Hence, without further adieu, let's dive in head first, and get started. Strap in... this may be a long one.
Let's start out with the bad news. As we got to the airport in Buffalo, Russ got the call that Dave missed his flight out of Rochester, and that he wouldn't get into Vegas until around midnight that night (Wednesday). Not a big deal... things don't really get rolling until around that time anyway, right? Right. Fine. Either way, the rest of us successfully boarded the flight, and got to Vegas right around 4:00PM, which left us time to hit the buffett, play a little blackjack, shower, and get ready to hit the town on night one of our four night, five day excursion. While I'm on the subject of the flight... funny thing; that long ass ride out there is about the longest and loudest flight ever. Everyone's talking about where to go, what games they play, how they play them, and how to recover from a long night of drinking and well, you know. That flight back is just the opposite... very quiet, somber. So much so that you don't even have to turn the volume all the way up on your portable DVD player to hear what the hell is being said during the movie. Wonder why.
Anyway, I should say this before I go any further; I won't divulge who or how much anyone won or lost except myself. Couple reasons; one, if someone won big, you can ask them about it. Two, if someone lost big, I'm not going to be the one to make them re-live it. Losing sucks. Believe me when I tell you.
On to the good stuff. We started off not too far from our hotel at Harrah's outside bar called Carnival Court. It's one of my favorite places. It's outside and 90* at 10:00 at night. It's got some of the best bartenders I've ever seen, and the bands are always fantastic. From there, we had to meet our VIP host at the club, which was also right up the road. On Wednesday night in Vegas, believe it or not, there is pretty much only one good club to go to; Tangerine at Treasure Island. Not my favorite club in Vegas but, hey, it's Wednesday. To be honest, I don't remember a whole hell of a lot from that club. For some reason, they had the outside deck closed... I didn't get that. In Rochester, if there's no snow on the ground (and sometimes even if there is), if a bar has a deck, it's open. We're in Vegas, it's ninety something degrees out, and you can smoke indoors... open the freaking deck.
Well, having said that I don't remember a lot of what happened in that club somehow doesn't prevent me from knowing exactly what happened after we left. Only because you are my readers and you know I love you all, I'll share.
Phil and I headed back to the Flamingo with a couple female friends whom we had the pleasure of making their acquaintance. We get back to the room, fire up the iPod and speaker system, crack a couple of beers, and at this point, I look at Phil and say, "you wanna throw some cards?" His answer? "Fuck yeah." Out the door, around the corner, and to the elevators we go. As we descend to the casino floor in the elevator, it hits me. "Did we just leave two girls from the club in the room to go play cards?" Without missing a beat, Phil says, "yeah, we kinda did." My response? "Huh." And it wasn't "huh" in the interogative sense of the word as in "huh?" It was more of the "ain't that something" sense of the word. Amazing what that Vegas air can do to you.
Off to the tables we go. We sit down at a $25 table, and let the games begin. Well, it seemed like they just began when we each lost $250 in a span of about 8 minutes. I can't remember the exact amount of time, but I can tell you that the dealer's name was Larry and he absolutely kicked our asses. Phil looks at me and says, "get up, we're out." I can do nothing but whole heartedly agree.
For the next 10 minutes or so, we wandered aimlessly through the casino, trying to get a feeling somewhere. Remember that... it's important. I got bored of walking and stopped Phil. "Give me a twenty... got a feeling." Phil hands me a twenty and I shove it into a slot machine along with a twenty of my own. Three spins later, the thing hits for $174. We are now back in the game, give or take. It's funny what one good mindless win can do for you.
I cashed out, gave Phil his half, and back to the tables we went. Not to Larry's table however... screw him that rat bastard.
Regardless, we find a table where everyone knows what they're doing, and everyone is winning... up until the Prince of Pennsylvania sat down. This f'ing guy... that's all I can say. I call him the Prince of Pennsylvania because he took great pleasure in announcing to everyone at the table that he was from Altoona, Pennsylvania. This moron sits down, drunk off his ass, and starts to play. Well, I take that back. What my friends and I do at the blackjack table is playing cards. What this moron was doing was gambling. Gambling in the sense that he was throwing his money on the table, guessing at what to do, hoping for the best, and losing. Losing, and in the process, playing like a retard and costing every other person at the table a bunch of money. He's hitting16s against a dealer's 5 and hitting 12s against the dealer's 6. Killing us.
