Smells like strippers and shame

I recently came back from my family reunion which was held in Las Vegas. Yes, I realized that a family reunion in Vegas means that my family is full of alcoholic gamblers, better yet it's our second family reunion in Sin City! Maybe I'm not adopted after all. Not that I ever thought I was since I am my father's clone, which is kind of unfortunate, but I digress. I'm sure that's why I'm the favorite...Well that and because I have a future unlike my sister.

So what occurs during my family's reunions? Copious amounts of alcohol is consumed, Asian is spoken (I'm so p.c. it's amazing...I get it from my father), my nonexistant love life is discussed, oh and a trip to the strip club.

Yes, my family is so fucked up that my cousins and I ended up at a classy establishment called the Spearmint Rhino. Firstly, WHAT KIND OF NAME IS THAT?! Also I once again question my bloodline.

I want the world to know that the Spearmint Rhino (god I just love that name now...), is a touching-encouraged strip club. And that we had bottle service at said strip club.

Two of my girl cousins thoroughly enjoyed the night by asking the girls if their anatomy was real or fake (real butts for the most part, fake boobs for all!). I had 3 lap dances all paid for by my cousin's husband; I shared a lap dance with my 24 year old male virgin cousin (sexuality is ambiguous, but my dad and I are betting on gay and out in 5 years).

Nothing is more priceless than shocking a stripper. The look on their faces when we said that we're all related and in town for a family reunion was great. The place was like the international house of strippers, every flavor you want, with any toppings. Due to our classiness and bottle service the guards were like DJs taking requests, "What kind of girl do you guys want? I'll fetch them for you."

Let's skim over the part where my cousin goes to a private room leaving me alone with his friend that tagged along. I was sitting there complaining that I wish we went to a normal bar, since I miss getting hit on (yes my self esteem is THAT fragile and nonexistant), and in order to feel good about myself in that environment and Vega in general; I'd require an eating disorder and boob job. His nice friend aptly named Bert (Humberto...I'm an asshole I know), took it upon himself to hit on me.

Me: I wish we were somewhere normal. I want a real bar, I want to get hit on, bawww.
Bert: You're hot...yeah you're hot.
Me:Thanks?
Bert:You don't have to say thanks...you know what would be awesome? Watching you get a lap dance. That would be hot.
Me:OH.

Meanwhile I'm sure private-show-cousin was boning a stripper and the other cousins fondled more strippers.

I nearly forgot this part! I got tosecond base with a stripper. After being forced to fondle and spank things, I think my Czech stripper got bored and decided to go digging in my shirt. She told me I had "Verrry nice boobies. Let her see." And then she proceeded to look inside my shirt and bra. I then promptly decided I should find Jesus. So I guess I had a religious experience at the strip club... Please I'm a heathen, that probably won't happen.

Things I have learned from Vegas:
1.Strippers are aggressive as hell (did I mention my cousin got into a fight with one for only giving her $40?)
2.$10,000 a month for working 3 days a week is impressive as hell (you go stripper Glen Coco!)
3.Daquiris from comedicly large cups taste better...they even taste better when you take a bubble bath in them
4.There are a plethora of middle aged midwestern women in sparkly tops in the day time
5.The family that goes to strip clubs together stays together.
6.It's really difficult to wash away the smell of strippers and shame from your hair

Oh and today while I was being studious and catching up on my LSAT homework outside at a cafe, I a bird pooped on the book. It's a fucking sign I tell you.