Ok, people, ok! The Vegas blog! Jeez.
But first, an aside. I've been drinking these protein shakes lately, and I had one right before my workout. Unfortunately, I had a tad too much, cuz they taste pretty fine, and I came quite close to hurling. That would've been pretty cool, too, right in the middle of the gym, spraying white foam. Ok, let's move away from that.
Vegas. I had a MUCH better time this go-round in Vegas, lemme tell ya. We'll do this systematically by days.
Thursday. We start off by cruising through the Dulles airport, which is easily the most ridiculous airport I've ever been in. There's construction everywhere, you have to shuttle to New Hampshire to get a plane, and there are people poking you with sticks the entire time. Ok, I made up the last part, but the rest is true. I'm traveling with my boy Ricky.
On the way out, we manage to get on one of the more rickety planes ever. I'm talking think of the oldest person you know, add 20 years, and put them in a windstorm with a cane. It was quite exciting. Luckily, I managed to get a seat in the very back of the plane, next to the can. A very important point, because I manage to get drunk on Bacardi and Pepsi on the way, and with all the water I'm drinking, I'm in the can every 20 minutes or so. The flight attendant even made a joke about moving my seat in there. Real mofo funny. By the way, Bacardi and Pepsi ... a vile combo. Bacardi is the ugly stepchild of the rum family ... actually, it's more like the drug dealing cousin ... and Pepsi doesn't go well with anything. Bleh.
We touch down, and quickly learn that the boys who were supposed to pick us up are quite drunk already, and they have women. They're so drunk that our buddy ends two separate phone conversations with Ricky by saying "I love you, man". Hmm.
Needless to say, Ricky and I have some catching up to do. We arrive, and these guys are completely trashed. As a bonus, so are the two women they are with. As a buzzkill, the two women aren't exactly Vegas showgirls, and they're both in college. Oof. One of them is in the Army reserves, and informs us that she does 32 pushups before every shower. Uh ...
We head up to the suite. Our buddy Ben has graciously gotten suites for all of us, and his is the master. This thing is amazing. I can't even describe it, other than to say that it's almost as big as my entire house, one wall is just windows with a view of the mountains, we have 3 huge plasma TVs, and Ben's ordered bottle service for the room. I'm grinnin' so wide it's a wonder my head doesn't fall off. You guessed it - I got drunk! In fact, I managed to stay drunk throughout the weekend until we were almost home. YES!
I'm really not sure what happened for a period of about 3 hours. We gambled a bit that night, Ricky and I got a fine breakfast at 7 am, and we crashed ... for 2 hours.
Friday night was a tad odd. We spent the day in Hooters, and I think my neck still hurts from watching beautiful, scantily clad women walk by. For the most part, Vegas was low on women because it was mostly guys there for the tournament ... which was why we went to Hooters. Big thinkers, we.
By the way, conversation topics for the weekend consisted of women, porn, gambling, sports, porn, booze, gambling, porn, women, movie lines, movie lines, and porn.
After a full day of drinking and watching hoop in the suites, we head out. Ricky proceeds to get famously drunk. At one point, we're in a joint called the Rum Jungle, and I'm talking to a couple of lovely women from the OC. I'm not even sure what that means, but I managed to work it into the conversation, and they both ran with it. Ricky calls the rest of the boys, informing them to come meet us. He does this three times. Each time, he mentions that we're talking to a couple of hot women (and he even barks at the ladies to say hello to the boys) yet he fails to mention where we are. Classic.
We manage to lose the girls, find the guys, and we head upstairs to a fine joint called Mist. I think. It's on the top floor of Mandalay Bay, and it has this incredible view of the strip. Actually, what's even cooler is when you go take a whizz in the men's room, it has an incredible view of the pool. Quite the joint.
Now, as I mentioned, women are in fairly scarce supply. Even though it's a little better in Mist, we're still looking at about a 70-30 split to the bad. As I'm cruising through the crowd to where the dudes are standing, I walk by this beautiful lass. Here's the fine convo I have with her:
Me: Hi! How's it going?
She: Fine! How are you?
Me: Fabulous! Are you having a good night?
Now, right about here, I'm thinking I'm in good shape. She's hot, I'm getting a good vibe, etc. ... yeah, I know it's early, but I have a feel for these things. Let's continue ...
She: Yes! I'm having a great night! Would you like to have a good time?
Ok, it's no secret that I can be a bit naive. Ok, a lot naive. Naturally, this hint flew right over my head. Further:
Me: Sure! Who doesn't want to have a good time on a Friday night?
She: Well, it's $1000 an hour.
Me: [blank stare]
She: [flutters eyes]
Me: [blanker stare]
She: Well?
Me: Um, do I look like I need to hire a hooker?
