Vegas in the summer is damn hot. No, that's not a big surprise. All those cement edifices, combined with tar and other manmade substances, soak up the heat and add to the already 100+ degree temperatures. So, really, the days were boring. They involved a lot of walking around, and darting into casinos every 5 minutes because it was hotter than Hades outside. And then going back outside because the casinos were freezing cold. Back and forth between hot and cold. I'm surprised I didn't get sick. There is also tons of shopping in Vegas. Lots of fake boobs too. And fat people who get fatter by alternating sitting on their asses gambling and eating at the buffets. And lots of lobster-red people sitting by the pool. Skin cancer ain't cool.
But really, the more interesting part are the guys we met. I would say people, but really, the only other people we really talked to were guys.
The desperate guy.
What, you think I remember names? Anyhow, we were at the Foundation Room at the House of Blues Friday night, which is their member-only section on the top floor (35th? 36th?) of Mandalay Bay. Yes, we're special. Yes, we know people. Or at least people who know people.
Anyhow. I might have been wearing something that exposed rather ample cleavage, which is a great guy magnet, especially in Vegas. To avoid talking to this guy who was only interested in talking to my chest, I started chatting up his friend.
Best line of the conversation? Out of the blue, he asks, "Do you have a kid?" Thankfully, I only replied with a surprised "No!" rather than the "Fuck, no!" that almost came out of my mouth, as this guy was 23, and had a 3 year old child.
That did not stop me from accepting his drinks, and perhaps dancing with him. He was cute and buying me booze. It wasn't going to go any further than that. But then I made the fatal mistake of giving him my real number when he asked for it, for when I'm put on the spot I just cannot lie, it's pathetic.
However, in the end I'm glad I gave him my number because I got to see just how desperate he was. FOUR phone calls Saturday - 2:30PM, 8PM, 10:30PM and 1:30AM. Obviously I didn't pick up and let him go straight into voicemail, where he repeated, "I said I was going to call so I'm calling so call me back" like 500 times. Sure, he said he was going to call, but I never said I was going to answer.
The banterer.
On the way back to our room after leaving the Foundation Room, we ran into a whole group of guys on our floor who were just leaving for the night. One was a slightly less-cute version of Ed Norton, and if I hadn't been so pooped I probably would have taken them up on their offer to join them out. But I had been drinking since 3PM, Katie had gone to work that day and then flown out, and it was 2:30AM and we were tired. Thus, I felt no need to attempt to flirt with him, so instead had a lot of fun bantering instead which I am far better at because 1) I don't feel the need to pander to the male ego and 2) thus am blunt yet delightfully amusing. Unfortunately, this more natural tendency of mine tends to scare off guys in bars rather than attract them. Oh well. Their loss. Anyhow, this lasted for a good 20 minutes until I decided that I was too tired to keep it up, and so ended the exchange. I kept hoping for a 2nd wind to kick in there and was expecting that trading barbed comments would do it - remember, near-Ed Norton doppelganger - but alas, no.
The loser.
This wasn't one of the guys we met out, but rather another college friend's friend from medical school. Oh my God, I don't know how guys like him ever get dates. First of all, he didn't order anything for dinner because he had eaten four hours earlier and wasn't hungry. What? Not hungry? It also is just weird when you're in a large party of 12, the 9 other guys have ordered their all-you-can-eat meat dinners, the two girls have their entrees, everyone has fun rum drinks, and you have a sad lonely bottle of beer. Not that you should feel forced into ordering food when you're not hungry, but don't you plan in advance when you know you have dinner plans at a certain time? It also really doesn't help when you're socially awkward. For example:
The bachelor party.
After dinner Saturday night, Katie and I went to Ghostbar which, being on the 55th floor of The Palms, has the best view ever of Vegas.
There are tons of bachelorette parties in Vegas, easily distinguished from others by the veil and the various penis-shaped paraphernalia. Bachelor parties are less easily identifiable. But we got to talking to this group of relatively attractive, tall guys who were in town to celebrate their friend's last night of freedom. Too bad he was wandering around talking to his fiancèe on his cell all night. However, tall guys are really hard to talk to because you can't hear them when there's loud music in the background and when the people at the hotel decide to add to the ambiance by turning on the turbo fans outside to add "atmosphere," causing near pre-hurricane winds. Alas, such is life. But it's good to know that there are cute chiropractors out there. Too bad this group was from Seattle. I'll find ones closer to home.
******
And so, that pretty much was it. Lots of drinking, lots of walking around. Not too much gambling - after losing $10 at blackjack, I figured I could better spend my money buying food and alcohol. No, I did not meet anyone on my flight - but that might be because as soon as I put my seatbelt on, I fall asleep, which isn't terribly conducive to talking to your seatmates. Vegas is fun. For the weekend. It's like the Disney World of gambling. But any longer, and I think I'd go mad with the constant ringing of slot machines.
But really, the more interesting part are the guys we met. I would say people, but really, the only other people we really talked to were guys.
The desperate guy.
