Page 117: Snow Daze in Vegas

WARNING TO MY OLD BAPTIST PALS: this Vegas story includes lots of gratuitous drinking, gambling, cussing, and probably some dancing in there somewhere. (I have to give them this warning so that they rush down directly to the good stuff.) My pastor buddy Dr. Stephen J. Lucas once told this story: "the little lady walked up to her minister and said, 'Preacher, can Baptists dance?' to which he answered, 'To tell you the truth, ma'am -- some can, and some can't…'"

In late April, Airman, Rich, and I did a jaunt to Vegas -- where our other neighborhood buddies were, who knows -- but as you probably realize, Vegas to men is like catnip to Mr. Bigglesworth. It makes us a lil' cuuuuh-razy. One minute we're calm as nitroglycerin filled water balloons, and the next thing you know, we're slobbery, pie-eyed savages intent on overeating and losing our hard-earned money. But hey -- when your ticket gets punched on the Silly Train, it's time to hop on board.

Once we landed, we could not wait to get to the tables. We waited in line, we tapped our feet impatiently, we rolled our eyes, but finally, there we were. "SHOW ME THE… BUFFET!" we yelled, in our best Cuba Gooding Junior voice. Oh boy, did we play the tables big. "HIT ME AGAIN!" Rich yelled at the Prime Rib station. The hatted attendant spun his tongs and yet another giant rib landed on Rich's plate. "Woooo HOOOOOO!" I doubled down at the Sushi Table, and Airman tried a little of everything, or should I say a lot of everything, and he reportedly scored big with a Royal Flush immediately afterward.

Airman and I looked for a likker store (we Texans spell it that way and pronounce it that way, thank you very much) when we got to town, in search of some fine spirits for our suite. We found a glitzy store right by the Mandalay Bay, and when we walked in, I heard a THUMP as Airman hit the floor in a dead faint. "The prices here," he moaned. I revived him waving a $20 under his nose. But he was right. Nobody has ever been more proud of their bottles of hootch; the joint was a royal rip-off. So twenty minutes later we found ourselves in a store called "Vann's," the Scariest Place I've Ever Shopped. I was holding onto my teeth for dear life, because we were the only people in the place that had any, and I didn't like the looks we were getting. "Airman, hide your teeth!" I hissed. "Suck in your lips and pretend your gums are rotten and hurting! We need to fit in." We were shocked that they did NOT have the fine bourbon Richard was hoping for, but they did have plenty of other, much less expensive choices on the "Skid Row Aisle." And ever the gent and lady's man, Airman was kind enough to help a lady pushing around her rusty oxygen machine reach a carton of cigarettes off the top shelf.

I'm going to skip the part about our accommodations, but we had five flat panel TV's in our 1500 square feet X3 suite, and that's no joke. It was like the suite in Rain Man, except for the smarts and the winnings. But we only paid peanuts due to the economic meltdown there.

We went to the mountains one day, which I highly recommend. It's 45 minutes to the northwest, and it's beautiful. And yes, there was SNOW -- SNOW in Las Vegas a mere 25 miles away. As a bonus, we got to meet Billy the Serial Murderer Park Attendant. Well, that was our guess. He was a young guy, and the crazed, scary grin on his face when we paid to get into the hike park suggested that his favorite hobby was "Crystal Meth." We talked to him for a few minutes. "These trees are old!" he asserted, grinning. "They're older than you. Some of them are even older than me!" Right, Billy. Right. Aaron pointed out that the real park attendant was probably laying on the floor of the little hut, bound and gagged. Billy leered at us, his Meth teeth a nice pale shade of Park Foliage Green (how ironic). Well. Been fun. Time to run, for our lives.


The evil plot was hatched on Tuesday night. "Airman, let's get Rich on top of the Stratosphere, have a few drinks, and talk him in one of those rides on top of the thing." If you've never heard of it, the Stratosphere is the 1100 foot tower that reaches into the heavens, and on top -- the very top -- are 3 thrill rides that are not for the faint of heart. I've been on the one that shoots you up the tower, pictured here -- keep in mind YOU ARE ON TOP OF AN 1100 FOOT BUILDING, and they shoot you another 200 feet into the air... but they have new rides that look even more terrifying.

Long story short, the plan came off, and suddenly we found ourselves strapped into dinky seats on a giant contraption 1100 feet in the air called the "INSANITY," with a mechanical arm moving us off the side of the tower dangling in the air, and spinning us like crazy.

I'll be honest -- my legs were shaking and I could barely open my eyes. Airman was just laughing. And I think the word to best describe Richard was "terrified." Pretty sure he had a poopy diaper. Luckily, he didn't kill us. Whew. Billy, Insanity, and Rich's potential Revenge. Three brushes with certain death in the first 2 days...

We did other things. I remember some gambling, and I better remember the old proverb "Gambling is a sport for people who are BAD at MATH." I usually just play a little at the slots and Blackjack, but Rich is a Super-Gambler. He knows all the games. "Hey, can you teach us how to play craps?" I asked. Rich assured us it was a piece of cake. We were down at the table later that evening.

"Now, what you do it, you put money on the 7, but you don't want to shortfall, so keep it in The Zone. If the dice go into the circle, you might get a touchback. I'm going to pick BLACK -- now watch the triangle! WATCH IT!!!" I nodded excitedly, pie-eyed. Right. RIIIGHT!!! I get it! I get it now. I get that I will never, ever understand this damn game, that it involves some sort of alien technology and brain genes I don't have. "Go RED! RED! Move it to 11! Lock transporter onto the thampallulizer! Energize!" Rich barked. Twenties moved on and off the table. Space and time warped a little, and "I think there was a robot." My eyesight got blurry. It had seemed like hours, but in fact, only 6 minutes had transpired. "We're outta here!" Rich said. I asked him how much we won. "I lost $200. I mean, just broke even," Rich replied.

Everybody always "just breaks even" in Vegas. This is code talk for "lost my rumpus."

Well, there is much more to tell, but we'll have to save those stories for the campfire, kids. But it was quite some great daze in Vegas. Next year, we may have to tone down the guys' trip and go somewhere a little less crazy. 'Nawlins, anyone?