As Sober As I Wanna Be: DECF Does Las Vegas: Monday – The End

Posted: March 15, 2010 by kaostheory in Slice of Life
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Alright. Let’s get this shizzy knocked out for good!
Monday morning came. Oh God did it come. It came with the force of a thousand years of built-up karmic semen. We woke up at 10:00Am. The room was spinning and heavy. Further sleep was needed. The next time we woke up was 2:00 PM. It was, to say the least, miserable. The only comfort I was able to take was that Superfly, who had previously laughed at me for my all-day hangovers, finally was able to experience my pain. There honestly is not a whole lot to speak of for this day. We sat around, hungover to shit, all day. Wholly unpleasant. The only fun thing – aside from watching Anthony Bourdain who Superfly said reminds him a lot of me and I will concur on that – we could make ourselves do was to keep our appointment at L’Atelier de Joel Robuchon at MGM Grand. It was pretty amazing. The hostess – per usual – was beautiful, the restaurant was beautiful, hell, even we managed to look presentable. Superfly got lobster in a spicy broth and I got foie gras-stuffed quail with truffle mashed potatoes. It was off the tasting menu so it was very small but totally wonderful. Aside from that meal and Bourdain? We slept. Monday sucked dick.

Tuesday morning was much better. Any hangovers we had were gone. Our first course of action was to hit our favorite slot machines. They weren’t too hot so we went about our day for now. Down to Planet Hollywood we went. Along the way, we saw the Paris hotel (forgot the name) which led to a great hypothetical exchange. “Hey…hey bro…I’m drunk and I’m at the top of the Eiffel Tower…not the one in Vegas.” As we walked around the surprisingly large mall attached, we found ourselves hungering and thirsting. P.F. Chang’s it was! There was a very big difference from L’Atelier. The latter gives small portions to force to eat slow and savor it. The former just overloads you with a bowl of food bigger than your head. Not that it was bad, mind you. The hunger we had was well-sated. This was also the moment where Superfly made the assertion that steam is not real but in fact just a noxious gas. Yeah. From there, we hit Sin City Brewing Company for a beer, chatting with a cool bartender, ogling cheerleaders and buying awesome shirts and pint glasses. After that, a sports memorabilia store that about made us shit ourselves in awesome. We had to leave quickly. Next up it was going to Cabo Wabo for cheap (2 for 1 margaritas) and nachos. While those were awesome, so was the waitress. Jacqueline was her name. Of course it was. She may not have been the absolute peak of hot waitresses (still very hot) but holy God, did I want her. She had that low, throaty alto voice that just gets my balls humming. Too soon, though, we had to leave. Too many things to do.

Next was Treasure Island. The slots were…not in our favor. After wasting a bit of money quickly, we went back to The Mirage to try our luck at our favorite slots again. This time it was much different. While we didn’t make a LOT of money – certainly not even enough to cover our losses – we did make an effor. I made 60 off of a 20 and Superfly made 80 off a 20. That was pretty fun. However, after the machines went cold as they do, we got up and the seats were immediately filled by old bitches who watched us intently. Fucking scavengers. I was a bit pissed but seeing the crone lose a hundred bucks without one win made me smile. I’m nasty. So sue me. After just bumming around for a while, we decided to suit up one more time and head to The Palms for dinner and clubbing. Apparently, we have the memory of goldfish when it comes to remembering the pain we had going on the day before. Before I go any further, though, I have to talk about The Palms. Some casinos (The Mirage) are loud and flashy. Some (Caesars Palace) are bright and triumphant. Some (The Bellagio and The Wynn) are swanky and understated while still reeking of wealth. Then there are some like The Palms and New York, New York. They are still somewhat pretty but have this feeling of sad desperation about them. Instead of stupid-ass kids, you see old folks on oxygen blowing their pensions faster than a hooker on speed. You just want to usher them out, hoping they can survive. Not the best atmosphere, certainly not for us.

