Finally--The Last Word About September Madness

Whew! It’s been a whirlwind month for me. I finally have a day off where I have absolutely no commitments, and I have nowhere to be until Saturday. Finally, I can relax. By the way--I'm not pirating hosting with these pics--I borrowed some of the better ones to tell the story, and rehosted them on my own account. (So Ron and Angy, you'll have no bandwidth issues with your photobucket accounts)

It all started over four weeks ago when I was moving a load of junk from my old ratty house to my new place. It was a Wednesday night, and I was trying to get as much done before the buffoonery of “S&M Weekend” started the next day in earnest. It was the end of the month, so I had to be out of my old place by the first of October, and my sister Cyndi was arriving the next morning, along with a shiatload of other T2V degenerates. So I was busy. It was still hot out, I was sweaty and stinky, and I was on my way back to the old house to get another load when my cell phone rang. A quick look at the display told me that it was Angy, a.k.a. Beach Crazy. I thought she was also arriving on Thursday and was just getting excited and wanted to chat. Wrong. First thing out of her mouth was Hey, we’re at the Mirage pool, what are you doing???

Well, after chatting for a few minutes, it was decided that I’d come down and meet her and the ladies at the AVA bar at the Mirage for drinks, catching up, and officially kicking off the weekend.

An hour later, after a shower, shave, and change of clothes, I was standing around the lounge waiting for the ladies to show up. They arrived a few minutes after I did, and we immediately got a table and ordered a round of drinks. It was nice to catch up with Angy and Cyndy, as I hadn’t seen them since our wonderful dinner at Blackstone back in March. I also got to meet Angy’s sisters, who seemed like they were ready to Get Their Vegas On.

Mmmm…a bacon and hottie bread sandwich


After a few drinks we were laughing it up and having a ball, and I got a few looks from other dudes in the bar, I’m sure wondering what the hell I was doing in there with four women. We just decided to tell anyone that asked that I was their pimp. Unfortunately, nobody asked. However, I felt like sharing my enjoyment of the moment with somebody, so I text messaged Bazootch the following: Me and four drunk blondes at the Mirage. How’s your day going??? Heh.

Over the course of the evening, Cyndy and I discovered that we had a lot of background in common (even attending the same school briefly), so we had a lot of laughs telling old stories.

We discussed going out gambling somewhere cheap, and also they wanted me to go with them to Tangerine that night, but I would have none of that. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt and didn’t want to go home and change again, much less go to some pretentious ‘ultra-lounge’ and be fondled by the likes of Tara Reid or Jenny McCarthy. I have my standards… But it was Angy’s birfday, and she wanted to try it once, and said that Vegashost, Bill Le had given her the hook-up. (Although paying $100 for cover, plus $330 for ‘bottle service’, I fail to see the value-added with his so-called hook-up. But I have to give the man his props for running a good racket). So we said our goodbyes after several rounds and a lot of laughs.

I went home and went to bed, exhausted from the day’s activities. Around 3:30 in the morning, I am awakened from my blissful slumber by my cell phone ringing. Hey, guess who! It’s Angy again. This time, she’s pretty drunk and telling me a half-coherent story about getting thrown out of Tangerine. In the background I heard Cyndy yelling at somebody That’s bullshit! What the hell…? etc etc. Angy asks me to come get them before they get arrested and such, but after a few minutes everyone calms down and they started walking back to the Mirage, eventually deciding that I could remain in bed and no rescue would be needed.

Fifteen minutes later my phone rings again, three guesses as to who is calling. This time they’re almost back to their rooms at the Mirage, but apparently they’ve picked up a couple of guys who don’t seem to be taking ‘No’ for an answer… I heard more random stuff in the background like No, no kisses… I’m talking to my husband, he’s coming down here right now! No, you can’t come to our room… Again I’m called upon for a rescue, but the threat of me being a jealous husband seems to have worked, and once again I got to stay in bed instead of playing the role of the cavalry. We say goodnight and I told them that I’d call tomorrow after I picked up my sister Cyndi from the airport.

I got a few hours sleep, then packed a couple of duffel bags full of clothes and such that I would need while staying downtown at the Golden Nugget with my sister. I made my way to the airport and got to the baggage claim about thirty seconds before Cyndi arrived from Nashville.

No cool rental car this time, so we made our way downtown in my luxurious Ghetto Sled. It was nice and dirty, having not washed it in about a month, so it was an extra-special treat for the valet guy at the Nugget.

We had a room on the tenth floor of the South Tower. It was nice and all (I’d stayed there before), but the view was pretty lame. Nothing of interest out the window, so we directed our gaze toward the TV most of the time we were in the room.

I called the ladies, but they were out at the pool, so we decided to just meet up later. Of course they had to tell me about a chick wandering around out there with the most ridiculous fake boobs they’d ever seen. “Looks like two bowling balls!” seemed to be the apt description.

We got settled in the room for a bit, unpacking and such, and Cyndi showed me the gift bags she’d put together for Angy and Ron. Fun stuff. She also had one for me, which included some homemade chocolate chip cookies and a couple of authentic made-in-Tennessee Goo Goo Clusters. The Coca-Cola of candy bars! Good stuff.

We decided to give Kikky a call, since she was traveling alone, and also staying there at the Nugget. A few minutes later we met her downstairs and decided to head out for lunch together. After a brief discussion of lunch options, we decided on the coffee shop at Binion’s. To be honest, I have no idea what we ate or what it cost, but it was filling and relatively cheap.

After lunch we did a brief wander up and down Fremont Street, and stopped in Le Bayou for a kickoff ride on the grain train. Unfortunately, the entire place smelled like a cheap motel during spring break—an ungodly miasma of puke, alcohol, sweat, and stale smoke. And it was heavy on the puke smell, which was sickening. We couldn’t get out of there fast enough. To make matters worse, the drinks tasted awful. I had a bad one in July also, so this trend is troubling. I tossed it with less than a quarter of it consumed. I was still tired from the long night I’d had, plus all the moving I’d been doing, so I wanted to go back to the room for a nap.

