3:01 P.M. – 11:00 – I do a bunch of work and reply to a flurry of text messages from my three carpoolers about last-minute crap…wishing I had flown with the other members of our group that are way smarter than myself and my three carpool teammates.
11:15 P.M. – I take my last “Non-Vegas Piss” in the company bathroom.
11:16 P.M. - I drag my co-workers out of the building by their wrists.
11:17 P.M. – The four of us pack all of our crap into our friend’s car. I have the biggest suitcase because EVERY…SINGLE…ZIPPER on EVERY…SINGLE…COMPARTMENT of EVERY…SINGLE…SUITCASE in my ENTIRE luggage collection has broken off, except for my second-largest suitcase. Everyone refuses to believe that this is a true story, so I get made fun of by the one guy and two ladies in my group for packing a larger bag than the females.
11:19 P.M. – I get upset about the luggage jokes, but I knew it was coming, so I let it slide. I am just thankful to even have luggage (even though every time I go somewhere overnight it looks like I am heading to Europe for six weeks).
11:21:00 P.M. – We are all packed, the engine is running, I have individually slapped each three in my carload for their part in the “luggage roast,” and we are ready to roll.
11:21:30 P.M. – A co-worker NOT going with us on our trip attempts to back his car out of his parking spot…and smashes the rear-left quarter panel of his car into a pillar in our underground parking garage.
11:21:32 P.M. – I did not see the crash happen, so I think the noise is from the pillars in the parking garage (again, underneath our building) snapping; and I think the building is collapsing on top of me. I can’t decide whether I want to take the last three seconds of my life to pee myself, shat myself or jokingly tell the other heterosexual male in our carpool (Scott) that I am secretly gay for him so it haunts him eternally.
11:22 P.M. – We all pile back OUT of the car and survey the damage from the crash. After seeing the broken taillight, we all simultaneously say “aaaahhhhhh fffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu _ _.”
11:24 P.M. – One of the girls in my group tries to lighten the emotional load by saying “It could be worse.” Seconds later, I explain that “It could also be better,” and how comments like hers in no way help the situation-and that, in fact, they make the person who just crashed his car want to slap her for her optimism.
11:29 P.M. – We FINALLY get back into the car and exit the parking garage. We drive 44 feet, pull into a gas station and get back out of the car. My friend Scott fills up his gas tank; we grab essential “crossing the desert in the middle of the night” supplies and get back into the car.
11:36 P.M. – We make a right out of the gas station, drive 84 feet and pull into Jack in the Box because one of the chicks wants to get something to eat. I berate her. I explain that this is exactly why guys cannot handle traveling with women. Because, all women do is impede progress and increase travel time. I don’t mean it, but it is the perfect cover – because I go in with her and order a #11. I return to the car and fall under more scrutiny for my hypocrisy. I am fine with this, because I have a spicy chicken sandwich, large curly fries and a bucket of Mr. Pibb.
11:44 P.M. – We get onto the 101 and Scott drops the hammer. We start doing that “It’s a four-hour drive, but at this rate, we can make it in 3:10” math, and then discussing it aloud.
12:02 A.M. – We are about 20 miles west of North Hollywood and two cop cars fly past us and bring traffic to a halt. The cops are holding up traffic so that the street crew can put out cones, signs and barriers for the weekend construction to begin. Four lanes jam into two and traffic quickly freezes.
12:09 A.M. – My friend Scott (driving) and myself (shotgun…All-Time, bitch) grow exasperated from sitting still and attempt to reposition ourselves by simultaneously leaning in toward the console, causing an unfortunate forearm touch. We instantaneously pull away, but at no point make eye contact.
We were so close. We were a Jack in the Box stop from never even seeing this traffic jam. Luckily, I made a scene about the girl wanting to stop for food, so everyone remembers this and silently blames the girl (even though I secretly wanted to stop as well, and subsequently took full advantage by ordering a large #11 which will soon be causing me a “food coma.”).
