No More Champagne

I'm back from a brief trip to Las Vegas. Last night at about 7:30, a bunch of us took off and met up with friends who had left earlier (they don't have day jobs.) I've always found Las Vegas to be a disgusting place, but it was in rare form this weekend, as it was hosting the NBA All Star game and brought out a whole new crowd of hooligans. You would think since free porn is handed out on every corner, the perverts wouldn't need to catcall everyone walking by. I suppose it might have been hard to resist: I have never seen so much cleavage in one concentrated area in my life. If you weren't pushing it up, you weren't in Vegas.

The casinos were more crowded than I've ever seen them, and not safe. At one point, an all out brawl broke out about ten feet away from us, and when security failed to arrive within five minutes, we fled the casino. Throughout the night, I was unable to find an open spot at a craps table, save for one time which did not go so well. I managed to squeeze into a table with a bunch of foul-mouthed high rollers who put money on obscure spaces with crazy odds. I, however, stuck to my basic pass line bet (which offers the best player odds of every game in Vegas) and managed to do relatively well with that. My cohorts did not respect my conservative yet successful method, which I could determine from their name calling. I haven't been called a "little bitch" that much since... well, hopefully ever in my life. When it was my turn to roll, I did well at hitting my numbers, but won money only for me since everyone else was betting against me. Consequently, I was told I "roll like a pussy." (How exactly does a pussy roll? Perhaps like a gypsy.) At any rate, I generally enjoy jovial drunken fun at craps, and since I wasn't finding that there, I left for green pastures: the blackjack tables.

Meanwhile, Wes was hitting it big at the roulette table. I don't even acknowledge roulette ever since my related misfortune, so I stayed clear. You have to love beginner's luck: he ended up $300 overall. I told you he's a stud. Elsewhere, Amber, the perpetual cheerleader, began rooting for a stranger putting hundred dollar bets at a blackjack table. He admired her spunk and support, then invited her to join him at the table, ultimately handing her $200 just because. Everyone was at least a little lucky, in our party of 13, I think that every single person came out ahead gambling-wise, even if just by a dollar. Factor in the uncountable free drinks we consumed, and the trip to Vegas just might have been profitable!

Though I'm normally in bed by 10, I made a pact to stay up all night, which, with the aid of alcohol, proved not to be too difficult. At 7 am, I found my lucky blackjack table and started raking in the dough, with the help of a woman with a gold tooth named Champagne seated next to me. When I couldn't decide whether to hit or stand, she would give me advice, and always proved correct. Her own hands were not so fortunate, so she ran out of money, and kept having me spot her. I had thought she might share some of the winnings, but I was never able to determine whether that was true, as she continued to lose, this time with my money. That's okay, I was happy to share, even if it cost me $30.

"Sharing" is my way of pretending I wasn't made a sucker, the truth is I was conned. I was drunk and unsure how to say no (such begins many a tale of lost innocence) and so I played sugar daddy. Besides, if I was going to be conned, I'm glad it was by someone named Champagne with a gold tooth. In fact, I can think of no better way to be conned. The experience still left me up $20 overall, so no harm done.

After being awake for 36 hours, I finally fell asleep (and perhaps sobered up) on the car ride home. I'm pleased to discover that teaching has yet to rob me of my resolve to party all night.