There’s this scene from The Hangover that replays in my head every time I’m en route to Vegas. It’s the morning after a raucous bachelor party, when the guys wake up confused and hungover. They are greeted with none other than a growling tiger in their suite, a friend with a missing front tooth, and a random person’s crying baby. I always considered the movie to be thoroughly entertaining, but all too ridiculous and contrived…that is, until I experienced my own unexpectedly untamed version of The Hangover.This weekend, I lost my phone, my voice, and my ID in Vegas. Imagine navigating around a 21+ hub without any sort of proper identification…it’s not that easy, I’ll tell you that much! First, I managed to make it past an intolerable bouncer and into a nightclub with the license of a girl who is a whopping five inches shorter and multiple shades darker than me. Then, I networked with mutual friends and got a potential business connection with Swedish House Mafia playing in the background and vodka flowing in the foreground. The following day, I bombarded a stern casino manager with several obviously unofficial forms of identification (i.e. my Costco membership card) and reasoned him into letting me stay in the casino. After the trip, I paid for it all in the form of a painful two-hour wait time at the DMV and a week-long persistent cough. In short, some things just cannot be explained or justified, and my weekend full of all sorts of crazy was one of them. Amidst the craziness, I learned that sometimes, it pays to be a girl…at least in Vegas! And for those times when that doesn’t quite cut it, carry two forms of identification.