Viva Las Vegas!

After lounging at the pool till about 3, we met up with our cousin Jeff and his friend Steve, and they took us to the Spearmint Rhino, where we proceeded to gape and gawk at the, uh, "selection". I don't know where you're all from, but when you go to a strip club at 4pm on a Sunday, it can't possibly be pretty. Oh-so-wrong. The boys proceeded to get a million lap dances, and I chatted up the dancers. Did you know they have a roster of over 2000 girls that dance every year? It was a great, classy time, and the girls were amazing. Word of advice: never ever believe what a stripper says.

After standing in line for over an hour at Body English (the place to be on a Sunday at the Hard Rock), out comes one of my jet-setting coworkers with plans on going to a cool club with his posse.   I had been drinking heavily in line with my trusty Special Sprite to help the time pass by.  He had some great-looking girlfriends with him, so I naturally obliged.  It was called Tryst, and it was situated at the Wynn.  It had a wonderful waterfall that looked at least 50 feet high, and the atmosphere was very posh.  Apparently when we got there, one of these Paris Hilton types was "bored" at Tryst and wanted to go, and happily gave us her VIP table with a half-full bottle of Grey Goose on ice.  We all looked at each other and gave each other mental high-fives (the table must have been $600 easy), and I started to work unflinchingly on the Grey Goose ($150 easy).

Well, apparently I had a little too much to drink.  I blacked out and this is what allegedly happened: I went dancing and grinding naughty-style with my coworker on the dance-floor, and had a bunch of ridiculously hot girls come up and dance with us and take pictures and comment on how hot we looked together.   Then I felt really sick and wanted to throw up, but not before hitting on this cocktail waitress for no less than an hour.  (She was super-model hot, though, so it's ok.  Surprised I even held her attention/dress for that long.)  My glasses kept falling off, and by the end of the night they were gone ($250, not so easy).  The bouncers stepped in and threatened to kick my ass, but then they saw where I was sitting (VIP, baby!), and proceeded to call me a cab and pay for my way home.  How pleasant!  I didn't lose my brother's camera, but I did lose my glasses and a small amount of dignity.

When I arrived back at our hotel, I started making out with my friend Mikel's arm (she's a girl from back in Boise I go to school with). After the slobberfest that ensued and I had figured I was on a roll, I proceeded to get buck-ass naked, jumping into the bed with her, and tried to cuddle with her.  Not a good idea, my friends.  Not at all.   There's nothing more awkard than having to apologize for, you know, molesting her.