She: Well, no, but we could have a lot of fun!
Me: Um, thanks anyway. I can't afford to have that much fun!
Hookers 1, Me 0. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure the going rate for a hooker is $300/hour. Not only did I completely misread the situation, but I was getting ripped off to boot! Quality.
That pretty much did me in for the night. I managed to pull a full 6 hours of sleep that night. Very proud.
Saturday, I wake up at 8. Indiana is supposed to play Gonzaga at 9, and I've got to prep. I get myself situated on the couch with a drink and some chips, and I realize that the game isn't until 5. Friggin' 3 hour time difference. Yeah, I know 9-5 isn't 3 hours, but it's too long to explain.
We decide to go to Fatburger. Why? Why not?! Plus, it's just fun to say Fatburger. Try it. See? Saturday was very odd. I started drinking early, and I'm drinking a lot. No buzz. I drink more. Nuttin'. We're watching games, putzing around in the suite, ordering room service, I drink more and more ... nuttin'. All day this battle goes on, and I continue to lose.
Everyone's pretty well flat. I watch the IU game at the sportsbook (they lose ... cripes), everyone's gambling and putzing around, but you can see it's going to be a quiet night because everyone's hungover. So, I decide I'm going to finish the rest of the bottle of Captain. Hey, can't have booze going to waste, doncha know.
On the last drink, it hits me right smack in the head. I'm tanked. It's right about midnight, I'm wide awake, we fly at 6, and I'm completely ripped. Luckily, my buddy Dougy is up as well, so we end up talking in our suite for a bit. After what seems like an hour or two, the phone rings. It's Ricky's wake up call for our flight. Hours of sleep on Saturday ... zip. Zilch. Nada. Bupkis.
As if that isn't enough, we get on the plane, and I'm still drunk. As a bonus, we get to fly to LA to catch a connecting flight home. Oof. Best part is, they're showing Walk The Line on the way home. We're on one of these monster planes, with 5 seats in the middle and 2 on each side, and it's filled with some sorta field trip. At the end of the movie, when John asks June to marry him, I'm fighting back tears with 20 fifth graders from some Christian school around me. Classic.
So, final tally for Vegas ... down a few hundred dollars, no practice of kissing skills, plenty of visuals, one KO by a hooker, and a really pissed off liver. Done and done.
Anyone up for Vegas this weekend?
But first, an aside. I've been drinking these protein shakes lately, and I had one right before my workout. Unfortunately, I had a tad too much, cuz they taste pretty fine, and I came quite close to hurling. That would've been pretty cool, too, right in the middle of the gym, spraying white foam. Ok, let's move away from that.
Vegas. I had a MUCH better time this go-round in Vegas, lemme tell ya. We'll do this systematically by days.
Thursday. We start off by cruising through the Dulles airport, which is easily the most ridiculous airport I've ever been in. There's construction everywhere, you have to shuttle to New Hampshire to get a plane, and there are people poking you with sticks the entire time. Ok, I made up the last part, but the rest is true. I'm traveling with my boy Ricky.
On the way out, we manage to get on one of the more rickety planes ever. I'm talking think of the oldest person you know, add 20 years, and put them in a windstorm with a cane. It was quite exciting. Luckily, I managed to get a seat in the very back of the plane, next to the can. A very important point, because I manage to get drunk on Bacardi and Pepsi on the way, and with all the water I'm drinking, I'm in the can every 20 minutes or so. The flight attendant even made a joke about moving my seat in there. Real mofo funny. By the way, Bacardi and Pepsi ... a vile combo. Bacardi is the ugly stepchild of the rum family ... actually, it's more like the drug dealing cousin ... and Pepsi doesn't go well with anything. Bleh.
We touch down, and quickly learn that the boys who were supposed to pick us up are quite drunk already, and they have women. They're so drunk that our buddy ends two separate phone conversations with Ricky by saying "I love you, man". Hmm.
Needless to say, Ricky and I have some catching up to do. We arrive, and these guys are completely trashed. As a bonus, so are the two women they are with. As a buzzkill, the two women aren't exactly Vegas showgirls, and they're both in college. Oof. One of them is in the Army reserves, and informs us that she does 32 pushups before every shower. Uh ...
We head up to the suite. Our buddy Ben has graciously gotten suites for all of us, and his is the master. This thing is amazing. I can't even describe it, other than to say that it's almost as big as my entire house, one wall is just windows with a view of the mountains, we have 3 huge plasma TVs, and Ben's ordered bottle service for the room. I'm grinnin' so wide it's a wonder my head doesn't fall off. You guessed it - I got drunk! In fact, I managed to stay drunk throughout the weekend until we were almost home. YES!
