I have finally recovered from a long weekend in Vegas.
This trip was to celebrate the removal of this APA Perrla icon from my desktop. If you know what it is, you know what I've been doing for the past 2 1/2 years. This little program saved me the purchase of a $125 book, despite the bemoaning of my professors.
I did a little analysis on the cost of attendance for my newly minted degree: $24 for tuition and a few hundred for books. Tuition was mostly waived by work. Books I bought and sold back on half.com. Who says you can't go to school for nearly free? You only have to know how to work the system (and be a public slave servant for a few years). Ironically, the cost to request to graduate was $50, more than twice my tuition! Also ironically, after being a piss poor student during my undergrad years, I graduated this time with a 3.9 GPA (a statistic that no one but adoring mamagrub would admire).
As Vegas would not be Vegas without grubby, he met us for the holiday weekend. Doug and I were also joined by Samir, Iden and Sonya (from the OC yo). Grubs hooked us up at Flamingo and we hooked him up at Harrah's.
The OC gang hit the Orleans. Flamingo has the best pool on the strip for the price. Yes, laden with screaming kids, but ah, the little devils are absent from the $10-for-men-women-are-free European bathing section, smack in the middle. FYI, Diamond members are free, plus a guest. A few buckets of beer and lots of sunblock later, and we were all feeling pretty hot. Samir said the $10 entrance fee was worth seeing titties. Doug had a breast rub up against him when a woman in the pool lunged for a beach ball. I briefly took off my top to channel Europeans. Liberating.
On to Hofbrauhaus, Doug's favorite Vegas joint. The experience is surreal, group seating (us next to a couple who went machine gun target shooting), random spankings (free with the purchase of a shot of Jager), the Riccola pipe being blown, all-girl beer-chugging and who can hold a full stein the longest contests. I ordered spaeztle and the soup special of the day, "Hofbrauhaus Dumpling Soup". Turns out the "dumplings" were "liver balls" so I opted for a full stein of beer instead and tried squishing the liver balls into the "bacon grease and dumpling salad". Iden tried to determine whether or not purchasing a "Das Boot" beer glass was wise for $79.99 in the gift shop. He purchased a regular beer stein and a shirt at the urging of the German-accented cashier. Samir got spanked.
To Mandalay, my favorite Vegas joint. We stopped at the sportsbook bar for a beer while Iden picked up some sake in a Starbucks coffee cup. We were offered free tickets to Kathy Griffin by some woman with extra tickets (you'd have to pay me to see her). Then we chanced the Arctic freeze at Minus 5, paying $25 apiece to put on a parka and sit in a bar made of ice. Note to potential visitors: the Minus 5 snowbunnies whoring at the entrance charge you to take photos with them, but the loser in a penguin costume does not.
Before entering, the employees do their requisite speech about always using a coaster with your ice glasses lest they freeze to the ice tabletop, and they recommend you do not bring your cell phone inside because the cold may render them useless (yeah, how do people in Minnesota use cell phones, c'mon, they only want you to purchase their photos and not take crappy ones from your 0.5 megapixel cameraphone). Inside, Doug did a shot from the ice boob, chomped on an ice glass, and Iden ripped off his parka and shirt to stick himself to ice Elvis.
Sonya excused herself to go to the bathroom and was gone forever, as usual. She was wearing what she called "F-me heels" so maybe she was a slow walker? The guys and I stood outside waiting and speculating.
Me: Why does Sonya take so long in the bathroom?
Doug: Maybe she's masturbating.
Iden: Maybe she's p**ping.
Samir: Maybe she's masturbating with her p**p (gesticulates).
Dammit I almost spit up from laughing so hard (see next paragraphs).
I called up Seamless and they sent over the shuttle to pick us up at Mandalay. An ordinary shuttle from the outside, but a party bus inside! Note to visitors: taking the shuttle gives you waived $30 admission to the club (or asking for Jamie, or having a NV license). Found grubby hanging out with a blonde hottie, having been there several hours already. The guys got swarmed by girls while I bought a $9 beer. We ended up in a roped VIP area because Iden, lugging his treasures from Hofbrauhaus, was mistaken for a guy from "The Hills" and led to a special area.
I'm not sure if it's weird to go to a strip club with your brother, but going to a unisex bathroom with your brother is borderline. It's kind of like watching porn with your mother. Porn with your mother f'ing a turkey.
I started feeling nauseous so Doug and I left the gang to enjoy. In the cab ride back to Flamingo I started to feel cold. The cabbie was chatting away, apparently unaware I was now feeling cold and clammy. Nearing Flamingo, we passed right by it because pedestrians blocked its entrance. Cold, clammy, hand on door handle. I said let's just get out here but cabbie insisted on dropping us off at valet. Cold, clammy, hand on door handle, taste of bile and smell of liver balls. He drops us off and I stumble to the room and into the bathroom where oh shoot Hofbrauhaus revisits! Fifteen years with only two vomiting episodes, I couldn't believe I was heaving and couldn't stop. I had to simultaneously keep flushing the toilet while holding back my hair. It took me back to when I was 9, ate a hot dog and then swam in my cousin's pool. I had hair down to my ass that summer, and after the dip in the pool, I had chunks of hot dog in it too (my hair, not my ass).
Everyone knows I'm a light beer drinker only so I suppose Hofbrauhaus' lager, not to mention the size of its steins, didn't do me any favors. I drank a bottle of water and texted grubby:
The next morning I felt great.
To celebrate the 4th of July, we wandered around, unsure of where to go. Wound up at Margaritaville, another of Doug's favorite places. The tabletent decided our plans: "This table has a $30 an hour minimum between 5:30pm-9:30pm". Fireworks were going to be shot off Caesar's Palace, directly across the street. F-Train joined us until he scurried off to an invite-only at Caesar's Pure. Fireworks were great, even though they didn't have my favorite smiley face one. Samir spent a good two hours talking to/picking up a woman waiting for her, uh, 20 year old daughter.
We moved on to O'Shea's to play some cheap craps but the tables were too full. Played a little blackjack and then made our way to the bar to get some drinks and play some video poker. F-Train re-joined us and I told him to play my machine while I visited the restroom. When I returned, I had about $5 left, having put $20 in. I played the remaining credits and then drank my "free" beer. After awhile F-Train confessed, showing me a $100+ slot cash out, saying he hit quads on my machine during my brief bathroom trip! Love F-Train, despite his sheisty ways! Truth be told, after hitting the quads, grubs told him to cash it out quickly and re-deposit $10 more before I returned. What would mamagrub say about that behavior?
Then to Harrah's to play loads of pai gow and some short lived craps where I rolled once and couldn't hit a single point. Harrah's pai gow is usually my favorite, but this time the dealers were surly and the minimum bonus bet was $5. I usually play $5 anyway, but it didn't entice F-Train to even consider betting the bonus. Didn't win a single dime as usual.
Another pokerless trip to Vegas. Another checkmark in my vomit log. And another well spent celebration in the bestest city. I'll see Vegas again on 8/27, where I got comp'd at the noodle bar. If anyone is in town, let's play some pai gow!
by grubette
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