12:09 – 12:35 A.M. – Sitting on the highway. We have moved about 19 feet.
12:36 A.M. – My food coma sets in. For those unfamiliar with me, I fall asleep 30 minutes after I eat (every time) for about 45 minutes and then I wake up like it never happened (I had a fasting blood test last summer, and apparently there are no signs of hypoglycemia, hyperglycemia or diabetes…so who knows?)
.
12:37 A.M. – I wake up. As I stretch my arms out around my seat’s headrest, I touch the naked left foot of one of the chicks riding in the back of the car who was using my food coma as her own personal “stretch time.” While trying to rub the indentation of the passenger-side door lock out of my right cheek, I explain that her behavior is unacceptable.
12:38 A.M. – “Foot Girl” likens me to a bodily orifice.
12:42 A.M. – I laugh heartily at Scott for the 9th time in less than an hour because he plays the air drums during every song he hears on the car stereo. This does not sound all that funny, but it’s funny. To me it’s funny.
12:42 – 3:31 A.M. – Driving…
3:32 A.M. – We pull into the Mirage.
3:48 A.M. – We get our rooms keys and hit the elevator.
3:53 A.M. – We bust open the door to our room (which was booked under two names - one of which flew into Vegas earlier in the day, and one that rode in the car with me). Upon busting open our room door, we find three of our co-workers are already in the room (one of which flew all the way from our New York office to party).
3:54 A.M. – It’s on.
3:56 A.M. – We dial the iPod to “Lil Wayne” and let the bitch run.
3:57 A.M. – Seven people make a bottle of Absolut and two Gatorades appear and disappear in a matter of about 14 minutes.
4:11 A.M. – The Magnificent Seven hit the bar in the lobby of the Mirage. Texts are sent and received and our seven has grown to ten, thanks to some old college friends that were also in town. Two rounds at the bar and we close out.
4:42 A.M. – I’m Hazeyville (drunk, sauced, on lean, slizzered).
4:48 A.M. - We hit the casino floor.
4:49 A.M – I nearly collapse from secondhand smoke.
4:50 A.M – I am certain I have lung cancer.
4:55 – 5:45 A.M. – Roulette. At some point, I get reprimanded by the dealer for leaning on the glass by the spinning wheel. If they do not want people to lean on the glass, they should put up a sign that says “Please do not lean on the glass.” Oh wait, there is a sign (see “4:42 A.M.”).
5:46 – 6:22 A.M. – Blackjack.
6:23 A.M. – I realize (thanks to the nonsensical skylight in the front lobby of the Mirage) that it is “tomorrow outside,” and my body instantly decides that it needs to sleep.
6:36 A.M. – We hit the 24-hour diner at the front of the Mirage. I get my late night usual: pancakes and cheese fries (which satisfies your cravings for both breakfast food and grease. Try it this weekend. You’re welcome.).
7:27 A.M. – Separate checks.
7:35 A.M. – We enter the room and I make one of my drunk chick friends help me put my traveling sheets and pillowcases I brought from home onto the hotel room bed.
7:51 A.M. – Lights out.
Saturday.
10:24 A.M. – Two hours and twenty-three minutes of sleep and I am angry with everyone. We are awake because Scott is getting texts that one of our friends, who is staying at the Monte Carlo, has just landed a cabana at the Monte Carlo pool.
10:25 A.M. – I tell Scott, who is up and moving around, to be quite and that I am not going to the pool.
10:26 A.M. – Scott tells me “Wake up. It’s Vegas.”
10:26 A.M – I tell Scott, “Oh, I did not realize our geographical location. I guess I am fully-rested now.”
10:26 A.M – Scott likens me to female genitalia. I never hear it because I fall back asleep in the middle of his sentence.
11:15 A.M. – We cab to the Monte Carlo and rendezvous with our squad.
