Clowns, Prime Rib, and Elvis: A Weekend in Vegas

This past weekend was the USA Sevens Rugby tournament in Las Vegas. Why does that matter? Because my inamorato Jerry plays rugby, and his team was entered in the invitational the day before. Ergo, we headed to Vegas for a long weekend.

Jerry's team, Speed Freak Clowns on Acid:

Some of the guys were in clown wigs, and they ALL painted their noses red. I guess it's some sort of Braveheart-war markings kind of thing. You'll be happy to know the Clowns were undefeated in their games. Their fame extends beyond the pitch as well. Everyone knows the Clowns, which isn't surprising given how they dress (picture wigs, leopard print, and sequins). I've never met a group of men who like to play dress up like this burly bunch.

The rest of the weekend, we watched the Sevens games in the VIP tent. One word: POSH. They plied us with food and drink, and we had seats right at the end of the try zone. However, I did go slumming in the stadium with a bunch of bananas. Banana #1 (on the left) is my friend Toxic. 

What else does one do in Vegas but watch rugby and hang out with bananas? One gets married by Elvis. Or fake-married, as it were.

It happened like this: before my trip, for some reason I started getting texts and emails from close friends with an array of warnings that amounted to "You better not get hitched!"

Which, of course, led us to this: 

Jerry set it all up. The limo picked us and our wedding party up from the Hard Rock and delivered us to the Las Vegas Wedding Chapel. On the way, Jerry pulled out a bottle of Wild Turkey for the two of us. Liquid courage. Also, it's immoral to be too sober at your own Vegas wedding, and what's more classy than Wild Turkey?

Elvis waited for us at the chapel, because if you're going to get married in Vegas, you've got to have Elvis do it. Isn't my wedding dress awesome? And Jerry is particularly fetching. His shoes are green snakeskin. Yes, he's special.

My ring ROCKS. Jerry's is matching, in red.

Where Elvis pronounced us husband and wife, right before he began to sing Viva Las Vegas! to us:

He was an excellent Elvis, I must say. Very heartfelt. And he had moves. 

After the ceremony, we had a brief reception at the Double Down (bacon martinis and midget porn, baby) before we headed back to the Hard Rock for our wedding dinner of all-you-can-eat prime rib. Then a bunch of drunk rugby players gave us well wishes (and hit on me) before Jerry and I slipped back to our room to begin our honeymoon.

In summary: yes, we had a ceremony. No, it wasn't legal. Yes, Jerry and I are utterly happy. No, we aren't really married. But we've already decided that the next time we're having a pirate wedding. Arrr!