to wear BOOTS???) in time for pre-boarding cocktails.Landed in Vegas to find a crisp and clear Winter’s day (and a new no smoking rule in the airport…I mean, what’re they gonna do with those little smoking rooms NOW??). Marty had rented a car which was nice and all, but, er…not conducive to four people with luggage. We ended up with half of it lying across our laps.
Checked in without fanfare, unpacked, and met back in the Star Wars lounge.
Or something like that. Anyway, outer space was involved. There, we toasted the beginning of the trip, and lost our first few bucks in the poker slots.Eventually, we moved on to other gaming (this part is kind of a blur but I think Texas Hold ‘Em may have been involved—all I know for sure is that this is where my downhill slide began)…then later returned to our rooms…to change? Yeah, I think we changed clothes.
That night, we had dinner (along with Ann’s sister and brother-in-law) at the Hilton Steak House. Oh. My. God. The petit fillet…yummmmmmm (not to mention the expertly prepared baked potato…heaven). The only drawback? How about sixteen dollars for a glass of wine. Yikes.
More gambling ensued following dinner…and more sliding. Too depressing to recount. I should mention here that I normally go solo, but this year I decided to be less anal, so I shared a room with Cathi. Turns out we’re pretty good roommates—both news junkies who love having the TV on 24/7. And on a weekend with Saddam, James Brown, and Gerald Ford all on the menu, we were happy campers on that score. The only problem—each night, Cathi (prudently, I might add) went to bed earlier than I…meaning she also awakened (woke up?) earlier, and hey—if there’s someone to talk to, who am I to continue sleeping? Bottom line: I got VERY FEW ZZZZZZ’s. (Oh, well…that’s what 2007 is for, rig
ht?)
The next day, we…er…gambled some more. I think. Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. At night, we drove downtown and…er…gambled some more. Oh, and ate dinner at the Golden Nugget. The good news is that I recouped a bit of my losses during a rousing game of Texas Hold ‘Em.
Later, we did more of the same back at the Hilton. On Sunday, Cathi and I tried to get off premises, but the Monorail wasn’t working, so we…well, we did the usual…we gambled a bit, and (yay) took naps. Around five, we grabbed a taxi, and got ourselves over to the Forum Shops to The Palm Restaurant
before the traffic around The Strip got too crazy. Then we hung out at Caesars so that we could step out on their conveniently located patio (just above the street and just below the
nightclub PURE) for
the fireworks display. Last year, Nicki Hilton hosted Pure’s party and when it came time, she turned to us peons below, and counted down to midnight. This year, Brittney
Spears had the job, but she never even noticed us (sob). Anyway, much hoopla ensued (see video in last post) then we crossed the strip over to the Flamingo, caught the Monorail (with tickets we’d purchased earlier in the day)…what a PARTY! Hey, if I ever go again, I think I’ll just ride the Monorail all night. It was the MOST FUN! And how convenient! It dropped us off at a station almost inside our hotel. (After last year’s debacle—walking for hours to find a cab and finally paying a stranger $30 to give us a ride—man, we have this thing DOWN!)Back at the hotel, Cathi snagged the only available seat at a Texas Hold ‘Em table (ignoring our warnings about the raised minimum) and promptly played three hands at full steam (which ends up amounting to $75 a hand!) and WON $250…in about five minutes. At that point, Ann grabbed Cathi’s chips off the able and physically walked her to the cashier to cash out (way to go, Ann). We did a little more meandering, wasted a little bit more money on stupid slots, then reconvened at Texas Hold ‘Em at 2 a.m. when the minimum was back down to $10 (which means, at full bore, you have $50 on the table). Between 2 and 4, I recouped $250, so I went to bed a happy camper.
A LATE camper, however (Cathi was already in bed again).
We rose at 8 the next morning (albeit, slowly) got our acts together, had breakfast, and made it to the airport for our 3 o’clock flight….which probably would have passed uneventfully if not for the T-shirt Cathi was wearing. Now, please note, this is a BRAND name—sold in many upscale places—but Cathi’s shirt read: “Too Busy To FCUK.” (No, that’s not a typo—that’s what it says.) Well, half-way through the flight, the flight attendant stop and whispers: “Ma’am, could you please put your jacket back on? We’ve had a complaint from someone who finds your shirt offensive.” Okay…I’m not blaming anyone for being offended…and, I wouldn’t blame the flight attendant for “keeping the peace,” but…um…not one passenger could SEE the t-shirt (except for Cathi’s seatmates who expressed amusement over the whole matter) so it had to be the FLIGHT ATTENDANT’s sensibility who’d been injured, and she should have owned up to it. Anyway, Cathi knows enough to see the wisdom of not creating a scene on an airplane, so she obediently re-donned the jacket. But don’t think she won’t be writing a letter!
A fitting end to an amusing weekend…next year PARIS….as in the CITY, not the Las Vegas hotel.
No comments:
Post a Comment