As we sit there pretty much giving our money away, this idiot is putting his head down on the table and catching a few z's during shuffles. The pit boss came over after he did this for the third or fourth time. I yell over, "can you call my friend here a cab?" He says, "sure, where's he going?" "Altoona, Pennsylvania." The dealer chuckled and walked away. Little did he know that I would have gladly slipped him a c-note, along with whatever the fare was to take this knucklehead to Altoona, Pennsylvania by cab. I probably could have made that much back just by having this asshole leave my table and continuing to play. Nevertheless, he eventually lost all his money, left, and we all made some money back. I headed up to the room around 6:00AM or so. I was up drinking for about 25 hours, so I figured it was time for a little nap.
And then there was day 2.
I awoke around the crack of noon, once again found my liver sitting next to me having a cup of coffee saying, "thanks a lot, asshole," told him to shut his yap, and headed to the pool. Sure enough I was able to find Russ and Noah poolside, and the first thing that Russ says to me is, "hey, last night I heard the door slam, walked out to the bar in the suite, and saw two very confused girls sitting there. You have anything to do with that?" "Uh, yeah... here's the story..." Anyway, after about an hour or so at the pool, I simply couldn't deal. It was way too hot and I could feel the booze just seeping out of my pores, so it was buffet time. I left them to soak up some rays and went to gorge myself on the fabulous Flamingo's mid afternoon offering, where my liver and I sat in solace, eating prime rib and pasta, and drinking about eleven diet Pepsis. I would have had a few more, but the waitress didn't have a catheter and/or any type of intra-veinous device handy. Bummer.
After that, it was nap time... a short one. I awoke to the sound of the door slamming, and the sight and sound of Dave materializing from his second missed flight from Rochester. "What the fuck happened to you?" I ask. Dave says, "I'm an idiot." I leave it at that. I have neither the presence of mind for any witty reparte', nor the focus to really comprehend his story of staying up all night and missing two consecutive cross-country flights.
Well, after a stream of about 9 different people coming in and out of the suite, I decide to head down to Margaritaville and meet a few friends that I haven't seen in a while. Maybe a couple margaritas in my hero's bar will straighten me out a little bit. I'm in luck. It does. After a couple of those bad boys and a few Buffett tunes on the sound system, I'm back in the game. I'm The Richie once again. Thank God. I missed him. He's a fun one.
Yes, I've been there several times before, but I felt compelled to take a picture. It makes me feel good. So there.
Well, a bunch of laughs and a few margaritas later, it's nap time for real. I have to get a little bit of rest before another long Las Vegas night has it's way with me. I made my way back up to the room, and luckily, this time I can actually sleep. I woke up around 5, just in time to catch my second round of the buffet with the boys, get prettied up, and catch the limo to take us over to Tryst at the Wynn.
Tryst, ladies and gentlemen, is gorgeous. It's a regular club that sits on a man-made lake, with 100 foot cliffs and waterfalls in the background. If you look up, you can see the clear Nevada sky. I wonder how many people have cast their eyes skyward and prayed that they would have better luck at the tables the next day, right before throwing a quarter into the lake. I'm guessing it's a lot. The VIP section isn't as big as I would have liked. It's kind of small, but very nice nonetheless. Everything is white and clean... well, everything was white and clean. That is until the girl that was hanging out with Nick decided to puke at our table. To her credit, it was the most ladylike vomit episode I have seen in a VIP section of a really expensive Las Vegas night club. There was not a big splash, there wasn't a smell, and from what I remember, it was clear. The only un-ladylike thing was hanging off the side of the couch with my friend holding your hair away from your face. Other than that... all class. Anybody catch the sarcasm there?
Anyway, while "puke fest '06" was going on, I had a couple beautiful blondes from California dancing all over my area of the couch. Yes, I do have pictures on my phone. No, I'm not going to post them here. Nope... sorry. Oh, O.K. No, I can't. Besides, they're on my phone and the resolution sucks. Say please. Thank you. Here you go. Before you look at these, just so you know, you might have to angle your head and use your imagination just a little bit. Having said that, enjoy.
Again... these are from my phone, use your imagination and tilt your head. Yes, I could rotate them, but that wouldn't give you the idea of the angle of my phone when I took them. You're welcome, again.
Well, after we wrapped up things at Tryst, we all went back to the suite and nothing happened.
Day 3... this is where it got messy.