11:16 A.M. – I enter the pool area and hear music pounding. I am stoked to know there is a DJ, but at the same time, he’s bangin’ Beyonce, so I’m shook. I have one of those “Is this really going to be one of those DJs that plays Beyonce records all day to please the tourists that only know the top ten most downloaded iTunes songs?” moments.
11:18 A.M. – The DJ needle drops out of Beyonce and into True Pseudo’s “Freaking Me Out (Designer Drugs Remix)”. I don’t really like True Pseudo, but it lets me know where his head is at-and I relax because I know we are in good hands.
11:27 A.M. – The full roster posts up in the cabana (13-ish total???) and we commence to get it poppin’. Everyone strips down to their swimmers, but I keep on my hospital scrubs and white tee because I am fair-skinned like that.
12:17 P.M. – Our bottles of Stolinaya and beer arrive and things begin to crank up.
12:19 P.M. – The misting sprayers on top of the cabana are being whipped around by the wind and splashing me in the face no matter where I stand (I have to stand under the cabana because I know we are going to be here until 5:00 P.M. and I can’t be out in the sun for the entire time unless I plan on spending the evening in the hospital). Thus, I am gargling that misty spray like it is my job and wondering if my contacts have been washed out of my eyes.
12:27 P.M. – Scott figures out how to turn off the misters and I am stoked.
12:56 P.M. – It reaches 248 degrees and I tear off my scrubs.
12:57 P.M. – Scott alerts me that I need to “step my boardshort game up.” I retort that I have had my pair since boardshorts hit the Midwest. The saddest part is that my shorts are from 1995 when I lived at home in Indiana. I am embarrassed. I am usually the one that calls people out…and I just got called out. I am thinking “have I really had these boardshorts for 14 years?” It seems like way less because-when I lived in Indiana-I only wore my boardshorts one day a year when I visited my family in Tampa for a week and we spent that one day at the beach that sunburns me so bad I don’t want to go outside for another year.
12:59 P.M. – I succumb to the fact that I need to tighten my Swim Game and promise Scott that I will let him take me to a surf shop in L.A. as soon as we get home to rectify the matter. Scott also makes me promise to not only buy new boardshorts, but to trash my “tired, old boardshorts.” He explains that he doesn’t even want them to return to Los Angeles. He insists that I leave them in Nevada…just to be safe.
1:00 – 1:28 P.M. – Drinking…
1:29 P.M. – My friends decide to play floating beer pong in the pool.
One, I am grossed out by pools. I won’t step foot into a private pool, so you can imagine how I feel about a pool sharing the dead skin cells, ass sweat and armpit rinse of 800 strangers.
Two, beer pong disgusts me. Dropping that contaminated ball into cups of beer and drinking it is just asking for E-coli.
Three, PLAYING beer pong IN a Las Vegas hotel pool is Turbo Nast. They should really call it Urine Pong. I’m not really all that into hepatitis, so I stay on the sidelines. That’s just me.
1:48 P.M. – While sitting and watching my friends drink cups of beer with a urine-soaked ball in it, the DJ loops the first eight counts of “Suspicious Character” by The Blood Arm and blends into a House remix of “Use Somebody” by Kinds of Leon. I am impressed, but at the same time, secretly hoping for “West End Girls” by the Pet Shop Boys.
2:38 P.M. – I am back in the cabana applying my second coat. While spraying myself with ‘block, the DJ juggles “Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems” and it was hot to def. I am starting to feel it.
3:16 – 3:35 P.M. – I am not certain of the order, but the DJ drops, Puffy’s “All About The Benjamins (Remix),” Kings of Leon’s “Sex On Fire,” Rick Springfield’s “Jesse’s Girl (some random Dance Remix)” and The Outfield’s “Your Love (DJ Roctakon’s Singing Sunday Bmore Remix).” I am on fire, and ready to hit the club right about now. Again, I have no idea what order the songs were played, but we somehow landed at or around 125 beats per minute.
3:39 P.M. – He played it.
3:39 P.M. – It happened.
3:42 P.M. – I’m exhausted.
