Living Las Vegas

It should be stopped before it spreads. They should build a fucking wall around Las Vegas and fill it with water. It would be painless to all the jaded fucks that inhabit its boundaries. There would be minimal losses, but we would all be saved from the virus of gaud that threatens to spread from its horrible horrible bowels. The popped collars, Friday night shirts and stunna shades that would float to the top of the Vegas ruins cesspool would be somehow satisfying. Oh, and all of those fucking giant, whalebone drink containers would all float to the top, too. I'd take them and tie them all together and make a giant raft to do tours for young children so that they could learn from our mistakes.

So, went to Vegas last weekend. Didn't really want to, but went for my sister's 21st. Any excuse for a family trainwreck and I'm pretty much in. Went past the Super 8 that I was staying at during my last major life changing event and the 7-11 where I had a taco roll of some sort right before it happened and was cool with it. I've recovered from all that finally, but have managed to find a host of new problems to deal with. It keeps one busy, I guess. Without problems life would be a conglomeration of Entertainment Tonight, Extra! and Wheel of Fortune with an occasional wordsearch on Sundays. New problems make it possible to look at your bed and fear it because you aren't going to get any sleep and will feel your chest tighten immediately when you lay down and close your eyes and your mind spins off into a loop about all of life's problems. You hear of the footloose and Fancy Feast set (intentional cat joke), but I find it hard to believe that they are truly evolved to the point that there isn't something dragging them down late at night in a dark room.

So, flew in Friday around 4:00 PM and went straight to a blackjack table and lit up a smoke. After an hour and $100 I was reprimanded for dropping too many F bombs on grounds of creating a hostile work environment for the dealer. I acknowledged the problem and recommended going to community college and getting out of working in a casino as a good idea to dehostilize the dealer's work environment. I was lucky to not get cattle prodded, but I was kinda punchy and uncomfortable in my surroundings.

So dudes next to me are straight from the OC and none of them look like Seth or Ryan at all. They looked more like the dudes in the episode where Ryan goes back to Chino and starts stealing cars, but that's revealing a little too much about my TV viewing habits, doesn't it? So, OC dudes are smoking Newports and talk me into putting Binaca on the filter of a Newport and smoking it. When was the last time any motherfucker even saw Binaca?

So, we're playing and having a nice time and the dude right next to me looks at me and goes "Shit, dude. My friend just came out today." The way the sentence was accented on the "today" made it sound like his friend had just arrived in Vegas. No. That was not the case. His friend had just come out of the closet. This was fine, but I didn't know which friend it was until a little later when I said "Sorry, your friend ended up gay, dude, but don't be bothered by it. He's still your friend." Then he replied "Shut up, dude. It's the guy right behind me." I looked at the guy behind him and just said "Duh. That dude's gay."

So, after that I met my family for drinks in the bar and we started getting wasted. I told some waitress that she had shelf titties. That was kind of mean, but she was pushing up these A or B cups and creating no cleavage and her boobs just turned into something that was reminiscent of flan.

We then went to the dueling piano bar thing at New York New York so that my family could spend $400 to stop anyone who requested the Eagles. It's become a tradition. I even got to sing some Van Halen Jump when they played it. Killed it, by the way. Holy shit, I just remembered that I sang Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing with some chick at karaoke last night. Nice.

After the piano thing, the rest of the night was spent herding cats as my sister's started to fall apart. One of them even called The Girl and told her it would be smart if she stopped texting me for her protection because I was going to get real wasted. I've got to shake The Girl, by the way. I don't care if it takes blunt cranial trauma. I want this to end. I've managed to stop myself from calling her for the last three nights and I've wanted to call her real bad, but I don't even know what I'd say. I used to be so much cooler than this until she got in and scrambled my eggs. Whatevs. She's just not that into Ol' Jauge and that's fine. what was I talking about? Oh, So I spend the rest of the night until 6:30 AM the next morning at a blackjack table. Basically, this is what happened between Midnight and 6:30. I spilled a drink on the table about every 20 minutes, was reprimanded for dropping F bombs and zatted Blackjacks like nobody's business. Zatting is when you've drank enough Red Bull and vodkas to kill a young cow and can see through the cards. When a face card is dealt and the unseen card comes around, you point at it and yell "Zat!" as it hits the table. When this completes a blackjack, you have zatted correctly. I even zatted a drink into a dude's lap and he thanked me for it because I zatted him a blackjack. Only in Vegas.

More later. I'm going to go solve the world's pressing problems now.