Stays in Vegas. Unless you wear it home (as in adding a third nipple to your side). Went out to Sin City for Snarl's wake/bachelor party this weekend. All-in-all, I'd say I had a fairly typical 47 hour stay:
* Played a little poker - Took 4th at a T.I. $60 buy-in/44 player tournament, won the bachelor party in-room game, then gave most of it back in $1/$3 no-limit late Saturday night. Some fucking hack with 8-9 off suit called my all-in pre-flop raise when I had pocket 10s, then he flopped a boat with 8-9-8. Pretty much had second best every hand all-night.
* Slept a total of 4 hours - Didn't go back to bed after waking-up at 6:30 a.m. on Saturday morning to print my boarding pass. Decided it would be easier to play it through on Saturday night since I had to be at the airport around 5:00 a.m. this morning anyways.
* Ate more than I could process - Best meal, In-N-Out Burger on Sunshine Boulevard. I still can't understand why this company won't franchise east of Nevada. I'd be all over it. Worst meal, "The Buffet" at Wynn. Over-rated, Bellagio-knock-off of a hotel, with a matching middling buffet. The "upscale" fois-gras-crowd buffet experience trend needs to have its weak ass kicked the Hell out of Vegas. Give me "The Big Kitchen Buffet" at Bally's any day at half the price.
* Made our token journey over to the strip clubs on Industrial Avenue - It was "Little Darlings" this time. Definitely a different experience than Cheetahs was for my bachelor party. Much more low-key, if you can have a low-key totally nude club. We started an over/under for whether each new girl would have more body piercings, or tattoos on her as the layers came off.
* Played paintball for the first time - Went to a town at the ass-end of Nevada called Parhrump (you may recognize the city name from a recent episode of Studio 60) to play paintball in the 104 degree desert heat for 4 hours. Even though I got beat to Hell, I'm hooked. It's like living a video game, only with the physics of the real world (acknowledging my own personal higher center of gravity). I came back with a couple of welts (see above), but the groom-to-be Snarl took the brunt.
So there you have it. A quick summary of a run-of-the-mill 39-year-old's trip to Vegas. The only thing I see missing from the list is getting liqoured (though I drank my share on Friday), but you know what, I didn't even miss it...
Truly, I must be getting old.
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