I have returned, I have recovered from my two day hangover, then my mini-cold, and now I can grace you all with yet another disasterous escapade in the land of sin. I rolled out on Thursday night and after the painfully long set of flights, I finally arrived in Vegas at 10:30 PM (or 1:30 AM, my time). Do hot women not take plane rides? I mean, has anyone ever had an attractive woman sit next to them on a flight? I don't travel all that much, but I would have imagined at some point a remotely attractive woman would have sat next to me or at least in my row. Instead, I got a smelly Indian on the first flight and a guy who really thought the arm rest was his exclusively on the second flight. Thankfully, Vegas and the women in the Hard Rock would make up for this.
After locating my two buddies who also came in one day early, we grabbed a cab, headed to the Hard Rock, and proceeded to gamble until our eyes bled. The highlight of this night was calling my brother after I had lost $500 and finally decided to get some sleep, to remind him of a job that needed to be done that day back at work. Oh yeah, it was 8:30 AM Eastern Time when I made this call. Vegas.
On Friday, we headed down to the pool, truly the crowning jewel of the Hard Rock hotel, and grabbed a few chairs in prime view of the northern pool. The scenery was especially nice, as was expected, but what wasn't completely expected was this exchange which occurred across the pool from me.
An attractive and "fake" woman had been walking around trying to strike up conversation before finally sitting down by herself and revealing the tiny bikini and thong she was wearing beneath. She danced in her seat for about 20 minutes before the large group of guys to her left (another bachelor party, I assume) began talking with her. About 10 minutes later, she was gone. I wasn't sure where she'd gone, but after she left a second, not as attractive girl showed up and sat in her seat. She too began talking with the guys, and it was not for another 15-20 minutes that I got a complete understanding of what was going on.
It was at that moment when the first girl, and one of the guys, came walking back to the seats together. She sat down next to the new girl, while the guy walked over to his buddies. And then we have our moment of Zen. One of the other guys hands the second girl some money, we'll refer to her as the "Madam", which she places in her purse. While reaching into her purse, she pulls out a small bottle which she hands to the first girl, we'll refer to her as the "Ho". Apparently, the madam handed her a bottle of hand santizer which the ho used to clean herself from what likely just occurred. Ah, Vegas.
So, the day moves into night and soon the remainder of the crew has shown up and we're heading to do what bachelor parties do...go to a strip club. Unfortunately, the strip club across the street is standing room only and we've got a large crew. The owner tells us to come back on Saturday, a bit earlier, and he'll hook us up with table. So, we leave, saddened by our inability to see naked women that don't require the use of any sort of word savvy to get them to take their clothes off. But wait...this is Vegas.
It is at this moment that a Hummer limo pulls up (or nearly hits us as we cross, not sure exactly) and offers us a winning deal: A ride to another strip club, a table at that strip club, and a bottle of liquor at the table...$20 per person. Are you kidding me? There is a god and he wants us to see titties. We jump into the limo, Eminem and Xhibit are blasting, and the night just got a whole lot better. Ah, Vegas.
On to Saturday. Ha, you were expecting more?? Anyway, we returned to the pool but saw no obvious Ho-John transactions, which was a bit of a let down. The quality of women was also a bit lower, but it's all relative, as plastic and silicone are pretty standard stuff. I bail from the pool a bit early because I'm exhausted, and unfortunately miss out on two of our crew getting loaded and pretending to be bouncers for the VIP dance area around the pool. How did they get away with this, you ask? Well, one of them is a 6'2", 280 lb. black man that resembles Mike Tyson. He apparently gets away with a lot...and he's only just begun.
We try to clean things up a bit and head over to the Bellagio to grab some dinner buffet. After waiting in line for more than an hour (yeah, I ain't shitting you), we finally get in and I am sorely let down that there is not gold sprinkled on the food after a line like that. Eating a buffet after two days of heavy drinking and minimal sleep is tough, so the buffet, like the table games, kicks my ass...even though I went heavy on the sushi. That's not all bad, as the madness is about to begin and to be completely full of food would have been a buzz kill.
So, 10:30 rolls around, we're all cleaned, showered, and pimped out for our trip to Body English, Hard Rock's dance club. But we're not just going to the club, we're going VIP. Two tables, four bottles of liquor and an overhead view of the dance floor...plus no waiting in line, we cruise on in and start hitting the liqs. But there is one thing that must be done. The bachelor must be made to feel like an ass...it's only appropriate since he is about to say goodbye to single life. So out comes a bright yellow T-shirt, covered in flashing buttons courtesy of our buddy who works at a promotions company.
Words can't really do the shirt justice, but imagine a giant walking Christmas tree in a classier, somewhat exclusive dance club, and you're heading in the right direction. But what could have been a classic disaster, turned into the greatest social move in the history of bachelor parties. Women are flocking to the lights like it's a homing beacon for vagina, and soon we've got a full blown party going on with the liquor flowing and people dancing in every direction. But just like a good gangster movie, the high times lead to the terrible lows. And nothing leads to a terrible low like a 6'2", 280 black man that resembles Mike Tyson, taking off his shirt and jumping on the couches of the VIP room. He is left to his own accord for about 10 minutes, before someone tells him to put his shirt back on, which he proceeds to do...backwards. Oh, boy.
It is around this time that a second disaster hits...we're out of booze. Yep, four bottles doesn't go very far when you're mixing for yourself and about 30 random girls. It's still early, so I take the plunge and hand my credit card to the waitress to order us up another three bottles. What I wasn't expecting was for her to bring me back the three bottles and a slip of paper saying they were $1100!!!! Ah, Vegas.
It is at this point, that I become the Vodka nazi and scowl at all random women approaching the booze. This will likely lead to me not getting any ass, but I'm still graced with sharp wires across my jaw and enough liquor to make my dick non-functional, so I'm not too concerned. A haze covers the rest of the night for me, but Tyson got tossed and then paid to get back in, all but about 20 buttons were handed out making the bachelor's shirt less flashy, and Vegas has once again kicked my ass.
Vegas, a nice place to visit. Thank god I only do it every once in a while.