We said our goodbyes to Kikky, making plans to meet up later that night at Carnaval Court at Harrahs. Cyndi and I spent the afternoon in the room, dozing in front of the TV and catching up on all the family gossip. We were also looking forward to the next weekend, as our niece Stephanie getting married, and everyone in the family thought I wouldn’t be there for the party. But I was sneaking in for the weekend under the radar as a surprise, so we were making post-Vegas plans, also.

Later that afternoon Angy called, and wanted us to come up for a little pre-party party, so we made our way up to the Mirage. Jack21 had sent a bottle of Captain Morgan Silver and a bowlful of limes up to the room as a gift, so we stopped at the sundries shop next to the elevator for mixers and munchies.

Introductions were made, and as I figured, Cyndi, Cyndy, and Angy hit it off pretty well.

Cyndy, Cyndi, and Angy. If I were Dave Chappelle, these would be 'my bitches'



After a few drinks, some silly pictures, and a few more drinks, there was a knock at the door—Rambill and Blackjack had decided to join us! More drinks were made and consumed, more photos taken, and more silliness ensued.

Angy cranked up the party to a nice respectable level by setting the IPod to “All ABBA, All The Time” and plugged it into her nifty portable speakers gadget thingy. This was about the time that somebody thought it would be a good idea if I wore a feather boa along with my “I Do All My Own Nude Scenes” t-shirt. Ok! Those of you who know me know that I’m all about the fashion statements. Not quite sure what statement I was making, but it sure turned a lot of heads that night.

After the bottle of Captain was gone and the mini bar was raided of everything but Scotch, we decided to head on over to the Carnaval Court and meet up with the other reprobates for an evening of gambling and debauchery, leaving nothing but empty glasses and melting ice cubes in our wake.

The six of us pranced over from the Mirage and were the first of the T2Vers to arrive.


Sometimes I dress like this when nobody is around, too




There was immediate entertainment, however, as we saw a colorful ‘local’ standing just outside the entrance, avoiding the cover charge and happily dancing to the beat of her own, obviously different, drummer.





It didn’t take long before the rest of the gang started trickling in—LV Terry and Mark the Golf ****, Kikky, Vegas Jer, even Angy’s sisters took a break from gambling and showed up. Of course, once the whole gang had assembled the dollar drinks started showing up in earnest.

Of course we couldn’t have this many degenerates in one place without any gambling, so we decided to hit the tables. Uh oh. All we found were $10 double-deck 6-5 blackjack games. Man, that sucked. Of course the music was loud as hell (even the dealers wore earplugs) but everyone just sat down. I tried protesting and pointing to the 6-5 sign, but after about 30 seconds of debate, out came the money. I stood in back, not gambling in protest, but after about ten minutes, I pulled out a twenty-spot, slapped it on the table and said “Fark it. Money plays!” Yeah, I won. Hee hee…

So I sat down and played some more. And I made about $175 more in the next hour or so. But nobody played straight thru except for Ron. At some point all of us were up taking pictures, doing shots, or out dancing down in front. Ron was in the Zone and wasn’t budging from his chair. In the meantime, I was up and down snapping random pictures with Angy’s camera, drinking random drinks, and talking to random chicks. Of course having Terry and Angy lurking about, the buffoonery meter was pegged and I was doing some crazy “I Dare You” shiat.

At some point, some chick attached herself to me and was telling me “You are the hottest guy in here! I LOVE you!!!!” among other stuff that shouldn’t be repeated on a family website. Ok—Score! So, there I was trying to close the deal, but apparently she had to catch a redeye flight that night back to Ocanada. I was pulling out all of my best material--I had the shot, there was no danger, so I took it. But Commander Heatherly dove below the hard deck and called ‘No Joy’. Of course, LV Terry witnessed all of this to his great amusement. Crash and burn, huh Mav?

Later on, I remember being out on the dance floor with Angy and we were dancing with all kinds of different people, just pulling chicks up out of their seats to come dance with us. I don’t know how long we kept that up, but it was a lot of fun, and the band was playing some great music.

After awhile, we both noticed that her friend Cyndy was missing, so we went out looking for her. Angy found her the casino a little while later. It was getting late, and Cyndy had had enough, so Angy asked me to take her back to the Mirage. No problem—Mikey to the rescue once again.

We walked back, continuing our chat from the night before, thinking that the rest of the gang would be right behind us. We got back to the Mirage and stayed up talking but nobody showed up until Angy stumbled in around 6:30 in the morning, pissed off because nobody hit on her all the way from Harrahs to the Mirage Of course, the fake eyelash sitting sideways on her face like a dead caterpillar probably had nothing to do with it…. By that time we were sort of dozing off and Cyndy dumped the remnants of a Diet Coke all over the bed. Angy busted out with Ok! Looks like all three of us will have to sleep in one bed now…. And for a brief moment I had a flashback to this one time my buddy Eddie and I took a left turn in Flagstaff…

Ah, but no such story this time. We stayed up talking for a bit, then dozed off. Around 8 or so I got up, put the shoes back on and made my way back down to the Nugget. My sister Cyndi was giving me shiat about having to stay there alone the previous night, but I told her, Look at it from my perspective. Stay downtown with my sister, or stay at the Mirage with some hotties… Hmm, tough choice! She got even with me later, as we were leaving to go to breakfast. Remember, we were staying on the 10th floor of the Golden Nugget. Our particular bank of elevators only went from the lobby to floors 9 thru 22, so on the way down, we were usually the last stop, getting in a crowded elevator each time.

Anyhow, on Friday morning, we're leaving the hotel, heading out for breakfast. The elevator door opens and we squeeze in the already full car. Cyndi insists on pushing the 'Lobby' button, so I call her on it, saying Yeah, make sure you hit that LOBBY button, because I'm sure ALL of these people are heading to the ninth floor... Which got a chuckle from everyone.

Cyndi didn't like being the butt of my joke, so she retaliated by turning to me with a scowl on her face, acted like she was my wife, and said Don't you dare say a word to me, you cheating piece of trash!

Dead silence all the way down...

Of course when the doors finally opened we damn near peed ourselves laughing.

I’m sure all of the people on the elevator are now at home sharing stories about the freak couple they saw on the elevator. Of course, that led to the newest tradition of who could say the most outrageous thing while showing our keys to the security guard every time we went back up.

