I’m easily 30 lbs heavier than every single one of the hot girls going to Vegas for a friend’s stagette. I’ve got two small babies and a shit load of work to do. Going to Vegas is probably the last thing I should…ask me if I care.

I don’t.

I’m determined. I want to go and surprise my girlfriend and experience sin city for the first time. I want to feel like the old single hot tamale I once was. I want to be baby free for a few days.

Thanks to my amazing sister and mother, I booked a last minute flight and hotel and haul ass to get there. First things first: the wardrobe! I’m so screwed in this department. The last time I wore heels, I was puking in the bathroom stalls and now I’m pumping breast milk in the stalls.

I borrow the latest sky-high Michael Kors stilettos from my mother, pack three dresses, jeans, a bikini, my breast pump and I’m off!

Tuesday: Cheap drunk = fantasies of abandonment
I arrive Tuesday night to meet up with my best friend at the Hard Rock Hotel. Heels, dress, lipstick; we hit the bar. I’m drunk after two drinks. Tipsy and talking about abandoning my children and running off with some high roller. Time for bed. Pump before bed and tomorrow is a new day. Thankfully my boobs aren’t leaking milk.

Wednesday: Cirque du Soleil with Boozy Strange Man

I wake up to the blaring noise of the rollercoaster at New York New York Hotel and vow I’ll ride that sucker before I go.

I spend the day walking up and down the strip before I discover the Deuce. This amazing double decker bus that takes light years to get you from one hotel to the next but saves your feet from blister and blood hell.

I escape my medieval castle (Excalibur hotel -cheapest room I could find on the strip), and head for the bus. I do the tourist usual and check out Ceasar’s Palace, the Venetian etc etc etc.

It’s nighttime and I’m flying solo as the entire stagette entourage doesn’t arrive until Thursday. Bride-to-be was busy doing something. I head to the Bellagio to catch the fountains, only to find I’ve come at the tail end of the show. I want to see Cirque du Soleil so I get into the stand-by line for the show ‘O’ only to learn they usually take 10 people on standby. The line has 200 people in it and I’m literally the last one.

Suddenly, out of nowhere some dude in a suit saunters up to me and says, “Would you like tickets for a fraction of the price?” I accuse him of being a scammer and ask “How am I to know this ticket is real?” he says, “You’re sitting next to me….my client canceled. You want it or not?” I shell out $40 for the $175 ticket and thank my good luck that I’ve got the best seats in the house!

I sit next to an engineer who talks the entire show about how flexible the performers are. He ‘oooos’ and ‘aahhs’ every time there’s a back bend. He’s had one too many slushy booze drinks. I take the Deuce home and prepare for day 2.

Thursday: Pumping my Titties at The Bellagio

In the morning, I’m craving a proper brunch and make my way to Bouchon Cafe (supposedly the best Brunch in Vegas). I arrive to the top of the Venetian at 10:40am to learn that Brunch is over and closed at 10:30am. I beg for a croissant to no avail. I make my way to the Paris Hotel to sit on the terrace in proper French style. The sun is shining and bright and they sit me in the shade. I befriend the single dude at the next table over in the sun by asking if he’d like company. He does. After Omar and I are done breakfast I make my way to the Hard Rock Hotel for some pool action. They’re famous for the insane pool party they call Rehab. By this time I’ve pumped three times that day and my boobs are slowly filling up. I’ve pumped inside the Bellagio, The Venetian, the Excalibur and the Paris Hotel –where I was kindly told that the stalls might be ahem ‘more private’. I responded by saying the stalls don’t have an electrical outlet. I’m sure all the women in Vegas have seen my tits and milk by now.

At night, I squish my breast pump into a clutch purse (barely) and hope to god they don’t search purses at the door. We hit Tryst—an insanely beautiful club with a 50-foot waterfall inside; all part of the Wynn hotel. I dance the night away and duck out only once to empty my boobs.

Friday: Topless in a Rap Video
I wake up late but decide to find the pool I’d heard about where women go topless. I’m determined to find it. I learn it’s called Bare and it’s at The Mirage. I bus there, sneak into the pool area by faking that my ‘roommate’ has our key card. Nothing out of the ordinary, kids are running around—this can’t be Bare–not a single topless woman in sight. I spot a giant wrought iron fence off in the bushes and make my way there. Behind the gate I see the entrance to what looks like a club. A security man is coming to open part of the gate to get through…I unbutton my blouse just a little bit walk up to him and say, ‘Ohh I’m so sorry I’m lost…I’m supposed to be on the other side of this fence at Bare.” To which he replies, “Well this is not the way but I’ll let you in just this once.”