I'm really not sure what happened for a period of about 3 hours. We gambled a bit that night, Ricky and I got a fine breakfast at 7 am, and we crashed ... for 2 hours.
Friday night was a tad odd. We spent the day in Hooters, and I think my neck still hurts from watching beautiful, scantily clad women walk by. For the most part, Vegas was low on women because it was mostly guys there for the tournament ... which was why we went to Hooters. Big thinkers, we.
By the way, conversation topics for the weekend consisted of women, porn, gambling, sports, porn, booze, gambling, porn, women, movie lines, movie lines, and porn.
After a full day of drinking and watching hoop in the suites, we head out. Ricky proceeds to get famously drunk. At one point, we're in a joint called the Rum Jungle, and I'm talking to a couple of lovely women from the OC. I'm not even sure what that means, but I managed to work it into the conversation, and they both ran with it. Ricky calls the rest of the boys, informing them to come meet us. He does this three times. Each time, he mentions that we're talking to a couple of hot women (and he even barks at the ladies to say hello to the boys) yet he fails to mention where we are. Classic.
We manage to lose the girls, find the guys, and we head upstairs to a fine joint called Mist. I think. It's on the top floor of Mandalay Bay, and it has this incredible view of the strip. Actually, what's even cooler is when you go take a whizz in the men's room, it has an incredible view of the pool. Quite the joint.
Now, as I mentioned, women are in fairly scarce supply. Even though it's a little better in Mist, we're still looking at about a 70-30 split to the bad. As I'm cruising through the crowd to where the dudes are standing, I walk by this beautiful lass. Here's the fine convo I have with her:
Me: Hi! How's it going?
She: Fine! How are you?
Me: Fabulous! Are you having a good night?
Now, right about here, I'm thinking I'm in good shape. She's hot, I'm getting a good vibe, etc. ... yeah, I know it's early, but I have a feel for these things. Let's continue ...
She: Yes! I'm having a great night! Would you like to have a good time?
Ok, it's no secret that I can be a bit naive. Ok, a lot naive. Naturally, this hint flew right over my head. Further:
Me: Sure! Who doesn't want to have a good time on a Friday night?
She: Well, it's $1000 an hour.
Me: [blank stare]
She: [flutters eyes]
Me: [blanker stare]
She: Well?
Me: Um, do I look like I need to hire a hooker?
She: Well, no, but we could have a lot of fun!
Me: Um, thanks anyway. I can't afford to have that much fun!
Hookers 1, Me 0. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure the going rate for a hooker is $300/hour. Not only did I completely misread the situation, but I was getting ripped off to boot! Quality.
That pretty much did me in for the night. I managed to pull a full 6 hours of sleep that night. Very proud.
Saturday, I wake up at 8. Indiana is supposed to play Gonzaga at 9, and I've got to prep. I get myself situated on the couch with a drink and some chips, and I realize that the game isn't until 5. Friggin' 3 hour time difference. Yeah, I know 9-5 isn't 3 hours, but it's too long to explain.
We decide to go to Fatburger. Why? Why not?! Plus, it's just fun to say Fatburger. Try it. See? Saturday was very odd. I started drinking early, and I'm drinking a lot. No buzz. I drink more. Nuttin'. We're watching games, putzing around in the suite, ordering room service, I drink more and more ... nuttin'. All day this battle goes on, and I continue to lose.
Everyone's pretty well flat. I watch the IU game at the sportsbook (they lose ... cripes), everyone's gambling and putzing around, but you can see it's going to be a quiet night because everyone's hungover. So, I decide I'm going to finish the rest of the bottle of Captain. Hey, can't have booze going to waste, doncha know.
On the last drink, it hits me right smack in the head. I'm tanked. It's right about midnight, I'm wide awake, we fly at 6, and I'm completely ripped. Luckily, my buddy Dougy is up as well, so we end up talking in our suite for a bit. After what seems like an hour or two, the phone rings. It's Ricky's wake up call for our flight. Hours of sleep on Saturday ... zip. Zilch. Nada. Bupkis.
As if that isn't enough, we get on the plane, and I'm still drunk. As a bonus, we get to fly to LA to catch a connecting flight home. Oof. Best part is, they're showing Walk The Line on the way home. We're on one of these monster planes, with 5 seats in the middle and 2 on each side, and it's filled with some sorta field trip. At the end of the movie, when John asks June to marry him, I'm fighting back tears with 20 fifth graders from some Christian school around me. Classic.
So, final tally for Vegas ... down a few hundred dollars, no practice of kissing skills, plenty of visuals, one KO by a hooker, and a really pissed off liver. Done and done.
Anyone up for Vegas this weekend?
posted by AxnJxn at 6:10 PM
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