Breakfast at the Peppermill was fantastic, as usual. I took another run at the chicken fried steak and eggs, coming up short again. I think Cyndi just had sausage, hashbrowns and a bagel. After breakfast, we went back to the lounge for drinks with my girl Krista, but we were dozing after just one round. Apparently the lack of sleep was catching up to us. We just can’t party like we used to. Well, we can, but it takes much longer to recover from it, that’s all.

After the Peppermill, we went back over to my house to move more stuff to my new place. It took a lot longer than expected since we were stuffed and tired, so one load was enough and we headed back to the Nugget for naps.

I had just kicked off my shoes and laid down on the bed when the phone rang. It was Jer and Kikky, on their way up to visit.

They wanted to do some gambling, but Cyndi was way too tired. So was I, but I couldn’t just ‘not go’. So I hauled my carcass off the bed and headed over to Binion’s with those two. In hindsight, I probably should’ve just stayed in bed, because within about twenty minutes I was down over two hundred bucks at the craps table. And the boxman was really sweating the money, making it no fun at all to play. I bounced from table to table, but couldn’t find any dice that weren’t possessed by demons or gremlins or other such troublesome creatures bent on my destruction.

At one particular table, it was somewhat crowded and I got the dice, and noticed the dirty old geezer at the other end of the table with a smile like a jack-o-lantern betting $500 on the Don’t Pass. Of course I knocked his chips over with my dice, but they landed on four, making sure I had my work cut out for me. I rolled a couple numbers, but not quite enough because much too soon it was Cinco-Dos-Adios. That old dirtbag actually started cheering when I sevened-out (had nothing to do with the thousand dollars in odds he laid against his no-four, I’m sure). Everybody else at the table was pretty pissed off at him, so I just said Yeah, keep smilin’ old man—now you can afford to go get you some new teeth. Not a good afternoon at the dice tables.

At that point, I left and made my way around the casino, finally finding a seat at a $5 double deck blackjack game. I was actually making a comeback, having added another hundred bucks or so to my stack, when I waved down Jer & Kikky. They joined me and we were having a pretty good time for a while, just drinkin’, playin’ cards, and enjoying the old school Vegas vibe.

Then this jackass in a Longhorns t-shirt, wearing a cowboy hat and carrying a spitty cup decided to sit down next to me and play like a complete farking moron. It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut after his brilliant play cost the table time and time again. After about a half hour of that beating, I finally wised up and left, down another fifty bucks. So the afternoon of gambling at Binion’s didn’t really go as well as hoped for. I decided to head back across the street to take a shower and such, and we agreed to meet up later at the Main Street Station Triple Seven Brewpub with everyone else.

After an angry shower and a clean set of clothes, Cyndi and I were off to the brewpub. When we got there, however, it was pandemonium. I have never seen the place so packed. It was like everyone in Vegas said Hey, lets meet down at the Main Street Station at 6 o’clock on Saturday night! There was no way we were getting a table in there. So we just sat down at the nearest bank of slot machines and waited for the stragglers to start showing up.

While we were there, the two nice ladies approached me and asked if I was indeed Hurricane Mikey. They were from Minnesota or Manitoba or British Columbia or some other cold place that ended in the letter ‘a’, but said they were big fans from way back and wanted to meet me. So we chatted for a few minutes, and I invited them to join the rest of us for drinks, but shortly thereafter they disappeared and I never saw them again. But it impressed my sister, who reads nothing but People and US Magazine and gets star-struck when she sees the weatherman at the grocery store. So according to her, I’m ‘famous’.

Anyhow, it turns out that Kikky had actually made reservations for like 20 or 25 people, so we had a table reserved for us in back. By that time a few of the Usual Suspects showed up and we started drinking in earnest. Doc Al and his wife made an appearance, which supposedly was sort of a surprise, but I figured it out a week in advance after he announced that he suddenly wouldn’t be able to make it out in November, then sent me a private message asking about my work schedule that weekend…

So drinks were hoisted, toasts were made, appetizers were passed around. Blackjack finally showed up, kinda looking like he’d swam through a river of gin to get there, so the birthday celebrations officially began.


Nothing says 'Imminent Derailment' quite like this picture here


Gifts were exchanged, and Ron had supplied magic markers to write our birfday wishes on Angy’s jersey. In case you’re wondering what I wrote, the top line says “With Wonder Bra” and the bottom line says “Without Wonder Bra”. Oh yeah, Angy appreciated it.


Carmella Soprano models her New Jersey


Of course since we’d been drinking for a while by that time, I decided to revive the tradition invented one drunken evening during March Madness and start giving homemade tattoos. I don’t know if the folks at the other tables appreciated all the random bits of nudity on display, but the T2V table seemed to give the whole experience a thumbs up.



After all that—and settling up the bill, it was time to take a ride on the grain train. Doc Al led the mass sponge migration over to Mermaids, and Blackjack, still flush with his banana-chip winnings, offered to pick up the tab for all 16 cars in the Grain Train. I think there were only like 12 or 13 of us, so some homeless dudes and other down-on-their-luck folks became honorary T2Vers. Of course, after they got their drinks they didn’t want anything to do with such uncouth louts as us, and promptly disappeared.

Shortly thereafter, standing outside of Glitter Gulch, watching the strippers ply their trade, I spouted forth some wisdom that only comes after a long bout of drinking. I said You know what, Doc? The only thing better than chicks who will take off their clothes for money…is chicks that’ll take ‘em off for free…

True dat! said Doc.

I believe we raised our glasses in brotherhood, while his wife just rolled her eyes and slowly tried to distance herself…

The ultimate objective, after Mermaids, was to make our way along Fremont Street and eventually end up at Doc Al’s favorite Bed & Breakfast, the El Cortez. With all of the posing for pictures, people watching, talking to random strangers, and the occasional light show, it took us the better part of an hour to finally make it to the Four Seasons of Fremont Street, the El Cortez. By that time, the wheels had started to come off.

We were all pretty liquored up, but the Buzz had caught up to some of the weaker members of the herd and had started picking them off. I’m not gonna name names, but somebody fell over and landed under a craps table. Somebody else stood on a ten, somebody else stood on an eight, and somebody else was huggin’ a toilet in the ladies room. And of course somebody almost got thrown out for falling into the arms of a less-than-amused security guard.

