Vegas Baby, Vegas (Part I)

I’m an idiot. Actually, if that much wasn’t apparent by now then you are too. I’m sitting in McCarren Airport in Las Vegas where I will be waiting for the next three hours because I missed my flight to LA this morning. I should be watching the Ohio State-Michigan game at my buddy’s house on the beach in L.A. right now, instead I’m at a table in the middle of the airport watching what I can of the game from outside of a sports bar because (1) I’m too cheap to justify paying $10 for an airport beer and (2) the thought of consuming another ounce of booze right now absolutely disgusts me…probably because I consumed enough alcohol last night to kill a small elephant. You see, I’ve spent the last two days of my life in Las Vegas and if you’ve ever been here then you can probably sympathize with me right now. You know the feeling that comes over you about 45 minutes after you leave the oxygen-rich grounds of the casino coupled with the fact you’ve spent the last 48 hours pumping alcohol, tobacco and cholesterol-soaked foods into your body? That’s me right now and I want to shoot myself in the face.

That said, I’ve had a ridiculous trip to Vegas…let me explain.

I arrived in Sin City on Thursday just in time for the last afternoon session of the marketing conference I came here for. A few of my friends and co-workers were here already, so when the conference was over we were ready to go out for some drinks. My night started at the conference reception in the Palms. Mexican food and open bar, two of my favorite things. If there’s one thing I hate about living in New York City, it’s the fact that I can’t get decent Mexican food anywhere. I don’t care what you say, Puerto Ricans can not cook Mexican food…end of story.

So my friends and I spend the next three hours getting sufficiently liquored up before heading upstairs to Ghost Bar, the famous Palms hot spot which overlooks the Vegas Strip. Keep in mind that the company I work for happens to have some leverage in the hotel and entertainment industry, so we’re rolling V.I.P. where ever we go.

If you’ve never been to Ghost Bar then you’re doing yourself a great disservice. The bar sits on top of the 55 story Palms hotel and casino and since it’s a few blocks away from The Strip, at night you get the sickest view of Las Vegas, save the one from the top of the Stratosphere hotel. There really is nothing like drinking top shelf liquor and smoking a cigar from one of the outside lounge chairs at Ghost Bar. By the way, the last time I was here I missed Brittany Spears by two days…you remember, when she spent the evening at Ghost Bar and then went and got married to that dude she knew from high school. Who knows, I could have missed being the first Mr. Spears by 48 hours…se la vi.

As Ghost Bar was starting to clear out, such that the only people dancing on the dance floor were a 300 pound black woman dressed like she thought she was a size 6 and a drunk white dude that looked like he just stepped off the last flight from Toolburgh were the only people on the dance floor, it was time to move on.

We decided to end our evening at the new Wynn resort on the north part of The Strip. I had never been here before because the place opened up less than a year ago, but let me tell you there are more Philly’s in this place than the Preakness, Kentucky Derby and Bellmont Stakes combined…it’s like the Triple Crown for hoes. Unbelievable. Anyway, we’re sitting in the lounge, drinking some Scotch and smoking cigars when this girl sitting by herself at the bar keeps turning around and giving me the flirty smile and “fuck me” eyes. I’m thinking to myself, “I love West Coast women, they are always much more aggressive than their East Coast counterparts.” Keep in mind I’m with a couple of co-workers so I want to play this cool. A few minutes later these two guys come over and sit next to her; one of the guys looks like Pauly Shore and the other is old enough to be Pauly Shore’s father. Despite this interesting scene, she keeps looking over at me with that same “I want to rape you” look on her face and I’m thinking, “whatever” at this point, too oblivious to realize what’s really going on.

So my co-workers finish our cigars, pay the bill and start to walk out of this place. As we’re leaving, this bar girl quickly gets up and follows us out. She starts talking to my friend and I as we’re heading to catch a cab back to our hotel. That’s when this exchange occurred between my drunken buddy (whom I will call Greg) and this bar skank.

Skank: So where are you two heading tonight? [It’s 4:00 AM at this point, by the way]

Greg: Going back to our hotel, you want to come:

Skank: Maybe, are you looking for a good time?

Greg: I’m always looking for a good time.

NYC Drunk Guy (inner monologue): Of course. A hooker, I should have known…and my dumb ass buddy has no idea what’s going on. Should I save him or let him find out on his own? Fuck it, I want to see where this goes.

Skank: Great, where we going then?

Greg: How about back to my hotel room? You want some of this, right?

NYC Drunk Guy (inner monologue): Oh god.

Skank: Baby, you know I don’t fuck for free, right?

Greg: What? Wait a second, where are we again, Las Vegas ,right?

Skank: Yep, sure are.

Greg: Then can I get a comp?

Fucking hilarious. I actually didn’t hear how the rest of the night turned out for my friends, as I jumped into a cab and got the hell out of there. You know what? I really don’t want to know either.

The second part of this entry – my final night in Vegas…which was one of the most ridiculous evenings I’ve had in a long time - will be coming tomorrow.

Cheers,

NYCDG