The frequency of my Las Vegas trips has been increasing lately, which is not to say that I’m against that fact at all. Quite the contrary. I may have mentioned this in passing once or twice… but I f-ing love Las Vegas. This trip, though, was entirely special on its own. My little brother finally turned 21 and I had to take him to Las Vegas so that he could experience the city for the first time in the best ways possible. In addition, I decided to add a story from the weekend onto here that I originally said I would never tell anyone, but decided was way too funny to leave out.

We started off the trip with a few of my own traditions. We have to watch rap music videos on my DVD/Nav screen once we cross into Nevada to get us pumped up. Following this is the absolute must tradition that everyone should incorporate into their own Las Vegas journeys: listen to “Viva Las Vegas” by Elvis Presley as soon as you see Las Vegas. I love that song and it is never more appropriate than at your first sighting of sweet lady Vegas. Your welcome for a new tradition.

By the time that we got into our hotel room we had already done 2-3 shots of Jack each and I had cracked open one of my signature “Blue M” Monsters (if you’ve ever had a drink with me, you know exactly which one). Within minutes we had started our night of awesomeness and free hotel rooms. We had mexican food at a place with a margarita menu called Paco’s, where you get to keep your awesome glass when you’re done. Then we met up with the rest of my friends who happened to be visiting Las Vegas that weekend as well (we’re degenerates, we accept it) and started gambling. Little Curty was hesitant to join the blackjack table, as most first timers are, but eventually sat down with us. His tension eased up a little and he ordered his first table drink while he played… until about five minutes in when he was down his first $100. He was less than stoked and more than buzzed, so he started wandering around the casino. He told us that he wanted to do so on his own, so we let him go. He made his way back a few times, but repeatedly disappeared to “talk to girls” that I couldn’t for the life of me see.

Around 3am, Josh left the blackjack table and I was the last person there. I decided to call it a night a few minutes later and wondered where my brother was at. I called him and this was our conversation:

Me: Where are you?

Curt: Somewhere in the hotel. I’m kind of lost.

Me: What do you see? Tell me some signs or landmarks so I can find you.

Curt: I see a fire extinguisher, a door, and there’s a person walking towards me.

Me: Awesome…

Eventually, I figured out that he was actually in an elevator, describing things to me as the doors opened on different floors. Yes, he was so drunk that thinking to say he was in an elevator as a landmark didn’t cross his mind. I found him in some elevators that went to a different tower in our hotel and his first night in Las Vegas was over.

The majority of the next few days might as well be a list: pre-drinking, drinking, gambling, late night eating in diners, dinners at fancy restaurants, ribs for lunch, and more drinking. We got the mandatory 190 Octanes from Fat Tuesday’s twice, which continued Curt’s drunken antics. While Curt was buying some dress shoes (he apparently didn’t bring any) I was up a ton of money and decided to buy the most gaudy dress shoes that the store had to offer. There was only one size left… and they fit. I now own crazier shoes than you that I will never wear outside of Vegas. They come to a point, they’re leather, and they have a steel tip. They’re awesomeness knows no bounds. I also had my first experience playing at a $25 craps table. Let that sink in for a minute… That means that every single bet I placed on anything was a minimum of $25. I was extremely scared, but ended up walking away from there up $150, which was my lowest table winning of the entire trip, excluding the final two blackjack sit downs where I actually lost for once.

On the last night, we met up with Aarde and Nisse’s friends at the Palms in the Playboy Club. That place is amazing. It is a lounge, multiple bars, dance club, and casino with playboy bunny dealers on the top two floors of one of the Palms buildings. It has bars that look out over the city and an open air patio that hangs over the edge of the building. In the club, we immediately sent Curt over to talk to a group of girls and he spent the rest of the night hitting on them being their little puppy. It was funny and he was having a good time, so we just left him alone. We talked to his group of girls at one point, helped him out a little, and then they left to go do something. I never got the full story on what happened, but Curty tried to find them and the next time I heard from him he had taken a cab back to our hotel by himself.

And so begins the story I once said that I would never tell anyone…

Disclaimer: I did not solicit this interaction. I was only being friendly with people who started a conversation with me. I would really appreciate not being associated with a certain word in any context (you’ll know what word after reading below).

Josh and I were hanging out at the bar, talking to some girls that we had befriended, when I finally decided to look for my brother again. I started wandering the club and after a while gave up. As we were walking back to the bar two random girls started chatting us up. They asked us what we were up to and I explained that we were trying to find my brother, but that he was with a group of girls so he was probably fine. We talked for a bit and I decided to hang with them since they were nice enough and my brother knew to find us there. The girls offered us shots, which I thought was weird, but I had already gotten a few free drinks that night, so I was fine with it. Josh was less than pleased because one of the girls was… not petite. Not in the slightest. She was the one talking to him. He started fading into the background because of that fact (lucky ass) when suddenly the girls shifted tone and one said to me,

It’s $500 for me and $500 for my friend.

Josh spent about 10 seconds in shock and then almost immediately booked it on me. I called him later and he had left the club, gone down the elevator, and was in the hotel lobby. I was stuck sitting down in a crowd and surrounded by these former girls… now hookers. This was my first ever interaction with a hooker. I wanted to laugh really hard at the situation, but decided that “getting cut” was not high on my list of fun things to do that night. I politely made my exit by finishing my drink and telling them that I had to figure out where my deserter friend had gone. I laughed the whole way down on the elevator and then got a little annoyed by the time I was back at the hotel. I was only annoyed because I don’t want my name associated with the word hooker in any realistic context (call me a hooker, that’s cool). But, in the end this story was so funny that I had to tell it. Please don’t think any less of me, especially since my average conduct doesn’t exactly set my standards very high. Good night and try not to get hit on by hookers at the Playboy Club.

*There’s an awesome series of pictures below of Josh eating the girliest dinner ever and subsequently spitting it all up laughing while I made fun of him for it. Enjoy.

Subscribe      

Filed under: Stories by Cory