Viking Blood and Bad Decisions: DECF Does Vegas 2: Sunday, Part 1

Posted: March 19, 2011 by kaostheory in Slice of Life
Tags: , , ,

Today’s song on blast? “Look What The Cat Dragged In” by Poison. I figured that was pretty apropos considering our Vegas Sunday basically spiraled from the time we woke up to the time that we crashed. “Half alive or half dead, I just can’t tell” is basically Monday morning’s slogan, but that will come up in a couple days. For now? The beginning to our Sunday. Apologies if this isn’t THAT entertaining today, but Sunday night is when shit really started getting real. But I’m telling you this story so I can tell you that one. Oh yeah and no St. Patty’s hangover so…bonus, I think. Having one two days later would be a real shitfest of a hangover, let me tell you.
Sunday morning came earlier than we expected, with 9:45 striking us bright and early. One neat fact about Vegas hotel rooms: the curtains are usually so thick and close so well that light cannot penetrate them, so even waking up, you still think it’s night. It can be disorienting, especially after a night of drinking. Anyway, we realized that we only had a little while to drop a few bets, so we got dressed and trotted down to the sportsbook to each drop a $40 four-team parlay. For those who don’t know what that is, it means that you place the bet for all four teams to win. If they do, you make a good deal more money (in our case, it would have been about $440) but if even one team loses, the parlay is dead. It’s high-risk/high-reward. Superfly bet on Celtics over Nets, Thunder over Wizards, Clippers over Grizzlies and Warriors over Timberwolves, while I dropped Celts/Nets and Thunder/Wiz but also 76ers over Jazz and Lakers over Magic. This, of course, before hearing that Kobe Bryant was a gametime decision, leading to a very short, very vulgar burst of annoyance. But food called.

Breakfast was at the Cosmo buffet, the Wicked Spoon. Basically, that buffet is like if Golden Corral won the lottery. Sort of. All the same, I was able to get some prime rib for my breakfast along with a mediocre Eggs Benedict and some awesome mango ice cream (among other various and sundry food items). It was pretty killer and the minor hangover I was rolling with went away soon enough. It was then off to the Miracle Mile in Planet Hollywood. I love that place. They have some awesome shops, two in particular. First, there is Sin City Brewery, a little bar that is usually manned by a pretty awesome “bro” and has some pretty good beer. We make a point to stop by every time we’re there to have a beer and chat about sports. This particular time was a little complicated due to already CARRYING an open beer but we made it work. He killed an ale and I knocked back a stout (it wasn’t as good as I remember it being) and then we were off to our second stop: the sports memorabilia place.

Let me preface this by saying that Superfly and I had entered the place last year and nearly had to change our shorts due to the absolute volume and impressiveness of their stock. This time was actually worse. You see, they had everything in the store for half price. Including signed jerseys. First up on my lust list? A Chris Johnson one with a poor quality signature that would be about $150. Next up was Jerry Rice for about $350 followed by the toughest walkaway I would ever have to make: a Joe Namath for what would be about $400. That’s just a little too rich for my blood. I still have dreams about that jersey. We would return a few more times in the next couple days and WOULD make purchases but that’s a later story. For now, we had to trot down to The Flamingo to get our passes.

Passes for what, you ask? Simply, mein freunde. X-Burlesque. I’m getting half-mast even just thinking about it but that is, again, a tale for the next entry. Bet you can’t wait for me to write that one now, huh? Bet not. Anyhow, after picking those up, Superfly wanted to hit the craps table and, seeing as how he had more disposable cash to toss around, I agreed and just watched. It went…not well. Some old dude in a sailor shirt kept scoring and eventually we walked away. That’s for the best though. The Flamingo is OLD Vegas, complete with the blast of cold air when you walk in the door, the horrific pink color scheme and subpar cocktail waitresses. I mean, Donny and Marie perform (or did) there. Donny and Marie! Their level of incestuous sexual tension dwarfs even George Michael Bluth and Maebe Funke’s and that’s saying a LOT. Arrested Development reference there. I wonder if either of them has ever inadvertantly called out the other’s name in bed. I’m going with…it’s not unlikely. Okay I’m grossing myself out now so time to move on.

Of course, when you lose on the craps tables at The Flamingo, clearly not having a hot hand, what’s the next reasonable course of action? Go and try to do the same damn thing at The Bellagio of course! We are stupid. Superfly, on a whim, pulled out an extra hundo from his account to try his luck. Surprisingly, he held steady for about a half hour, only losing a little bit at a time. Seeing guys come by and drop a thousand or two like it was nothing was unsettling though. That’s what happens when you can play with big boy money. After he had lost about half of it, we took our drinks and walked to the roulette table to try to see if we had better luck there. We…didn’t. Four straight hits on red made me try to tell Superfly to go all in on black but he didn’t hear in time. Poof. Time to leave. What now for two 20-somethings to do after gambling has somewhat lost its appeal?

Duh. Get drunk.

It wasn’t unintentional either. It wasn’t that it just happened. We looked at each other, shrugged and agreed to go get fucked up. Stop one was Cabo Wabo, back in the Miracle Mile. I’ll be blunt. I love the hell out that place. It has great food, good drinks (beer and otherwise) and top-shelf waitresses. Last time we snagged the alto voiced hottie. This time we got the hottie with tattoos and the “I’m being nice because I need the tip” smile. Whatever. She had two star tattoos – one on each shoulder blade – and it was impossible to stop myself from picturing actually using those stars as hand placement guides while reaming her spectacular butt for an hour. We got nachos and beer and left soon after, not because it wasn’t good but because we needed to amp up our drinking.

Our last stop before things really started to spike – and the last point on my Sunday notes that is comprehensible – was Blondie’s, a sports bar near the sports memorabilia place where the waitresses dress like cheerleaders (shit, does Vegas cover MOST of my fetishes or what?) and we were able to get two-for-one Bud Lights. Oh no, friend. Not bottles or cans. Fucking PITCHERS. We really should have known that this would kind of kick off The Night but we were too interested in drinking. Give you a hint, it’s really tough to kill two pitchers of beer. We made it through about a whole one (maybe a little more) and then, in a show of what we hoped was good karma) gave the other one to a nearby table of thirsty looking dudes.

It didn’t really work. We went back to The Bellagio and Cosmo and gambled some more and Superfly did manage to score on a sportsbook bet for $125 (savant that he is) but soon enough, it was time to get ready for the night that was to come. I’ll say it right now…nothing could have prepared us or gotten us ready for the night that was to come. Nothing.
That’s…a little more ominous than I was intending it to be. Oh well. Ominous brings back the pageviews I think. Maybe. I hope. Part 2 of Sunday hopefully up ON Sunday.

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