My dice roll was interrupted by the urgent need to get my sister back to the Nugget, as she had become almost completely derailed. Angy’s sisters had gotten her upright again, and we made it to the front door and managed to get a cab. The driver knew what was up, and broke the land speed record between the ElCo and the Nugget, at one point hitting 75mph in the five blocks between the two hotels, trying to avoid cleaning up a mess that was certainly on the verge of happening.

I got Cyndi back ‘home’ and the cabbie got me back to the Elco in record time—total fare was six bucks. I gave him a ten spot for being a good sport and went back in to find the good doctor. By then the party had started breaking up. A few die-hards were parked at the blackjack table, but after wandering a bit, Doc, the Mrs., and I decided to head back towards the Nugget and call it a night. We were pretty proud of ourselves for being the sole survivors of the Train Wreck, and made it back to the hotel mostly in a straight line.

While walking by the Carson Street Café, Doc noticed the familiar scent and said You know, it seems like all of these downtown 24-hour coffee shops have the same smell.

Yep, smells like a combination of fried Spam and Desperation I replied.

We parted ways at the elevator and I found my way back to the room, collapsing in bed, asleep less than a minute after my head hit the pillow.

The next morning we were a sight to behold. Hangover city. I had the foresight to stop and get bottled water the night before, so disaster was averted and pain was minimized. However, I shrieked like a dying vampire when Cyndi pulled back the curtains and the blazing glare of God’s Flashlight burned my retinas. I was hopping around in my cage like a lab monkey in the days before they discovered the recipe for baby shampoo.

After a very slow start, we finally made our way down to the valet to pick up the ghetto sled and finish moving my stuff from the old house. The next three hours seemed like forever, but we got it all done by about 2pm. Finally I was out of that crack house. Cyndi thought that my old roommate was being especially rude, so she left half of her tuna sandwich on the windowsill behind the Venetian blinds. That’ll teach ‘em. I’m sure they still haven’t found it.

We made it back downtown early in the afternoon for some much needed rest. We just laid around watching TV for a couple hours and made a verbal commitment that we wouldn’t drink so much that evening. And this time we meant it!

Being a nice fellow, and in partial repayment for all the times she let me crash at the Mirage with her and Angy, I called up Chicago Cyndy and told her I’d take her to the airport so that she didn’t have to take a cab. Unfortunately, since she didn’t decide to come out until the very last minute, the only return flight she could get was departing on Saturday night at 6pm. So she was gonna miss the rest of the buffoonery and was quite disappointed.

I made my way down to the Mirage picked her up, and we were on our way to the airport a few minutes later. I was sad to see her go because we really had a good time together this visit. We said our goodbyes and I made my way back downtown. Just as I was pulling into the parking garage, my cell phone was ringing. It was work, seeing if I could come in that night and deal dice. I desperately needed the hours, but since I’d already made plans for the night, and the fact that my sister was in town, I had to turn down their offer.

I just kicked back in the room watching college football while Cyndi got ready. The plan for that evening was drinks at Bamboleo then up to the Voodoo Lounge. I managed to find some decent slacks and a nice shirt with buttons on it, matching socks, and a belt that matched my purse…oh wait, nevermind… and we were off to the Rio. We were the first to arrive, even though we were an hour late, so we just ordered a round of drinks and sat down and watched the world go by. Doc Al and the Mrs. showed up a few minutes later, so another round of margaritas was ordered. Before long all of the stragglers came in, and everyone cleaned up pretty well. Either T2V is a good-looking crowd, or the contrast from the night before was just so pronounced, but either way, our gang was stylin’ and profilin’.

We must’ve stayed there at the bar for a good couple of hours, and of course we knew it was going to be a memorable night when Rambill, LV Terry, and I walked up to the bar and the first thing the bartender said was I remember you guys… We hadn’t been in the same room together in over six months, but she had us pegged as troublemakers from the get-go. The drinks kept flowing, along with the good conversation, and the evening was very much like a cocktail party—lots of little groups of people mingling about, taking pictures, laughing, and just generally having a great time. I also got another shot of that vile drink they call ‘the Terry’. Dude, I don’t know what’s in it, but it’s not the most manly thing I’ve ever had. I decided right then that from now on it would be known as ‘the Terrence’.

There was a little bit of comedy that I stepped in at one point. A little backstory… Back in March, I was riding the elevator at the Mirage one day, heading up to Angy’s room. Well, it was very crowded, and I was in the back. We stopped on another floor and picked up some more people, one of them being Angy, coming from the spa or beauty salon or something. But she didn’t see me. The doors closed, and I reached forward through the crowd and pinched her directly on the ass. She was totally unfazed. Of course, all the women in the elevator thought I was some kind of pervert, but when we both got off on the same floor, Angy finally realized it was me. So we laughed about it, and every now and again in a crowd I’ll pinch her ass just to let her know I’m there.

So I told you that story to tell you this one. I’m making my way through the crowd and see a blonde woman from behind, talking to Rambill and Jer. (Bet you know where this is going…). I’ve got just enough liquor in me to be goofy so I walk up and pinch her on the ass, thinking it was Angy. Nope, the blonde slowly turned around and boy was I shocked to see that it was one of those dudes from Nelson! Just kidding. It was Angy’s sister, and she was a bit surprised, too. Of course I tried to tell her that I thought she was Angy from behind, but she didn’t believe me at first, but after explaining that experience from March to her, she finally bought my story. I believe her exact words were That’s ok, I didn’t mind. So I pinched her ass again and moved on…

At some point, one of the other ringleaders of the gang decided that we should all make our way up to the Voodoo Lounge. Sounded like a good idea, so off we went. Hardly any of us had the discount coupon we were instructed to print off, so we got stuck with the $20 cover charge. No worries, we were livin’ large—that’s only like six bets and a PBR draft at the El Cortez blackjack table. A mere pittance!

