Back from the Land of the Lost and into the Land of the Frost, typing on my trusty Microsoft Word blank page, negotiating my brand new contacts which seem to enjoy changing my eye sight in five minute intervals.
Did I have fun? Yes.
Did I drink enough to warrant a wheelchair ride again? No, but it wasn’t lack of effort.
Did I win? Kind of.
Did I see bOObies? Lots and some that gave bOObies a bad name which shouldn’t have seen the bright, blue skies above the MGM pool.
Vegas had more of a calming effect on me, versus the all out lets-get-really-really-drunk-and-end-up-with-a-three-way-from-a-porn-slappers-ad-girl-and-the-wife. There were no extreme highs, but a decent size bump in happiness from the Sahara. Seeing Don and dishing out bad NCAA hockey advice (UND BLOWS!) was definitely a highlight of the trip in my book. Of course I played a little poker there as well, and managed to hold the blogger tradition of finishing up late at the final table of their daily rebuy tourney. I couldn’t overcome the oppressive blinds for the win, but a fifth place finish after being almost dead last at the first break gave me a sense of accomplishment for the week. Or maybe that’s the several Cap’n Cokes I consumed doing the talking as the waitresses were kind enough to keep my glass filled for the duration of this surprisingly well structured tourney for the first two hours. At the price, I was considering the tourney a grand bargain while I watched my chip stack deplete slowly since the blinds-to-chip ratio was low and one could play many speculative hands.
But, for the cost of tipping the waitress for some refreshments, and having Don’s wide smile cheer me on the rail (victim of cards not holding up), I got the uplift needed to make the Vegas trip a success. Successful, doesn’t equate to profitability when you factor in my lowly slot fetish. Oh, these denizens of electronic coin operated hell, your siren call of bonus games and mindless entertainment with waitresses serving cold cocktails and serving even colder stares of disgust as your pennies and nickels are spun through an random number generator so the casino can build that $2.8 billion new addition.
Mr. Cashman > Drizz
Drizz > Stupid people at the poker table
Funny how I could take money from the douchebag in the seven seat as his hands shook so badly that finally woke up with Aces for the first time in two hours begging for someone to play Q9o and hit two pair to bust him, but that computer generated top-hat wearing coin did a similar number to my wallet.
So who’s the idiot?
On a slightly different tangent, I am sad to report that the quality in porn slapping on the streets of Las Vegas Boulevard were at an all-time low. No feeling given into handing fliers of promiscuous women offering half-hour to an hour long relationships of a platonic nature of course. No zing of smut emitting from those fingers to provide Sunny the former cheerleader’s private phone number. Besides no lazy river at the MGM pool, the porn slappers lack of marketing zealousness was the only true disappointment of the trip.
Despite the lack of inter-tubing fun, the MGM itself rocked. The beds were covered with lush pillows (do people really require 6 full size pillows???) and comforters that caused me to pass out almost every night after returning with the wife to our temporary home, and not giving into sneaking out the door at 2am to throw another Pai Gow hand into the muck. The poker room was run professionally as always with staff that kept my BAC at Vegas-levels for the week. Only miscue by the poker room was the morning tourney structure that should have “turbo” written next to its description. Popular indeed, as alternates were being filed in quickly for this card-catching bingo tourney during the first three levels up until the break. Sadly, my bingo card showed no dabber markings and I exited before the wife could get her soon-to-be burnt but still cute tush away from the pool.
Still buzzing on the plane ride home, I wondered out loud to my wife why we continue to make our yearly journey to a city that leaves our wallets lighter and heads swimming in alcoholic residue on the trip back to the frozen north?
I still don’t have a definitive answer and may never have one since my name will be on another ticket going west next year as well.
Thanks for dropping by, now for those who enjoy a good steak (and if you don’t go back to your tofu burger and ignore this) I have a question.
I was dining at Emeril’s at the MGM for our nice dinner of the week and choose the Louisiana Cedar Plank Campfire Steak to remind myself that double cheeseburger at McD’s while tasty just don’t substitute for a real dinner. Now while I saw “cedar plank” in the description I wasn’t expecting the actual wood to be served along with the best mashed taters this mouth has ever tasted.
The question(s): Why was the steak prepped on the wood, and why was it served with the wood?
Remember I consider fine dining as any place that provides silverware versus plastic wrapped sporks and don’t get out to places like this often.
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