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and I'm out of my mind on drugs, crying hysterically in an alley behind what I will later refer to as "the VIP Fuck Room" at The Spearmint Rhino in Las Vegas. The story begins when my fiancé leaves for his bachelor party in Las Vegas. To have a feeling that is uncomfortable and then to express it.
Because I don't want to appear "needy." That would be the worst possible thing.
Thanks a lot, Party Down, for proving me wrong just one week after I griped about Roman being a total downer.
Idealists, who steadfastly stand according to their principles and never compromise their rigid set of morals.
Opportunists, who will break any rule or code for personal gain.
I start thinking about all the photos I sent my fiancé yesterday. BSo it's very fortuitous, then, that in the cabana next to us at the day club is one of the biggest TV stars in the world. My friends start mingling with his friends, and now we are all friends.
And down the rabbit hole I go, until I find the answer I have been searching for all along: YOU ARE NOT ENOUGH. I chug a couple of bottles of water, head down to the spa, sauna, steam, handle it. Within 20 seconds, I am surrounded by three security guards who inform me that the possession of marijuana in Nevada is a crime.
My chosen life partner is kind, smart, hilarious, sensitive, and wildly handsome.