the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Pictorial Recap of a Very Hurtful Holiday

This is my cousin discovering the new habit of walking around with his pants pulled down around his ankles.

This is Jon silently freaking out at the price of water ($4.00/bottle) on the room service menu at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.

This is the green chair in our room at the Hard Rock. Other than the gigantic semen stain on the right side of the cushion, it was a very comfortable chair.

This is the bed in our room at the Hard Rock. It reminds me of a bed you might see in a really creepy scene from a Kubrick movie.

This is really creepy me taking pictures of myself in the bathroom mirror at the Hard Rock. I’m not sure what the “V” on my sweater is supposed to signify, but I think I was pretty successful at convincing everyone that night that it totally stood for “Virgin.”

This is the sunrise outside the window at the Hard Rock, because there’s no such thing as a sunset in Las Vegas.

This is our friend Pat (on the left) and Kent (on the right) outside the Mormon temple in St. George, Utah, about an hour and a half from Las Vegas. Pat was getting married and was about to end a 32-year streak of not getting any.

This is me and our friend Velia outside the St. George Temple reenacting the sacred ceremonies performed within.

This is Velia’s nine month old baby, Miles. You can’t really tell from this photo, but that kid’s head smelled just like vanilla ice cream and I almost ate him.

This is our friend Pat and his lovely new bride Rebecca, right after exchanging vows inside the temple. Notice the heavenly glow about the heavenly couple. It must be God.

This is The Dirty Three: me, Jon, and Sam outside the temple. However, Sam was clean enough that they let him inside the temple.

This is our friend Mike and sometimes he is a pimp.

This is our friend Mike and our new friend Nick. Sometimes Nick is a disco ball.

This me and scrumptious bearded Armstrong, moments before the Absolut Kurant hit like a motherfuking truck.

This is me trying earnestly to be as pimp-like as Mike. I want to be like Mike.

This is Jon telling me, baby, you should really stop trying to be like Mike.

This is me singing Britney’s “Hit Me Baby One More Time” on the karoake machine, moments after the Absolut Kurant hit me like a motherfucking truck.

This is Jon singing Charlie Daniel’s Band “Devil Went Down to Georgia” on the karaoke machine. I’d say the Absolut Kurant hit him more like an economy-size Toyota than a motherfucking truck, but we all can’t hold our liquor like an Armstrong, now can we.

This is me taking a photo of Jon because he was just so cute and because I was just so drunk.

This is Mike singing Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5” on the karaoke machine.

This is a group of random people at this great karoake party. I can’t remember any of their names.

This is more random people. I think I remember the blonde girl on the right talking earlier in the night about how her dress was cutting off her fucking circulation at her fucking underarms, and then she apologized to her niece who was sitting across the room, so fucking sorry for saying fuck. I really think I should hang out with her more.

This is me singing the bassline to Cher’s “Believe” because I was too drunk to get actual words out. And there is the fucking underarm circulation lady. She totally rocks.

This is Mike and we love him dearly.

— All photos by Jon and Heather Armstrong, except for the one of The Dirty Three, that one was taken by a 2-year old.

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

read more

SaveSave