The glass elevator ride up the side of the building was pretty cool, but the view from the roof was absolutely amazing. Honestly, I think it’s a better view than the one from the top of the Stratosphere —everything is much closer. We just stood there at the rail oohing and aahing at all the pretty lights like mental patients at a Christmas parade, enjoying the cool weather and the good company. Of course, drinks were needed, and for a mere nine bucks you too can have your own plastic cup full of Captain Morgan and Coke.

The DJ didn’t start playing for awhile, so it was actually nice and peaceful up there—we got in before most of the crowd. Pretty soon the place was hopping, and we were enjoying all of the beautiful people lurking about seeing and being seen. After it got good and crowded, I was feeling like we needed to inject a little T2V buffoonery into the club. So I greased the DJ's hand for a couple of bucks and had him make a "special" announcement.

As the song ended, he got on the microphone and said the following: Can I have everyone's attention please--we have a special announcement to make. I want to send a big shout-out to Las Vegas Terry and Mark the Golf **** and say congratulations on their Commitment Ceremony today! This next song is dedicated to them...

He immediately laid down the needle on Dancing Queen by Abba.

Highest of High Comedy.

Of course, that move earned me a few free drinks and high fives, and the silliness carried us throughout the rest of the evening. Terry and Mark—let me know where to send the silver chafing dish, will ya?

The Happy Couple


After about four hours up there, my feet were killin’ from dancing and just standing around on the concrete floor. Voodoo has a pretty good racket going on, too. You can’t sit down unless you pay the $300+ for a VIP area and bottle service. Forget that—I was still extremely tired from the lack of sleep and all the moving furniture and stuff I’d done over the past few days, that I decided to bail on the club and go back down to the casino where I could actually sit at the bar and only pay about seven bucks for the privilege of drinking there.

One of Angy’s sisters decided to join me and we made our way through the crowd towards the door. Of course, our standard answer to everyone who asked where we were going was Finding a hooker for a threesome and getting a room!

We ended up at the I-bar, where we ordered a few drinks, smoked (cigar for me), and ran a few bucks through the VP machines. We also watched a few of the working girls in action. It was after midnight on a weekend, so they were out in force at the Rio. Not a bad group, but I think the starting lineup at the Mirage has a little more talent.

We had a nice chat for over an hour, and then the party started breaking up. Some folks headed for a strip club, others headed off downtown for more gambling, but I ended up with four of the ladies heading back to the Mirage. We were all pretty wiped out by that point, so I just dropped off Angy and her gang, and Cyndi and I headed back downtown to the Nugget.

After a quick stop at the sundries shop for bottled water and snacks, it was up to the room. Of course we had to have a little bit of fun with the guy checking room keys, so as we walked by, I flashed my key and said Do you believe this chick thinks I’m gonna pay her $300 for sex??? That got a laugh, but Cyndi, never wanting to be outdone, turned on her hillbilly voice and came back with Don’t believe him—he’s a homer-sexual. Do you think we could get Deliverance or somethin’ like that on pay-per-view?

We laughed our way all the way to the room and stayed up till the wee hours rehashing the day’s events. Good times.

Sunday morning was upon us…everyone’s least favorite day in Vegas. We managed to avoid the severe hangovers of the day before, and got moving fairly easily. We had to pack up and move out, and I had to take Cyndi back to the airport and send her back to Tennessee with tales from the big city.

We got the ghetto sled out of the valet one last time, much to the relief of the guys working there, and headed for the Strip. We drove through McDonald’s and got some breakfast, and then our plan was to go to the internet café over on Maryland Pkwy across from UNLV and check email, maybe make a few quick posts, etc. before going to the airport. Of course, I thought the place was open 24 hours, but I came to find out that they’re closed from 7am to 11am. I guess even the uber-geek gamers need to sleep at some point.

So we just sat in the parking lot and ate our McMuffins, then headed off to McCarran. Of course it was a complete farking zoo, as usual for Sunday morning, but I got her dropped off after only about 20 minutes of doing the blinker/horn/middle-finger tango. Side note: Instant karma for the tuna sandwich left in the window at my old house. Cyndi decided to leave her half empty milk carton under the passenger’s seat in my car. I found it a couple days later. Thanks, Cyndi… Did you find the surprise I left in your new Lexus yet?

Then it was back to the Mirage. I had to help Angy move over to the Venetian, then get her sisters over to the airport later that afternoon. So I got up to the room and tried to help. Angy had most of her packing done, but believe me; the woman does not travel lightly. Remember that scene in Titanic when Rose and the family were having their luggage loaded by longshoremen? Yep, that’s Angy, minus the classic car that Jack and Rose did the deed in. After about an hour, it was all somewhat packed, and her sisters made their way over with all of their stuff, too. We went downstairs to the valet, and the plan was for me to get the car, load her sisters’ stuff in it, and drive over to the Venetian, and leave it with the valet while they hauled all of Angy’s stuff over by hand and got her checked in. (This was the plan because the valet at the Venetian is about a half mile from the front desk…)

After about 45 minutes, it was mission accomplished. Angy managed to sneak to the front of the huge check-in line, got the room keys, and we were off, dragging all her bags with us.

The room was on the 17th floor, on the backside of the hotel, facing south. Not much of a ‘Vegas’ view, but we could see the Tuscany, the Hard Rock, and all of the planes on approach for landing. Yeah, the view really wasn’t much, but the room was pretty nice. It had a king size bed up top, sitting area below with seating for about seven people, and a damn nice bathroom, too. Excellent room. And of course there were two TVs—one for the bed, one for the sitting area. We dropped all of the luggage, relaxed for a bit, then headed back down to the casino to hit the slots.

Not much to report in the wins department, but we had a good time for an hour or so bouncing from machine to machine. After that, the ladies wanted to do some shopping at Sephora, but I took a pass on that and ended up watching football in the lounge. Interesting snacks in the lounge—they bring you a small plate of stuffed olives and a side of dried wasabi peas. Pretty damn good, and just like spicy beer nuts, they keep you ordering drinks.

Before long I was heading back to the airport, Angy’s sisters in tow. It went a little smoother this time around, and I was back at the Venetian about an hour later. Of course the valet guys got the ultimate privilege of parking the Sled twice in one day. Sweet!