What, you think I remember names? Anyhow, we were at the Foundation Room at the House of Blues Friday night, which is their member-only section on the top floor (35th? 36th?) of Mandalay Bay. Yes, we're special. Yes, we know people. Or at least people who know people.
Anyhow. I might have been wearing something that exposed rather ample cleavage, which is a great guy magnet, especially in Vegas. To avoid talking to this guy who was only interested in talking to my chest, I started chatting up his friend.
Best line of the conversation? Out of the blue, he asks, "Do you have a kid?" Thankfully, I only replied with a surprised "No!" rather than the "Fuck, no!" that almost came out of my mouth, as this guy was 23, and had a 3 year old child.
That did not stop me from accepting his drinks, and perhaps dancing with him. He was cute and buying me booze. It wasn't going to go any further than that. But then I made the fatal mistake of giving him my real number when he asked for it, for when I'm put on the spot I just cannot lie, it's pathetic.
However, in the end I'm glad I gave him my number because I got to see just how desperate he was. FOUR phone calls Saturday - 2:30PM, 8PM, 10:30PM and 1:30AM. Obviously I didn't pick up and let him go straight into voicemail, where he repeated, "I said I was going to call so I'm calling so call me back" like 500 times. Sure, he said he was going to call, but I never said I was going to answer.
The banterer.
On the way back to our room after leaving the Foundation Room, we ran into a whole group of guys on our floor who were just leaving for the night. One was a slightly less-cute version of Ed Norton, and if I hadn't been so pooped I probably would have taken them up on their offer to join them out. But I had been drinking since 3PM, Katie had gone to work that day and then flown out, and it was 2:30AM and we were tired. Thus, I felt no need to attempt to flirt with him, so instead had a lot of fun bantering instead which I am far better at because 1) I don't feel the need to pander to the male ego and 2) thus am blunt yet delightfully amusing. Unfortunately, this more natural tendency of mine tends to scare off guys in bars rather than attract them. Oh well. Their loss. Anyhow, this lasted for a good 20 minutes until I decided that I was too tired to keep it up, and so ended the exchange. I kept hoping for a 2nd wind to kick in there and was expecting that trading barbed comments would do it - remember, near-Ed Norton doppelganger - but alas, no.
The loser.
This wasn't one of the guys we met out, but rather another college friend's friend from medical school. Oh my God, I don't know how guys like him ever get dates. First of all, he didn't order anything for dinner because he had eaten four hours earlier and wasn't hungry. What? Not hungry? It also is just weird when you're in a large party of 12, the 9 other guys have ordered their all-you-can-eat meat dinners, the two girls have their entrees, everyone has fun rum drinks, and you have a sad lonely bottle of beer. Not that you should feel forced into ordering food when you're not hungry, but don't you plan in advance when you know you have dinner plans at a certain time? It also really doesn't help when you're socially awkward. For example:
Me: I'm hot. I'm going to take off my jacket. [Takes off jacket]Can you say anything in response to that? Another variation of this is:
Him: So you're hot?
Me: Hey, this mojito is good. Katie, you want a sip?Maybe he was trying to make conversation, but Katie, Kevin and I (the three sitting closest to him) tried, but he was like a black hole of conversation - it just wasn't to be had. His statements were just conversation enders.
Him: So your mojito is good?
Me: Yeah, so we met these guys last night... [Continues to recount story of loser guys who won't stop calling]He also did not know what nor where Coney Island is, and he goes to school in NYC. To top it all off, he was unattractive. Not that I'm shallow. Okay, I sort of am. But if you're going to be just boring as all fuck to talk to and/or weird, at least please be good-looking so I have eye candy.
Katie: Yeah, the one I was talking to was just so socially inept.
Him: What do you mean by socially inept?
Me: [Takes a big gulp of good mojito to prevent saying, "You are a prime example of socially inept."]
The bachelor party.
After dinner Saturday night, Katie and I went to Ghostbar which, being on the 55th floor of The Palms, has the best view ever of Vegas.
There are tons of bachelorette parties in Vegas, easily distinguished from others by the veil and the various penis-shaped paraphernalia. Bachelor parties are less easily identifiable. But we got to talking to this group of relatively attractive, tall guys who were in town to celebrate their friend's last night of freedom. Too bad he was wandering around talking to his fiancèe on his cell all night. However, tall guys are really hard to talk to because you can't hear them when there's loud music in the background and when the people at the hotel decide to add to the ambiance by turning on the turbo fans outside to add "atmosphere," causing near pre-hurricane winds. Alas, such is life. But it's good to know that there are cute chiropractors out there. Too bad this group was from Seattle. I'll find ones closer to home.
******
And so, that pretty much was it. Lots of drinking, lots of walking around. Not too much gambling - after losing $10 at blackjack, I figured I could better spend my money buying food and alcohol. No, I did not meet anyone on my flight - but that might be because as soon as I put my seatbelt on, I fall asleep, which isn't terribly conducive to talking to your seatmates. Vegas is fun. For the weekend. It's like the Disney World of gambling. But any longer, and I think I'd go mad with the constant ringing of slot machines.
posted at 10:25
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