Meet Me at Foxwoods

Meet Me at Foxwoods


This past weekend I participated in my second annual “Asswipe” convention with all the women in my family. Basically it’s an excuse for all of us douchy women to get together, drink, gamble, soak up the sun, eat a lot of food and make fun of everything because we’re asswipes. We had an amazing time and most importantly, the opportunity to take it all in. Here are a few life lessons and observations  I took from my 24 hours at MGM Grand at Foxwoods:

1) Identity Crisis

I’m sorry, are we in Vegas? No, we’re not. Oh that’s right; we’re in Ledyard, Connecticut. For some reason MGM at Foxwoods wants to think its MGM Vegas and I’ve got news for you MGM, you’re not. The age ranges from 21-91 years old so I don’t really feel that your treatment is entirely appropriate.  Getting into MGM’s nightclub SHRINE, is like getting into Diddy’s White Party in 2003. Stop. I saw a guy get turned away because he was wearing shorts. Are you serious? Does it really matter that Petahh from Sommerville has a Sox hat on inside of the bar? Who is it hurting? Nobody. A drunk girl who is supposed to be getting married in three weeks will still make out with him after she freaks out that her soon-to-be husband is going to be her “last everything ever”.  So quit being so hard on everyone (bouncers at SHRINE), GO Sox.

2) Clothing

…is clearly optional. The bigger the girl, the smaller the clothes. I’m all about “owning” what you’ve got, but c’mon girls, I shouldn’t see your ass cheeks unless you are in your swim trunks.  I get it, you’re trying to look fly for the men of Ledyard, Connecticut, but the truth is men don’t care what you’re wearing, because the truth is, women dress for women.

3) Thank You for Smoking

Walking into a casino at Foxwoods is like a time warp back to 1998.  Smoking is allowed in the casino and the smokers don’t give a fuck where they are blowing it. It’s always nice to get back to your room and smell the cigarette/cigar smoke that has clung to every inch of your body, especially your hair. And when the smokers smoke, it’s not just one, it’s at least 100. One after another, after another. If there is a kid there (which by the way, why would you bring a child to a casino?) it doesn’t matter. It’s as if it really was 1998 and people know smoking is bad, but just haven’t realized how bad it is yet. Be considerate guys, you’re so smelly.

4) Liquid Sundays

Liquid Sundays is MGMs claim to fame in ol’ Ledyard. It’s basically a drunken pool party that is 21+ and doesn’t start until noon. Even if you want to go lay out at the completely empty pool at 9am on a beautiful Sunday, you can’t because 1) you have to be 21+ and 2) the staff has to set up for Liquid Sundays. There are advertisements everywhere, and it’s all any staff member talks about leading up to the event. Once noon had rolled around, the line was around the exterior of the pool to get in. I was laying out on a grassy knoll because I didn’t want to go to Liquid Sundays and I wanted a tan so I had to just observe as an outsider looking in. The crowd was diverse to say the least. There were women doing their water aerobics in the pool, surrounded by annihilated, sloppy 21 year olds, and middle aged men out for a ‘boys’ weekend.  The advantage to the grassy knoll was that we got to watch families all ready to go swimming with the kids, get denied at the door because no children were allowed. The good news was that DJ MGM was killin’ it on the…laptop.

5)  I’m Getting Married

If you live in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, or Connecticut and you’re getting married, you’re most likely having your bachelor/bachelorette party at Foxwoods. There are just swarms of drunk bitches in white dresses with an entourage of girls in black dresses. Is that some unwritten rule? You basically have to have a more casually dressed wedding outfit at your bachelorette? Either way, the Bride-to-be is always screaming around the casino that she’s getting married and trying to talk to every man that she can get her claws on. The men, on the other hand are more into the gambling/smoking cigars/getting turned away from SHRINE. They have a more subtle approach at night, but during the day at the pool they are full blown vultures. One group of men saved three chairs by the pool but weren’t using them. They continued to let women approach them and ask if the seats were taken and the men would constantly ask “what can we get if we give you them?”. Sidenote: to the man in the green shirt getting married, I saw you give your number to that cougar tennis mom, you’re gross.


Justine Kolsky

About Justine Kolsky

Justine Kolsky is a writer for Rookerville. Aside from trying to perfect her twerk, she likes to spend her time being cold and sarcastic to her peers. Tell her I said "hello", she'll know what it means.


1 Comment

  1. Justine,

    I commend you on your accuracy regarding the 28 wonderful hours we spent together at FOXWOODS last weekend.

    There is something that you have forgotten. If you don’t mind, I’d like to call it #6.

    6.) “Fine” Dining

    There’s an Italian restaurant in between the hotel elevators and the public restrooms. It’s supposed to be one of the best. The entrance is right on the edge of the casino, so the stale smell of smoke is consistent both in and outside of the restaurant main doors. The debacle of an evening started with the table we reserved for ten people not being available. When we tried to argue the matter, the horrible hostess (and apparently GM of the restaurant, which we would find out later) said: “Well, what do you want me to do? Tell the people sitting there to get up?”. Jaw. Dropped. Ya, she said that. This was one of those moments where you look around, and try to get your bearings. Am I in Vegas? No. Am I in a metropolitan city? No. Is that why this hostess/GM is such a b-i-t-c-h? Probably. The evening continued just as it began: Terrible service, dreadful crowd, and to top it all off, they had the audacity to include a 20% gratuity in the bill. Note to self: A celebrity chef owner doesn’t automatically make a restaurant good. “Fine” dining my ass.


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