I was sooooo beat by this time that I just crashed on the couch in front of the game. Angy was spending the day over at Treasure Island getting dipped in chocolate and doing other funky kind of treatments, so I was on my own for the afternoon. After a few hours, Doc Al called me up and we met downstairs for some more football watching. His wife was off shopping, so we had a few hours to kill doing ‘guy stuff’. We ended up at the Noodle Asia restaurant there next to the sports book and grabbed a bite because I was starving by that point.

I ordered some sort of potstickers and a noodle dish (of course…), and Al decided to order Kimchee. Oh man… smelled like somebody mixed cabbage with sweaty ass-juice and dirty socks and just laid it there on the table in front of me. All in all, I found it rather disgusting, but didn’t say anything about it. I’ve had kimchee a few times in the past, but never developed a taste for it. Now I’m sure it’s disgusting. Aside from the smell emanating from our table, it was a damn fine meal. I absolutely loved the potstickers—nice and spicy, with good flavor.

Mrs. Doc showed up just about the time we were finishing up and I took them up to see the room. They were suitably impressed with the fine accommodations provided by Uncle Sheldon, but decided that the Bellagio was where they wanted to be that evening. I was going to go with them, but decided I better wait for Angy to show up—she’d been gone several hours and I figured I should be there when she got back. So we said our goodbyes and I went back to sleep on the couch in front of the late football game.

Sometime later Angy stumbled back to the room, relaxed and smelling all New Agey. Since I was still wiped out from the weekend’s activities, and she was falling asleep from all the pampering, we decided to call it a night, and I went back to my new house, and she went to bed.

I slept like a rock, and didn’t get up till around noon. By that time Angy was up, kicking around, and we decided to spend the afternoon at the pool. I made it back down to the Venetian by about 1:30, met Angy up in the room, and then we headed back down to the pool. The Venetian has a great pool, but the area surrounding it is much too small. The resort has like 5000 rooms, but can only seat maybe three or four hundred people comfortably around the pool. Not very good planning. We lurked around a bit, looking for a place to sit, but were coming up empty. We finally scoped out a couple that was getting ready to leave, so we asked if we could have their seats. No problemo. Of course the reason they were leaving was the little screaming brats next to them, but mom and dad finally got the hint and took off, leaving the rest of us in peace. It was a beautiful sunny day, but a bit breezy. So getting in and out of the pool was a chilling experience. I did it a few times, but we mostly spent our time just lounging in the sun and drinking pina coladas.

We stayed out there for a few hours, but decided to head back up to the room, as I had to work that night. I took a shower and got dressed for work, and Angy ordered room service. We were kind of hungry so we ordered a bunch of stuff—some sort of wrap and fruit cup for her, a teriyaki chicken sandwich for me, and some coconut shrimp for an appetizer. I reminded her that they included a $2.50 per person ‘setup’ fee, plus an 18% gratuity, so we weren’t planning on tipping the guy.

But he showed up in less than a half an hour, set up a full, almost formal, dinner setting on the table, complete with fresh flowers, and served us like a waiter. So of course we tipped the guy another twenty. And the food was fantastic! We couldn’t finish it all, although we sure tried. Seriously, we both agreed that it was the best room service meal we’d ever had. Of course, it cost over a hundred bucks with tip, but we sure enjoyed it. Worth every penny.

I went to work that night, and Angy went over to the Mirage to gamble a bit. She called me and told me she hit a $5 slot for a cool grand, but wasn’t having much fun by herself, so she went back to the hotel and called it an early night. I had to work until 4am, so I just went back to my place and slept for a few hours, although all of my luggage and such was at the Venetian, I didn’t want to come stumbling in at 5am and wake her up.

So I slept till around 10am then headed back down to the Venetian for Angy’s last full day in Vegas. As I dropped off the car at the valet one more time, the guy said Welcome back to the Venetian, Mr. Boegh—we hope you’re enjoying your stay! Yep, that’s me, High Roller. I think he only remembered me because he kept having to park my piece of shiat car and the other guy kept getting the BMWs and Benz’s that arrived just ahead of me.

The plan for the day was to spend a bit of time at the pool, then go goof off and pull an all-nighter. So after I got to the room, we changed into swimsuits and headed for the elevator, and got on a fully loaded car, mostly taken up by a woman in a wheelchair. We were going to wait for the next one, but she said to come on and squeeze on in, so we did. We got off on the fourth floor—the pool deck—and everyone else kept on going down to the casino.

We spend a few more hours at the pool, drinking more pina coladas, and getting more sun. It was even breezier that day, and I was the only one swimming the entire time. Everyone else was chicken. The secret to staying warm however, was to get as much surface area under the water when the wind kicked up the whitecaps. So I spent about an hour in the water, with just my head poking out like a snapping turtle in a Georgia swimmin’ hole.



After about three full double-souvenir glasses each of rum drinks, we had a pretty good buzz going on. We decided to get out of the pool and go do some gambling. So we changed clothes and then cabbed it over to the Tuscany. We tried playing dice, but lost another hundred apiece before we wised up and left. Instead we spent a couple hours playing blackjack where I managed to win back $200. Nice. I was still in the hole, but it was better than the alternative. The Tuscany is still one of my favorites, but they recently changed their blackjack rules and no longer allow you to double after splits. That seemed like a particularly cheap thing to do, so we colored up with our profits and bailed.

We’d had a few more drinks while we were there, and felt too buzzed to walk, although we were just heading to the Paris. Unfortunately, cabs stop at the Tuscany about as often as supply ships hit Easter Island, so we had a chance to sit out on the park bench and enjoy the nice weather for a while before somebody finally stopped. While sitting out there, I got a cryptic text message from LV Dawn. All it said was I saw you in the elevator today… I couldn’t get hold of her until the next day, but it turns out that she was also in Vegas at the same time, but with her insanely jealous husband, so she couldn’t hang out, or even tell us she was there. But what are the odds that we were in the same elevator at the same time? She said she was in the elevator with the lady with the wheelchair and was standing RIGHT BEHIND ME and couldn’t say anything because her hubby doesn’t know anything about her T2V life…Anyhow, she said she hung out by the dice tables in the casino that night, hoping to see us, but never did (We were at the Imperial Palace). Just blew us away that she was there and was in the same elevator. I really wish I would’ve seen her.

