Atlantic City. Which I like to refer to as, Atlantic Shitty. A city that was once the home of mobsters, flappers and jazz. Whiskey, wine, women, song and slot machines during Prohibition. That was the 1920s and a lot has changed. The city has definitely suffered a few blows with recession, and the hurricane and its visitors are painfully aware of the fact. The city has scars visible to the naked eye but, it also has a vibrancy and life that can be thrilling and fun. My advice? Go. Stay at the Borgada, and embrace the crazy. It's a little dirty, a little uncomfortable and a lot of fun. (The people watching is to-die)
We started the trip off with five girls in a Jeep Wrangler. Don't all great stories start that way?
8 hours later, we were in Atlantic City drinking beer on the boardwalk and enjoying Jerseys best of leopard, low cut, too tight, too bedazzled, with more cleavage than Dolly Parton ensembles. And the hair gel! It's a real thing, trust me.
We shopped around Caesars, picked up a few new pairs of RayBans and Dolces for the Summer and headed back to the hotel for a much needed nap. When we woke up, it was wine o'clock and we got dressed in our Atlantic City bests with tight jeans, tight dresses and sky high heels. When in Rome, right?
Thanks to the greatest, and nothing close to average Joe, family and friend of our group- we were able to see comedian Russell Peters in amazing seats at the Borgada. Hysterical, completely inappropriate and just what we needed to begin our night. We were then taken to a whirlwind of bars and restaurants and given VIP treatment. Drinks, food and dancing later I was down $50 on Roulette (don't worry, I got that back!) and it was time to go home and prepare for the debauchery that would be Sunday.
The ladies cleaned up good, and ready to laugh.
Russell Peters before dinner and drinks was the perfect mood set.
The best Sake I have ever tasted, surrounded by best friends.
We woke up, and sufficiently carb and mimosa loaded to prepare for a beautiful day in the sun and sand. Bottle service at the pool then led to five hangry girls running down the boardwalk for an absurd amount of chips and guac. Sufficiently bloated, we made our way to a packed beach bar and sang and danced to the worst band I've heard in a long time. (That's saying something since we'd already downed enough alcohol to serve said beach bar all day) Luckily, the five of us drowned him out.
A ride in a Jitney later, we were ready to get ourselves together enough for a night of fun. Again, VIP service in our restaurant, a fierce VIP table next to the DJ (who was from Cinci!) and across from Mr. John Legend. We danced the night away until the wee hours of the morning.
Amazing wine, and pizzas for dinner before dancing.
The greatest man, and my favorite champs.
The next day, it was time to head home. Five dehydrated and hangry women piled into a car, almost died in traffic and finally when we found Chipotle there were tears flowing. Literal tears. One stop for Ben and Jerry and a few fill ups later we were back in the CLE.
It was the most interesting girls trip I've ever been on. Atlantic City is a gem. Definitely not a diamond but, probably at least a cubic zirconia.
Next stop, summer activities.