Now, unless you were there that day, you are probably wondering what just transpired. Well, he played it. “It” is my favorite club joint (Steve Angello – “Be (MASHUP vs Show Me Love) {Hardwell Re-Edit}). What “happened” after that was-I ripped my shirt off like a crazy person and started swinging it in circles above my head, to the side, and toward the ground for a solid 90 seconds.
After growing tired of swinging my shirt, I began doing lunges. Now, I do these things in a lot of different public places, to mixed reviews. A lot of people are confused to see aerobic moves at bars and night clubs, but after the initial shock, most people seem to come around. The lovely folks at the Monte Carlo pool seemed to really be feeling the lunge.
After I ran out of breath from dancing, we made friends with the people in the cabana next to us who noticed my insane exploits. I mean, that’s the point isn’t it?
3:44 – 5:00 P.M. – We hang out with our new friends and continue to get sauced.
5:01 P.M. – The pool shuts down and we stubble out. Being a professional, I hit the convenience store and grab two one-liter bottles of water and get to chugging.
Big shout to DJ Sean O’Neal (sp.?) for killing the turntables all afternoon.
5:11- P.M. – We hail a minivan back to the Mirage.
5:23 P.M. – Two of the girls go up to the room to nap, while me, Scott, and our third chick roommate (“Jackie in the Box”) decide to head across the street to Chipotle.
5:29 P.M. – The three of us arrive at Chipotle.
5:38 - We are each about two bites into our respective burritos when I spill an entire large cup of Mr. Pibb onto the floor of the main/middle walkway in the restaurant.
5:41 P.M. – A Chipotle employee comes out to mop up the mess I have made. I request to do it myself because I am a drunken idiot, but she refuses my gesture.
5:56 P.M. – I walk out of the restaurant with my head held low.
6:08 P.M. – The three of us arrive back at our room where the other two girls are sleeping. The three of us fall into the two beds where there is room and join in the afternoon napping before we get ready for our 9:00 P.M. dinner reservation.
8:50 P.M. – Scott is awakened by a text message from one of our friends who has already arrived for our dinner reservation.
8:50 P.M. – Scott curses half-heartedly (due to exhaustion) and explains that our “nap” lasted a couple of hours longer than we had budgeted for - and that we just ruined our Saturday night dinner reservation that we all five promised to attend.
8:50 P.M. – I tell Scott “It’s Vegas.”
8:50 P.M. – No one laughs.
8:50 P.M. - 9:15 P.M. – We all five lay in silence and begin waking up.
9:16 P.M. – 11:00 P.M. – Shower assembly line, room service grilled cheese sandwiches, iPod on Daft Punk and pre-gaming with vodka shots…for them anyway. I am standing in the room staring at the wall and wondering if my headache will ever reside and if I am going to hurl. At some point, the iPod hit Mark Ronson’s “Valerie (The Count of Monte Cristo & Sinden Remix – Feat. Amy Winehouse)” and I feel the Electro run through my body. I speed shower and feel myself begin to turn the corner.
11:00 P.M. – We cab to The Palms.
11: 10 P.M. – There are about a two thousand people in the lobby of The Palms trying to get into both of the nightclubs, so we decide to migrate.
11:13 P.M. – “Foot Girl” orders us to the bar for a Lemon Drop shot before we exit. I seriously consider withdrawing my name from the festivities, but by the time I make up my mind, it’s too late and I already have a shot in hand.
11:14 P.M. – We click glasses and shoot.
11:14 P.M. – We all groan. I nearly puke on my shoe tops.
11:16 P.M – Waiting in the cab line outside The Palms.
11:33 P.M – We cab over to Wynn to see if we can get into Tryst.
11:45 P.M – 12:31 A.M. – Waiting in line at Tryst…
12:32 P.M – We head down the stairs to the club. I step inside and am amazed at the size and layout of the place. As soon as you walk through the front door, the dancefloor is front and center. Beyond the dancefloor, the club opens up to the outside. There is a pool, complete with waterfall right off the dancefloor. It is pretty sick.