Anyhow, we finally got a taxi, and cab fare to the Paris was only like six bucks, taking the shortcut through Bally’s parking lot, but we gave the guy a perfect 10 for his effort.

We wanted to go to Napoleons for drinks and cigars, but they were closed for a private function. So we just wandered around Paris for a bit, then decided to just go on down to Ortanique and drink in the bar until we were ready for dinner.

For those of you unfamiliar with Ortanique, let me clue you in. I’d wanted to go there since I stayed at Paris in July. It’s billed as ‘Cuisine of the Sun’ but what it really means is French/Caribbean. And it’s a lot nicer than you’d think. I thought it was somewhat of a casual place, but once we got inside we realized it was kind of fancy-schmancy. That’s ok, we were both dressed decently, and Angy said she wanted to take me to a fancy place anyways since I took her and Cyndy to Blackstone back in March.

Anyhow, we decided to just sit at the bar for a while, and we were the only ones in there. So being in a Caribbean joint, we decided on more rum drinks. They were good, but it turns out that their specialty is actually Scotch. For all you single-malt drinkers out there—this place has about five shelves full of the good stuff. Of course, we civilized cigar smokers are exiled to the patio, while nasty cigarette smokers can enjoy the bar. That’s my only gripe about the place.

Anyhow, Angy decided that we needed to celebrate the evening, so we moved on to champagne. I can’t remember the name of it, but it was French, and it was good. I usually only drink champagne at weddings or on New Years Eve, but I really enjoyed this offering.

After a few rounds of drinks and enjoyable conversation, we decided to get a table and have dinner. We hadn’t eaten anything that day except m&m’s at the pool, so we were pretty hungry.

We started with an excellent bottle of wine—we went with white, knowing that we’d both probably be ordering seafood. My favorite French wine is Louis Jadot Pouilly Foussie, so I looked for that. No Louis Jadot, but they had an offering from another vineyard that was every bit as good.

We decided on appetizers, and we got two to sample. The first was an order of duck spring rolls, served over drizzled greens and a fried wonton shell bowl with two of the best dipping sauces we’d ever tried. Of course, they were some sort of chef’s special concoction that we’d never heard of, but we damn near licked the plate clean. The other appetizer was a serving of two medium-sized crab cakes, again with a couple of wonderful sauces that we couldn’t get enough of.

And I wanted to mention the bread. Toasted baguettes with butter and garlic—I swear the restaurants at Paris serve the best bread in all of Vegas. It’s always a treat.

For the main course, it was hard for me to decide. I didn’t want to have steak—that’s what high-end steakhouses are for. I knew I had to go with fish, but couldn’t decide. Angy opted for the crab and shrimp stuffed salmon with garlic-mashed potatoes. Finally I decided to go with the pan-seared grouper with mashed sweet potatoes. Of course, these are just my off-the-top-of-my-head descriptions. The actual names of the entrees on the menu were much longer and much more flowery and descriptive.

We had plenty of time to digest our appetizers and enjoy a glass of wine before the entrees arrived. But when they did, we were blown away. Angy absolutely loved her salmon, but when I took a bite of my grouper, it just melted in my mouth. I know it’s easy to get carried away with superlatives, but this was far and away the best fish I’d ever tasted. It was so mild and sweet at the same time, with just a hint of a seared crust on it. I gave Angy one bite and she decided that she liked my dinner better than hers. It was terrific. It was so good that I actually told the waiter to offer the chef my compliments and to tell her that it was the best fish I’d ever had. Angy agreed. We were in gastronomic heaven!

After the main course and the bottle of wine were polished off, we decided to order coffee and split a dessert. After hearing all of the options available, we decided to go with the bananas foster cheesecake with vanilla bean ice cream.

Of course, the portion was generous, and it came topped with a warm and tasty caramel rum sauce. Both of us being rum freaks, we really enjoyed the dessert. Of course, bananas foster cheesecake is every bit as good as it sounds.

We lingered a bit over coffee, raving about what a great meal it was, then the check arrived. We felt like it was a genuine bargain at $150 for the two of us, before tip. That included two appetizers, two entrees, a dessert, a bottle of wine, and coffee. Of course we spent a small bundle in the bar beforehand having drinks and champagne, but we got out of there at just under $200 for one of the best meals that either one of us had ever experienced.

Based on our experience there, Ortanique should be included in any discussion of the better restaurants in Vegas. It’s not five-star, but the food is fantastic, the service was all you could ask for—the staff was very knowledgeable about all of the menu items, and the price was better than we expected. I will definitely be going back again.

After dinner, we decided that we needed to make all of our money back. Well, that’s what I decided. Angy still had an extra grand in her pocket…

Being too lazy to walk down to the Imperial Palace, we decided to cab it. Actually, I don’t think we decided to go there until we actually got in the cab. Oh well. It was a short but enjoyable trip, and before you knew it, we were at a $5 blackjack table in the Dealertainer pit, being serenaded by Elvis, Madonna, Alice Cooper, The Divine Miss M, and other look-alike lip-synchers.

It was fun, but pretty loud. The tables were kind of choppy, and of course the $5 limits brought out all the expert players, so we bounced around a bit before settling on our final table for the night. Of course, being a Tuesday night at the Imperial Palace, you never know what’s going to happen, and suddenly these three hotties started hitting on me. Angy thought she was gonna lose me for a few minutes, but I’m a gentleman and sadly had to refuse their offer of company...





We played blackjack for hours, sitting at a table with the absolute worst players I’d ever seen, and that’s saying a lot, since I deal for a living. Seriously—I’m amazed that these jokers had a dime left to their names when they got up from the table. I just wanted to say Dudes, the house already has an advantage—you don’t have to make it so easy on ‘em! But I’ve learned that most fools cannot be taught except by experience, so we didn’t say anything and just hoped our bankrolls outlasted them, which they did. After about five hours at the table, I think I was up another $150 and Angy was down about $200. We were getting way too drunk on all the silly drinks we’d had—by the end of the night we had graduated to hot chocolate with Kahlua, so around 3 am we called it quits.

