Viva Las Vegas!
Las Vegas will seriously steal your soul the moment you step off the airplane and spot the display of slot machines stretching from the terminal all the way to baggage claim, and if you have the cajones to ask for your soul back before re-boarding the plane on your way home, Las Vegas will laugh at your insolence and spit in your face. Yeah, Las Vegas is hard core like that, which is exactly why I can't wait to go back.
Vegas is designed for folks like Kam and I who were blessed with genetics that easily predispose us to addiction. Kam's got his cigarettes, I've got my ice cream, and, as we soon realized, we've both got excessive gambling. The second we laid eyes on the Wheel of Fortune slot machines, our pants became soiled, our eyes glazed over, our mouths began frothing, and hundreds of dollars just started disappearing from our pockets. By the end of the first night, we were broke and on the verge of tears, and enduring some wicked D.T.'s from our abrupt retreat from the slot machines. Subsequently, we were forced to self-medicate with copious amounts of alcohol to alleviate some of the withdrawal symptoms. It seemed a fair trade off.
It was about the third night of our trip, and we were so broke and depressed and perpetually drunk that we decided to order room service and charge a butt load of merchandise from the gift shop to Kam's parents' bill. This merchandise included but was not limited to: thong underwear, shot glasses, jewelry, t-shirts, ash trays, decks of cards, key chains, fuzzy rear-view mirror dice, a hooka, an econo-sized bag of Doritos, Red Bull, several mini bottles of Jagermeister and Crown Royal, and a fifth of vodka. We took our loot back to the room and commenced to partying. Those in attendance at said party included Kam, myself, Kam's slightly older sister and their 17-year-old brother, Dillon. We "adults" who were of age heartily imbibed a delectable concoction of Red Bull and Jager, while we permitted Kam's younger brother to experience the wonders of Smirnoff, straight from the styrofoam cups found in the hotel's bathroom. Little did we know, Kam's younger sibling, who was in no way schooled in the art of HARD LIQUOR, was chugging that vodka like it was the last ounce of beer at a fraternity kegger. Before we knew it, Dillon was slurring his words and drunk dialing hookers from the many pamphlets featuring nude hermaphrodites engaged in compromising positions with one of Siegfried and Roy's "Royal White Tigers" that are relentlessly forced upon tourists as they innocently traverse the strip on their way to numerous titty bars. Yes, my friends, poor little Dillon was DRUNK, and it was all our fault.
After Dillon battled with and lost to a bag of snack chips, consequently eating dozens of Doritos off the floor and hiding the rest in the nightstand next to the Holy Bible, Kam decided to go back to the gift store for, yes you guessed it, MORE LIQUOR. His sister and I demanded that he take DD (Drunk Dillon) with him, since we were in no mood to babysit and also wanted to rifle through the pamphlets featuring partially nude firemen, construction workers and IT guys while they were gone.
We had recently discovered (and HOW) that our hotel was hosting some sort of Swingers' Convention at the exact same time as our stay there. It is important to note here that the type of "Swinger" who attends a Swingers' Convention at the Aladdin in Las Vegas is NOT the type of "Swinger" that you or I want to run into in the dimly lit hallway at 4 a.m. Especially not the "Swinger" who stayed across the hall from us; a lady in her 50's who rocked an awesome LEG CAST AND WALKING CANE along with her Swingers' regalia (which consisted of an eye patch and a couple of strategically placed feathers). All of the scantily clad "Swingers" we encountered during our stay have probably been or will be in the very near future one of my patients, if you catch my drift. They were OLD. Very, very old. So old that the flapper costume I saw one of them wearing was probably an actual outfit she wore to a Pimps 'N Hos theme party during her college years.
At any rate, Kam and Baby D braved the dangerous and rugged terrain on their trek back to the gift store, and unfortunately ended up trapped in an elevator with a group of "Swingers", dressed to the nines with their oxygen tanks and Depends undergarments. The women immediately began ogling the two young men, and began lunging forward in an attempt to kiss them with their wrinkled and trembling old lady lips. As soon as the elevator opened on another floor, Kam took the opportunity to dash out of the elevator to safely escape the advances these senior citizens/sexual predators, but when he looked back, Dillon had not followed him. As the elevator doors began to close, Kam watched in horror as the women formed a circle around poor Dillon and began to move in for the kill. Amidst it all, Kam could see poor DD's eyes widen with fright as he reached towards the elevator doors and slowly mouthed the word, "NOOOOOOOOO!" But it was too late; he was trapped.
Kam quickly descended the stairs and met the wayward elevator on the ground level. When the doors opened, only Dillon remained inside, backed into a corner, shivering and disoriented. His clothes were torn and dirty, his hair was mussed, and he had lipstick marks all over his face and neck. When questioned about what happened when the young boy was left alone to defend himself against the pack of elderly hyenas, Dillon claimed that he didn't remember. However, he did deliver a rather harsh tongue-lashing to Kam about leaving him alone on the elevators with the "Swingers" and their out of control menopausal libidos. Baby D spent the rest of the evening crouched over the toilet as his body rejected an entire bottle of vodka that he had consumed in less than an hour. Kam, however, had to wonder whether it was the liquor or the sexual assault of half a dozen old geezers that was truly more vomit-inducing for the poor lad.
So wish us luck as we squander our lives, our money, our souls and our sexual purity away in the city of sin. Also wish my boyfriend a happy birthday, because he turns 23 tomorrow! Happy birthday sweetie, here's to NO SWINGERS at our hotel this time around.
You post wayyy too infrequently for someone with such a gift ...
Enjoy your trip and come back with stories at LEAST as funny as DD and the Swingers.
But haven't you heard--What happens in Vegas...stays in Vegas. Unless, of course, it makes for an entertaining blog post!
And where were all the swinging men at this convention? You sure they were really swingers and not just old women looking to party and terrorize young men?
Also, enjoy your Vegas stay without the underage drunk to babysit. Make the most of it!!!
Oh, and take lots of pics for me please!
Happy birthday Kam - Have a great trip!
The first time I want to Vegas with my then boyfriend, I wound up getting married at the same cheesy chapel that Dennis Rodman and Carmen Electra did. It was completely unplanned, and we were both in jeans, sneakers, and a little buzzed.
The second time I went back with him, I was almost 8 months pregnant and walking down the strip in 114 degree weather. Needless to say, that trip wasn't near as much fun.
Not complaining though, we've been married almost 7 years. Most of our family still has no idea about the quickie wedding. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
Stay away from the hookers with the "lump in their throats".
My husband has never been to Vegas but we are planning a trip soon...I love to hear these crazy stories from Sin City. Have fun!!
Anyone who wants a post card, email me your address. Kam and I will assault you with photographs of naked people from the city de SIN (and consider yourself lucky if said naked people on the post card are not US).
In my defense, we went back and got married "proper" in church and all that shit :-P