12:36 P.M – We make it to the front of the bar and do a quick shot of Goosey. This time, I don’t feel like puking. I begin feeling like I could possibly be taking it to the house tonight. Quickly, I order a second round of shots. As soon as we all down the second shot of Goosey, the DJ drops DJ Class “I’m The Shit (Remix – Feat. Kanye West).” Immediately, I put my hand on Scott’s shoulder and begin jumping up and down as high as I can. The three chicks I am with are embarrassed. Scott is ecstatic. Scott has been waiting all night for “Wild Todd” to come out and go off…and it just happened.
12:39 A.M. – We hit the middle of the dancefloor, where the roof ends and you are basically outside by the pool looking up at the Nevada sky.
12:40 A.M. – I am in the freaking zone and the DJ is wrecking it.
12:42 A.M. – DJ drops LMFAO’s “Shots (Feat. Lil Jon)” and I get buck. I am screaming every word and no one cares because they are all just as inebriated as me.
12:42 A.M. – 1:02 A.M. – Bumping and grinding the ladies in my squad, we well as a few randoms (and Scott too from time to time).
1:03 A.M. – Another round of shots and a cocktail to chase it with.
1:04 A.M. – One of the ladies in our group opted out of the shots and decides to get in line to order a beer. Thus, I shoot her shot for her (my fourth) and dance on her while she is in line, because the DJ just went into Dr. Dre’s “Nuthin’ But A G Thang.” What choice did I have?
1:09 A.M. – The “Party of Five” is back in the center of the dancefloor, and serious footwork is on display. Still reeling from Dr. Dre, and wondering what the DJ is going to do now that he is down at 83 BPM, I begin to hear elements of T.I.’s “Swing Your Rag” cut through the mix. By the time the song is playing in the clear, I have already removed my button-up shirt and am steadily waving it around like a Gucci rag.
Yep, I dance…hard.
1:10 A.M. – 2:00 A.M. – Dancing, bathrooming, staring at the pool…
2:14 A.M. – Back up in my wheelhouse (126 BPM) the DJ completely sets it off with The Nightcrawlers’ “Push The Feeling On.” Or no. When I hear the vocal drop in, I realize that the track is actually Pitbull’s “Hotel Room Service,” and I go stupid. I believe this was the most hyper I was all weekend (barely edging the poolside Steve Angello demonstration). In fact, it is one of the most vivid memories of my entire trip. I love that damn song. That Saxophone sample is so filthy. DOPE!
2:45 A.M. – We leave the club and hail a minivan.
2:58 A.M. – We arrive at The Spearmint Rhino.
3:00 A.M. – The $40 cover charge makes me so angry that I forget that I am scared/disgusted by the idea of strip clubs.
3:01 A.M. – 4:24 A.M. – I stand with my arms at my sides (not touching ANYTHING) and wait my friends out. The lone bright spot is that the lame strip club DJ actually dropped Cassie’s “Long Way 2 Go (Feat. Ryan Leslie).” NO ONE EVER plays that record. It must have been Cookie’s strip routine song, because, based on what I heard leading up to this point, I just cannot imagine the DJ being that cool.
4:25 A.M. – We leave and head back to the Mirage one last time.
4:43 A.M. – We get back to the room and order more room service grilled cheeses sandwiches and some chicken fingers for good measure.
5:30 A.M. – Lights out for good.
Sunday.
10:30 A.M. – Wakey Wakey, eggs and bacey (as in “bacon,” yet altered to fit the rhyming scheme).
10:31 A.M. – 11:59 A.M. – Showers, dressing and packing for all.
Shower, dressing, stripping of personal bedding and packing for one of us.
12:00 P.M. – We check out of the Mirage and head to The Venetian for lunch with our friends from the Monte Carlo before they catch their flights back to L.A.
1:45 P.M – We all exchange hugs and possible dates for the next trip back.