We stumbled back to the Venetian, and Angy got a craving for that same room-service coconut shrimp, so we ordered that and some spring rolls. Of course we thought they’d send like four spring rolls, but we got a tray of like 15 of them. We did what damage we could, and then finally hit the sack around 4am, full, tired, and a little drunk.

We had a wake-up call set for 11am, and I swear I felt like I’d slept twenty minutes when I heard the phone ringing. We showered, got dressed, packed up everything, and got checked out by 1pm. I made the mistake of forgetting one of my cokes in the mini-bar fridge from the night before, and after we did the checkout, it locked down automatically, so whoever got the room next got a free large coke. So Sheldon owes me a twenty-ouncer.

We had such a great time that week that Angy didn’t want to go home. I invited her to join Cyndi and I in Tennessee that weekend, and she was tempted for a moment or two. Oh well, we’ll just have to wait until next time. We got the car out of the valet for the last time and headed for the airport.

On the way there, my phone was ringing. It was DonD saying Hey Mikey, I’m on my way to Vegas—Barrick is giving me $1500 for that TV drawing I got dicked on and three free nights at the El Cortez! I’ll be there in an hour!

The circle was now complete.

Unfortunately, I had to pass on the offer of even more buffoonery with Don. A few minutes later I got Angy and her huge-assed suitcase to the airport and we had said our goodbyes. She was sad to go and I was sad to see her go. But we made plans to do it all again in a few months.

I drove home to my new place with a big grin on my face. I’d just had another fantastic week in Vegas, laughing my ass off, drinking like a fool, and enjoying all the silly little moments that make up the memories that last a lifetime. You couldn’t ask for a better week. Thanks again to everyone that made it special!

Of course, the adventure didn’t end there. I had to get home, do all my laundry, repack another suitcase, grab a couple hours of sleep, then be back at the airport at 5 am to go to Nashville and surprise my entire family by showing up at my nieces wedding. None of them knew I was going to be there, but that’s a story for another time.

Mikey

 

Worth waiting for!

 

Baby got backstory. Great read, and worth the wait. Your sister is a hoot.

 

Awesome.
Simply awesome.

 

Nice...

I laughed, I cried, I.... Well, you know...

 

The 'Imminent Derailment' picture is my favorite.
Sounds like you have a great sister.
Thanks for sharing with us.

 

Well done, as usual. Another highly enjoyable read...

 

Ahhh, closure...

Personally I'd have paid that to get fondled at Tangerine, but for that kinda $$$ it'd have to be Jenny McCarthy and
Tara Reid.
We have come full S & M circle.

Thanks Mikey and Happy Halloween (You cheating pile of trash LOL!)

 

Seconding Coaster Kikky

I thought you would never get around to it.

 

LOL..."Oh man… smelled like somebody mixed cabbage with sweaty ass-juice and dirty socks and just laid it there on the table in front of me," and "I was hopping around in my cage like a lab monkey in the days before they discovered the recipe for baby shampoo."
Another great read Mikey, it's always a good time....Thanks for my Vegas fix.

 

Well worth the wait Mikey. My favorite line... " smells like a combination of fried Spam and Desperation". I believe I have seen that on a menu Downtown once or twice. But I wiped it off with my napkin.

 

Great report Mikey. I've got to plan my trips a little better so I can see some of this madness first hand.

And I love that elevator story, you cheating piece of trash!! That's a riot. I woudn't have been able to keep a straight face.

 

There's a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning....

I'm amazed you survived this week. Sitting here drooling about the Ortanique description--nummy nummy!!!

 

Great read as usual . It was good seeing you again & great meeting Cyndi. Next March cannot get here soon enough.

 

Brilliant!

Gotta love the callback... Left Turn at Flagstaff is a literary classic!

Thanks for the the report. As always I am in awe of the good times the T2V gang has. I can only dream of that kind of buffoonery!

Oh and I LOVE the new Avatar.

Thanks,
Habanaman
T-25!!

 

Finally got around to reading the whole report. Well done, Mikey! I've got to give you props for your completely random Nelson referrance.

 

Excellent!

 

The last word

was excellent. Seems you are working through the writer's block. The posts earlier this week on your web page were very fine, too! Hope the 'new' house is woring out.

I haven't been very much active on the board recently. A second trip to Vegas last summer never came to be, so I haven't wanted to fuel the 'jones'. We are toying with the idea of coming out right after Crhistmas for a few days. If so, we'll be in touch

later, Scott

 

Wow, what a great report. For a few minutes there I could have sworn I was back in Vegas sitting in Ortanique, drinking champaign and eating your dinner Your write up on Ortanique was excellent, I already have plans to take hubby there in January. Excellent restaurant.

Glad you enjoyed the nifty portable speakers gadget thingy. If anyone is looking for gift ideas for Mikey (Cyndi, are you listening?) the speakers are Altec Lansing inMotion and they are excellent for traveling.

Can't wait to do it all again.

 

Again, thanks for all the kind words, guys! It makes all the effort that it takes to write an epic worth the hassle when you know folks appreciate it. Makes me want to do another 'Trip Report'. (Wait, what's this? Eddie and Sam arriving tomorrow night for Eddie's bachelor party this weekend???)

A couple of side notes, however--

As much as I liked the Altec Lansing speaker doohicky that mated with the Ipod, I still don't have an Ipod. Yeah, I know, I'm like the last person in the world to not own one, but my next gadget purchase is going to be a new laptop. But hey--go ahead and put the Ipod on top of the gift list! hee hee...

Oh, and Cyndi isn't on the board currently. She's on assignment from her company's 'Tough Gig' Department, and is spending the next few weeks working in St Croix, down in the islands. She was, however, kind enough to ask me for a Rum Shopping List for her visit to the duty-free shops.

And Ortanique is every bit as awesome as described. I can't wait to do it again. But next time I'm gonna skip the sweet potatoes with the grouper and get the garlic mashed ones instead.

One other thing...You know how you're supposed to pop in Dark Side of the Moon and listen to it while you watch The Wizard of Oz and the music somehow goes along with the story? Well, reread this trip report with Abba's Greatest Hits playing on the computer and you will freak out a little. Kinda kooky. Ok... I'm putting the pipe down...

Mikey