:: Vegas 4.0 ::
So last Wednesday, as many of you are aware, Christene and I departed for four days in my favourite city on the planet, Las Vegas. It was my fourth trip there in less than two years, and Christene's first ever.
And, as always, the city of Lost Wages did not disappoint.
To start things off, when we arrived at the Bellingham airport, the sandwich board at the entrance announced that the United States of Paranoia was on "Orange Alert" for terrorism. This apparently is bad, because orange is, according to the chart, a scarier colour than both blue and yellow.
No big deal, of course - there were no dicey situations with shoe-bombers or sketchy characters - but if there's one thing you do not want to hear while waiting at the gate, in a post-security holding pattern:
"Kuldeep Rahma, please return to security to unlock your bag. Unlocked bags are not allowed."
Now, I'm not one for racial profiling of any sort - Orange Alert or not - but I think it's safe to assume that if that announcement was made for somebody named Tim Jacobs or Billy Jones, I wouldn't have remembered it.
Just not what you really want to hear, is all.
But anyways, on to the trip itself....
Upon touching down in Las Vegas, the trip began wonderfully. We were heading to baggage claim, trailing behind a foursome of swanky-looking 20-somethings who had gotten off the same plane. Then one of the girls began a minor freak out. Why, you may ask? Well, she was wearing white capri pants, and unbeknownst to her, she sat in chocolate on the plane. A lot of it, in fact, so it looked like she had shit herself.
Awesome.
We were also staying at the Flamingo - older, but centrally located - which I'd never stayed at before. And while it was probably on the lower-scale of hotels, it was still nice simply because we upgraded our standard room for a "luxury GO-Room" that also had a strip view, for only $40 extra a night. And it was worth every damn penny.
Our room was awesome. It had a king-sized bed, mini-fridge, surround sound (with a free jazzy CD that they gave us at the front desk... also a good soundtrack for doin' it in front of the window...not that we did, but I'm just sayin'), and a 42-inch flat-screen TV. It also had an amazing view of Caesar's Palace and also the Bellagio fountains.
Also, at night there were lights in our room that, when you turned them on, glowed pink (Flamingo colours) and also the blinds and curtains opened automatically, with a switch on the wall.
Oh yeah, and the best part - there was a TV in the bathroom, embedded in the mirror. To quote Christene later that day:
"You haven't lived until you've dropped a deuce while you're watching TV. Every moment of my life was meaningless up until that point."
She's right. It was freaking amazing.
Also, among the other highlights - neither of us lost much money, and we each had a few decent-sized slot machine payouts... a few $50s, a couple $75s and one $96. Enough cash that it paid for a lot of our eating and drinking, which was nice.
Also, on Friday morning, we decided to take The Deuce to Fremont Street. We wandered around for a few hours, drank some drinks (and Christene did a lot of winning...she had the Golden Touch that day), and then we took the Deuce back to our hotel. It was on this return trip that we were lucky enough to sit behind a sketchy, smelly (Christene: "He smells of ketchups") old guy, who turned out to be a pimp.
As we travelled, we heard him talking on his phone to a person I can only assume was a fellow pimp. For a 10-minute stretch, he discussed loudly how he had a suite at the Stratosphere for only $25 a night, and had "one bitch" who had "a bangin' body" but was getting out of line.
Here's a rambling version of his rant. It's not word-for-word, but it's damn close. Much punctuation is also left out (Grammar Police immobilize!) intentionally, because this is how he talked.
"She's fucking out of control man I mean I fucking put that bitch up in the suite and suites aren't fucking cheap and I don't know who the hell she thinks she is. I mean I paid for her room for her food - I've been feeding her for a week - and that motherfucker thinks she's in charge and running the show that's not how it works fuck. I had two guys up there last night who wanted to party and she just left as soon as we got there. Whatever man, I don't care today is Friday so either way Imma gonna get motherfucking paid tonight."
He then, just as eloquently, proceeded to talk about "a big, fat black bitch" that he had up in the suite the night before.
Then he packed up his backpack (Which was full of those "Girls Direct to You!" trading cards...if you've been to Vegas, you know what I'm talking about) and left. We saw him on Saturday night, too, in front of our hotel, no doubt trying to drum up business for his bitches.
I mean, it was a Saturday, he's gotta get paid. Pimpin' ain't easy, after all.
Other things we did: went up to the top of the Eiffel Tower at the Paris Hotel (We got some free coupons from our hotel, and saved us the $15/each admission), watched The Price is Right show (which was awesome), and ate at a $40/person buffet at the Wynn, and though that might seem like a lot of money, I cannot express in words how amazing it was.
It was possibly the best meal of my life. Here's what I ate, to the best of my recollection: Two slabs of prime rib, 6-8 Alaskan King Crab legs (which were too big for a plate), heaping mound of mashed potatoes, pork tenderloin, piece of pizza, about 20 sweet 'n sour shrimp, 2 Diet Cokes, 10-15 deep-fried shrimp wontons, pasta salad, bowl of ice cream, cookie, piece of chocolate cake, pecan bar.
I think I may have actually blacked out for awhile, so I may have eaten even more. And then we went back to our hotel and I pretty much died. (OK, I didn't die, but I did get to spend some quality time watching my bathroom TV, let's put it that way).
And before we get to the quotes, one more note on the Price is Right: It's cheap entertainment, and I reccomend it. We bought out tickets off Vegas.com a few months ago for only $37 each, which is considerably cheaper than most Vegas shows, and it was pretty kick-ass, even if we didn't get chosen to take part. You even get your own Price is Right-style nametag, and while we were registering before the show, some guys walked by, through the casino, and yelled "The price is wrong, bitch!"
Unfortunately though, only Christene and I laughed. I don't know if anyone else got the reference, which makes me a little sad.
And now some quotes....
At the aforementioned bufffet, near the end of the gluttony....
Christene: You know, that's a no-sugar added dessert you've got. I saw a sign back there.
Me: Good, I'm trying to be healthy.
Christene: Yeah, you're just like Hal Johnson.
"You know what? You kind of have a New York accent." - Christene, shitfaced.
After a drunken walk to The Mirage....
Christene: How the hell did we even get here?
Me: Uhh...we walked here, remember? You bought a giant $17 margarita and talked to all the Mexicans handing out the escort cards.
Christene: I don't remember that at all.
After I lost another $40 and Christene won $50...
Christene: You have to start thinking of it as our money. We're a team!
Me: True, but it's still your money in your wallet.
Christene: No, it's our money in my wallet.
Me: I had a dream that I won $6-million on a progressive slot machine. But in reality, all that will really happen is I'll find a 2-for-1 coupon for erotic massage on the ground outside the hotel.
Christene: Ooooh, 2-for-1. That means I can go, too.
Me: Oh, I was just gonna go twice.
"I wanna get sloppy drunk in someplace fancy!" - Christene, already sloppy drunk, on her way to someplace fancy.
Christene: In case you couldn't tell, I'm trying to put the moves on you.
Me: Really? All you did was rollover halfway and kick me.
And that pretty much sums it all up. We might go back in the spring, so if anyone wants in on the debauchery, keep it in mind. (We're gonna stay at Planet Hollywood next time).
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