2:00 P.M – The Foursome jam back into the car and leave the city.
3:00 P.M – We hit hella traffic (which we planned on) and stop off at the state line to kill time and let the roads clear.
3:10 P.M – We pull into Buffalo Bill’s to ride that damn “Desperado” roller coaster that we all drive past on I-15.
3:15 P.M – When we walk in the door of Buffalo Bill’s and it is spectacular. It is every bit as depressing as you imagine it when you speed past it on your way to the Vegas. It is dark, dingy, smokey and full of townies. I recommend that everyone check it out at least once.
3:21 P.M – We are ticketed and ready to get our coast on.
3:34 P.M – We step onto the coaster, I don’t fit. I bang my knees against everything and eventually buckle my safety belt.
3:37 P.M – The coaster takes off.
3:37 P.M – We drop 225 feet.
For some reason, we all four decided that this might be a good idea after nearly 24 straight hours of drinking in Las Vegas. I did not handle the drop well. I imagine that I would have screamed if my entire esophagus had not been filled with vomit. Lucky for “Foot Girl” sitting next to me, I was able to hold it in.
After the first drop, the coaster becomes less vomit-inducing and more bruise-inducing. It is the roughest roller coaster I have ever been on in my life (emotional or otherwise). I smashed each elbow against every piece of metal in my coaster car about 45 times apiece. The same goes for my knees (It would be Monday afternoon before I realized that I had huge bruises on the inside of each elbow and below each kneecap – and three weeks before they went away).
3:40 P.M – We exit the coaster and limp down the stairs silently asking ourselves why we paid money for that beating.
3:45 P.M – We drive across the street to the outlet mall.
3:46 P.M – 5:45 P.M – Shopping…
5:46 P.M – The four of us hit KFC across the street from the mall because it was pretty much all there was. No complaints from me. I got a Crispy Strip meal with double mash and kept it moving.
6:25 P.M – We hit the gas station for petro and ride out. It is right about now that three of us remember that we left work early on Friday and have to go back in for several hours AFTER we get back to L.A., which is now looking like 11:00 P.M., depending on traffic.
6:36 P.M. – 11:21 P.M. – Driving, hearing the Lakers won the title, watching Scott play air drums, making inappropriate jokes, sharing stories and fighting with the girls.
11:22 P.M. – Scott, “Foot Girl” and I drop off “Jackie In The Box” at home, so the three of us can go in to work.
11:25 P.M. – “Foot Girl” and I call every pizza place in the valley only to find that not one freaking pie spot is open past 10:00 P.M. on Sundays. How lame is this fact?
11:33 P.M. - - “Foot Girl” and I walk to, get this, Jack In The Box to politic with the usual late night tranny crowd there and get food for ourselves and Scott.
11:52 P.M. – We all three house our grease food and settle in to work until the sun comes up. Not awesome. I do not recommend this as a culmination to any Nevada trip. I cannot remember the last time I was so miserable.
Well, that’s pretty much wrap on Vegas, Part II. There are a few things I learned after this, my second trip to Nevada. Please allow me to share:
1 – Las Vegas trips are misery (but you signed up for it).
2 - You will be hung over until Tuesday.
3 - You will have spurts of nausea until Wednesday (and a little bit when standing up from your desk chair at work on Thursday).
4 – It will take seven days to physically and mentally recover from Nevada.
5 - It will take 3-4 weeks for the thought of Las Vegas to stop bringing you to the brink of spewing. Only at this point are you able to laugh at the memories you made on your most recent trip. But, again, until then, the mere mention of the city will make you want to url.
6 – I am too old to get drunk twice in one day. From now on, I need to spend my Nevada trips sleeping all afternoon and waking up for dinner and clubbing and that’s it.
Alright, I am going to shut this down. I have been piecing this together for over a month. At this rate, I will be back in Las Vegas again before this gets posted. So, I just need to stop re-reading and proofing this thing and post already. Sorry in advance for any typos and / or clarity issues.