What DID have the best atmosphere was where we had dinner – N9ne Steakhouse. Holy shit. I mean, just to begin with, we had two hostesses ask if we were twins and flirting with us. Let me be blunt: I don’t believe that I have ever seen hotter women. Ever. I mean, it literally pained my penis to not be inside them. I didn’t think it was possible to be hurt by the ABSENCE of something, but there you go. This was also the point that we realized we had not only achieved the Seven Deadly Sins but had cycled through them. Repeatedly. We high-fived over some very good cab sav. Then they brought the bread. At some places, bread is just there. Not here. The three different breads were amazing. As we gorged ourselves like dumbasses, one of the coolest moments happened. A waiter dropped off some phenomenal chicken empanadas with pico di gallo and guacamole “compliments of the house”. Gotta say that having a top-scale place GIVE you food makes you feel like Top Shit. My stomach was already orgasming constantly. I felt like it was like a pig and kudos if you get that joke. That’s when the meat came. God Almighty. We split a 40 oz steak to save money but it was unreal. It was like N9ne hunted down the Cattle of Geryon and cut them up. After about 10 oz each, we were stuffed but resolute. This damn steak would not beat us. Though literally all I could smell by the end was meat, we emerged victorious. Oh yes. And with the steak was a twice-baked truffle-infused baked potato the size of a baby’s arm. Even Dionysus would say that we may have overindulged a bit.

After a while of walking around to digest enough to not feel like whales, Ghostbar was our next step. Ghostbar is in fact on TOP of The Palms, complete with open air viewing deck. Though the crowd was sparse (we went near the opening), the view was SPECTACULAR. From up there, chilly as it was, you can see almost all of Vegas. It honestly does not look like the city ever ends. The expanse of lights is awe-inspiring. Truly an unbelieveable sight. To top it off, since it was fairly quiet, we got a table gratis without having to buy bottle service, which is a very rare thing in the town. However, the place soon lost its luster and it was off to Blush at The Wynn. Blush was…something. It was definitely the swankiest of all the clubs and it filled up quite quickly after opening but it was honestly not a great time. Sure, some parts were great. Stainless steel bathroom appliances and mirrored walls. Kevin Rudolf running a DJ set later in the night. One of the Klitschko boxer brothers (not the one banging Hayden Panetierre) was there and nobody even noticed. But a lot just didn’t sit right with me. First off, my feet were in agony again. Those damn dress shoes are like standing on concrete so standing up was hell. Since I couldn’t SIT due to all tables being reserved, we were stuck standing by the edge of a table. Also, a message for the ladies, older in particular. I’m sure you were beautiful and hot and the life of the party in your younger days. But BITCH, you are on the wrong side of thirty-five, have gray hair and pince-nez glasses. Your “party girl” days are fucking OVER. Have some damn dignity. Finally, there’s one main reason I wasn’t happy. I was sober. See, it was a packed club filled with gorgeous women…and I couldn’t have gotten a smile from them with a damn 20 stapled to my face. Throwing a sober, average guy with pretty major confidence issues into a club with women light-years beyond his level and fucking douchebag rich boys with no value to society is like showing a mutt a prime rib, slapping him in the face and giving it to a poodle already throwing up from eating too much meat. It is wholly upsetting and with no booze to mentally smooth it out, it was like my sense of masculinity was being sandpapered and having salt ground into the wound. Eventually, my feet and ego couldn’t take it so we left. Superfly was understandably upset, to be honest. I won’t go into the spat. Not yo’ biness and we cool now. But things were chilly for the night. Back to the hotel, quick late dinner, some TV and Tuesday was soon over.

Wednesday/Thursday Morning:
Since we had to check out of our room by 1:30 PM, we woke up earlier, got dressed and packed up and checked out of the room, leaving our bags at the front for later. One problem. Our flight didn’t leave till 1:45. AM. On Thursday. Our RIDE didn’t get there until 10:10 that night. We had a LONG day ahead of us. It was…fairly uneventful. It was cold and fucking raining out so we had to walk around in misery whenever we were outside, although we did see a beggar saying she had lupus. We didn’t give her anything but that was creative enough to warrant a little discussion about it. Madame Tussaud’s by The Venetian was a lot of fun. I put my face between the legs of a wax Jenna Jameson. The glares I got from a couple mothers were awesome. After a quick lunch at Johnny Rocket’s, we just headed back to The Mirage to sit and hang in the sportsbook. For NINE. DAMN. HOURS. I did learn how to bet the line and all that, which was fun. It was nervewracking waiting for Denver to cover the spread against Minnesota, that’s for sure. But they did and I made about ten bucks or so. We had some free drinks and finally managed to make it to the airport. It’s…kind of a depressing airport. The gambling there is horrible and people were STILL DOING IT. Oh and we saw a three-hundred pound woman wearing a shirt designed for one in her upper 100s. Her gut was pouring out. I about heaved. The only other thing happened in Memphis where they said something along the lines of “This gate change is only X and X only.” That redundacy made me so mad that, coupled with my exhaustion and general pissiness, I had to sleep a little while. Soon enough, we were back home and our trip was over. We had survived. We beat Vegas, fuckers.
Whew. That was harrowing, wasn’t it? We’ll get back to more funny and less detailed entries soon. Promises.

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