I awoke day three, this time around the crack of 11:00. Apparently I'm getting better as the jet lag wares off. Once again, my liver was sitting next to me, but this time he had substituted a Red Bull and vodka for the coffee. Guess he figured that "hair of the dog" thing might pan out a little better. Also, once again, I headed, sans shower, down to the pool to meet the boys. This time, everyone was there; Nick, Todd, Russ, Noah, Dave... and lo and behold, before my eyes were those same blonde California girls. Hmmm... I hadn't seen them in like 4 hours now... but that's a different post all together. Email me and I'll give you the scoop... or at least make up something really good.
We were lucky enough to score a couple of beds poolside. No, I don't mean those lounge chairs that you see at every backyard pool in the country... I mean beds. Literally, two queen size beds with canopies over them. And, much to my surprise, the beer was already flowing. I jumped in with both feet, cracked a beer, and joined in the festivities. We were right next to the basketball hoop, which afforded me to show off my amazing 25 foot jump shot. However, that wasn't really what I wanted to showcase. As I am 6'1" and white, I can't dunk. That day, it was a different story. I couldn't help myself. I threw down a couple of reverses and a couple alley-oops. For just a couple fleeting moments there, I was Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in the 1986 playoffs against the Celtics. Yeah, it felt really, really good. Yes, I'm 34 years old.
Anyway, I eventually grew tired of basketball, but luckily there was a Nerf football floating around. This, my loyal readers, is difficult for me to write. I met a child there that couldn't have been more than 6 years old that asked if she could play catch with us. Let me say this before I continue this story. I hated this kid. It didn't start out that way, but the fun little game of catch that about six of us were playing quickly transformed into "watch the little fat girl splash, kick and spit on the tall, skinny 34 year old guy from Rochester, NY." I swear to you, if it wasn't for the sunburn, you could have seen a "666" on her forehead. This little brat would simply not leave me the hell alone. By this time, I've had somewhere in the neighborhood of a six-pack, I'm just getting over my hangover, and I'm slipping back into that alcoholic haze that anyone who has ever been to Vegas is all too farmiliar with. No matter where in that pool I went, this little brat followed, and felt compelled to just annoy the living shit out of me. She would lunge at me with those big, meaty, baby-fat laden arms and spray as much water as she could on me. She would get as close as she could and, hand to God, fill her mouth with pool water and spit it in my general direction. My only satisfying thought was that about a zillion other little 6 year old brats had peed in the pool and she got that mess in her mouth. Now that I think about it, I guess the joke is on me because even if she got it in her mouth, she expelled that mess on to me.
Well, having said that, I had endured enough. When she got close enough, I splashed back... once. Nothing violent, nothing mean, but I wanted to let this little miscreant know that I wasn't going to be her whipping boy any more. From about 5 feet away, I splashed her back, and at which point, she let out a blood curdling scream and held her hands over her eyes like I had just lit them on fire. Immediately, I was the one that felt like an asshole. Believe me, it wasn't a feeling that lasted very long. Let me tell you why.
My friends and I all gathered around this little shit with choruses of, "are you O.K?" and "what's wrong?" This little porker immediately dropped her hands, stopped crying like someone just muted the stereo, looked at me, and proceeded to splash, spit and kick like she was going to the gas chamber. My open beer that was in my hand is now half full of urine-laden pool water, I'm pissed at myself for feeling like an asshole, and I'm thoroughly annoyed that I actually felt sorry for this little bitch. Yes, I know she's 6. Anyway, as I climbed out of the pool, I had the last laugh. I peed right next to her. No, I'm kidding. I didn't. I did, however, yell, "you're adopted and your parents don't even love you." Litte pool rat... I hope you fall off your bike and your eyes wind up crossed. Yes, again... I know she's 6. Sue me.
Well, after the pool incident, another nap was definitely in order... seeing as it was now 4:00 and I'd been in the pool, drinking and getting way too much sun since 11:00. Quick trip to the buffet and off to the room.
Well, it's 11:30PM right now, and I've written a whole bunch, so I'm going to call it quits for tonight. Still need to catch up on a bunch of sleep. I will, however, finish this up in the next day or two. I know you can't wait.
Next... Vegas, night 3, day 4, night 4, and the departure. Plus, as an added bonus... a bunch of pics for your viewing pleasure.
Until next time...
R
2 comments:
I guarantee I would have rocked your world in a way that blackjack never could! I guess you'll never know!
Signed,
PV
The girl left behind in the suite
You really want me to leave a comment here? Didn't think so. What f'ing ever.
R
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