet for four hours. Four fucking hours! In fact, we were there so long that the offerings were switched from brunch to dinner. We had the best time. Plate after plate, we joked around with one another while tossing back our many mimosas.

That's another thing. Do you ever find that after an excessive amount of binge drinking, it's harder to get drunk? The deal with the buffet was that drink service was cut off after two hours. We managed to make it closer to the three-hour mark, but we weren't able to drink the whole time. Still, I probably had about ten drinks or more and felt completely sober. What a rip-off! I wasn't looking to get bed-wetting drunk again, but I was hoping my $80 would have gone a bit further in the alcohol department.

Sobriety aside, brunch was great. A little too great, perhaps. Once we began our trek back to Bally's, I could barely fucking move. I was verging on vomit-level full. You know that you've gone too far when you start breathing as though you're in a Lamaze class.

Fortunately, everything is far as fuck in Vegas. The lengthy walk home helped to calm my stomach. If I don't eat for another week, I'm sure I'll be fine. In fact, I'll probably still be full. After the disastrous month of August, the gluttony of last weekend in Montreal, and basically an entire summer of no exercise and endless eating and drinking, I have completely lost the sliver of a "body" I had back in May.