I walk up to the entrance and another man says, “Did they give you a ticket?” Having no idea what he’s talking about I answer, “They did give me a ticket but I seem to have lost it.”

“Alright here’s your new ticket.”

Sweet. I talk them into comping me a free chair (chairs cost $150 just to sit in) and I lay my ass down to take in the scene. I’ve been transported directly into a music video. There are hot guys everywhere, hot video skanks and half the women are topless. It’s an insane club, music blaring and bodies throbbing. There’s a clear glass hot tub filled with people sipping champagne and frolicking. The 21-year old in the cabana next to me just won $72,000 at the casino the night before. It’s a total shit show. Everyone is drunk and partying and I may be 30 lbs overweight but damn it I’m feeling pretty MILF-like right now! The pool boys fix your hair, your towel, your toes and gets you anything you need or want. They’re your bitch and they’re amazingly efficient. Within minutes pool boy-bitch calls me by name and offers champagne. The servers are straight out of Maxim but dumb as hell. It’s heaven.

Kim Kardashian’s ex-boyfriend Ray J is here, he’s filming his reality TV show. He comes with rap stars and wannabes and they set up shop in the VIP hot tub area. As I prepare to go topless, a member of his entourage comes down to my chair and gives me a booty shaking lap dance. I decide to get into it a little bit only to discover the cameras are rolling. After his dance is done he moves on to the other girls at the pool and I have to sign a TV release waiver just in case the footage is used on Ray J’s show.

I’m thrilled and mortified all at once. I sign the waiver.

I talk the bouncer into letting me into the VIP hot tub area. I get there and meet Fran, a high roller from Jersey, his wife and his best friends’ wife-both of whom Fran is kissing and cuddling with. Both have just purchased boobs on Fran’s bill. They buy me more champagne. The hot tub is incredible. I loose track of time, I’m tipsy and dizzy and in a rap video. I realize I need to make it to the super swanky Aria hotel for dinner at Eva Longoria’s restaurant for 7pm with the girls. It’s 6:30pm and I’m easily an hour away on foot with no evening dress.

I stuff my wet bikini in my purse, air kiss my pool-boy-bitch goodbye and run to the closest store –thank god for H&M. I buy the first black dress and walk out of the store with it on. I run to Beso (Longoria’s restaurant) and I make it just in time. I ask the hostess if it’s totally inappropriate that my hair looks beached and I’ve got sandals on. She looks me up and down and says, “Honey it’s Vegas, anything goes.”

Dinner is pricey and I’m still drunk. I keep drinking and decide I’ll spend the night watching the fountains at Bellagio after dinner. I go but can only last one show. I’m still wet from the whole day at the pool and I’m freezing. No sweater and no love. I head back to my castle.

Saturday: Lose the Money, Keep the Tail

The next day I fall into the black hole that is craps. I take free gaming lessons at the casino in order to master Black Jack and craps. I lose a shitload of money and make my way to meet the other girls staying at the Wynn. The theme is devils and angel. The Bride-to-Be is an angel while the rest of us are devils. More champagne and 15 girls are raring to go. We’re dressed in black with devil ears, and devil tails. The limo comes to get us and I have to go straight from the hotel to the airport. I hop into the hummer limo, music blaring, everyone is buzzing and we’re doing it up like it’s 1999. We get to the lobby of my hotel (where the girls have booked to see a scandalous show and where my luggage awaits), I strip off my t-shirt in the lobby so the bride can keep it as memorabilia and I haul ass to the airport to leave on the red-eye home. I make it just in time, check in, get on the packed flight. Land in Toronto safely, go through customs, go down to pick up my luggage when a guy looks at me and says, “ummm did you know you’re wearing a tail?”

I look back and sure enough the shiny red devil’s tail is still attached to my ass. I gently take it off and smile. The guy says, ‘Must have been a good night in Vegas huh?!

I smile and stumble towards the door to my ride. Exhausted and exhilarated I think to myself that I can’t wait to see my baby girls and tell them this story in 18 years.