(Side: I have started giving everyone nicknames, in case the part you play in any story of my life is illegal/horrible/cause for termination/embarrassing/etc. Probably better that no real names and the phrase "got a squeezer from a tranny hooker" end up in the same sentence on Google. Because that would suck. I have put about 1.2 seconds of thought into these for each of you. Have fun and see if you can guess your nickname.)
Anyway, this is what happened, best I can recollect. Enjoy:
Key Players in the Vegas trip
Wheel: A drunk Texan and former roommate of mine who flew out to meet me in Vegas. He was the drunkest person in Vegas from the moment I arrived and may have continued his drinking long after I left. For all I know he could now be one of the underground sewer dwellers that infest Vegas (told you it was true, haters).
The Azn: A friend I met late freshman year in the dorms when she came to check out our hall on recognizance, if I remember the story correctly. An infamous member of the 'I-99 Sluts.' Now out in LA. Invited the FOF. A social butterfly in the truest sense.
The Friend of a Friend (FOF): One of two girls who accompanied me on my drive out to Vegas from LA. She is a friend of the Azn's who also went to CSU. Knows almost every person I know.
Johnny: I met Johnny at the Poinsettia Bowl 4 years ago in San Diego with Edy (who doesn't get a nickname until he apologizes for his horrific slight of me on Facebook), Kilometers and the Actor. My only bowl game I attended in five years at CSU. I think he was a few years graduated from CSU (about 25 years old) was fucking bombed and passing out carbombs like candy. He and his group took in four young Rams and took away all our fears that we would get MIPs. He was kicked out of that bowl game at least two times. I had not seen, or really remembered him since.
The FlyBoy: Played football at the Academy, dating the Trophy Wife. Happy you got mentioned?
The Trophy Wife: I-99 slut, dating the Cadet.
Nasty: One of those ironical, alliteration based nicknames. From the Dale.
The Wrestler: She dated a wrestler at Wyo.
The Secret Twin: Separated at birth (allegedly) from the FlyBoy, now his roommate.
Cartman: He is a Lakers and Dodgers fan. Football: Cowboys. We argue constantly.
Grand Theft: It will be pretty obvious why this is his nickname.
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Friday, 3:30AM. I get off work and finish packing. I debate if I should just blow town immediately and drive to Vegas, forcing my potential co-pilots in LA to drive themselves the next day. I could have made it by 9. I call Nasty. He got into Vegas earlier in the night. I tell myself, if he answers, I will leave for Vegas right then. He doesn't. I decide to make an honest attempt at sleep, no one wants to go to Vegas on an empty tank.
6:30AM: This sleeping thing is bullshit. I should have taken a Tylenol PM. Too excited. The Azn, getting ready for a half day at work, calls to question if it is cool that I have to be back in LA by 6:30 on Sunday. I think for a second she means 6:30AM. I am already delusional. I agree. I attempt some more sleep.
9:30AM: No sleep on the way. I give up, burn a CD since I am IPod-less and don't trust girls to have good music. It is time to go.
11:00AM: I reach the 101, it is slow. I announce how much I hate LA. I also have been awake for almost 20 hours straight. Probably shouldn't be operating a vehicle.
12:30PM: After a quick lunch I drop by FOF's house. I have never met her, but I am going to be driving with her for at least six hours, so I don't feel that asking to take a nap at her house is imposing at all.
When I pull up, we recognize each other at first sight, even though we had failed to ever be officially introduced. I go inside her house and the first picture I see is one of her and a girl from Aspen. Apparently we know some of the same people. Or everybody. We lived in the Lofts at the same time. The amount of similar friends and experiences we shared was unsettling to the point I almost felt that either one of us was lying or we both had a deep-seeded mental block.
I make the situation less awkward by falling asleep for 20 minutes or so.
1:45PM: We leave to pick up the Azn. Sometime roughly around now Wheel! arrives in Vegas. He texts asking where I am. I tell him I won't be in until about 7-8. He begins drinking.
2:30PM: We drive the 10 miles to meet the Azn at her work. I hate LA. We pack up and roll out.
3:00PM: The Azn announces that traffic should soon break, as we are close to the 10. Wheel decides that the best deal in Vegas is a yard drink in the basement of the MGM Grand. He has two.
4:00PM: We are on the 10, traffic has failed to break. We take our first bathroom break I am removed from the driver's seat. I would rather light my foot on fire than let an Asian girl drive my car, but I am exhausted to the point that I struggle to form sentences.
5:00PM: I slip in and out of sleep for a while, always irritated that we haven't broken out of traffic yet. I decide not to ask the Azn for any lucky numbers, Nostradamus she is not.
7:00PM: Traffic finally breaks. We reach Barstow. We get Inn-N-Out. I am happy. Everyone waiting for us in Vegas is now already getting drunk and ready to go. The girls are hydrating hard to make sure they don't die. This is a smart idea. Unfortunately their tiny bladders have to pee constantly. At every stop I plot how I can buy beer so that I can drink in the car. I am so ready to get schammered, but decide to wait, as Vegas never closes, so I should be able to take it slow.
9:00PM: We reach the edge of Vegas and stop at a Whole Foods for some reason. They have a special display of 24 oz. PBR cans for $1.50 each. I buy 10. This is a good omen.
9:30PM: I get in line to check into the hotel. Wheel finds me. He has no luggage and his second or third yard drink. He can't remember. He is swearing up a strorm. He is actually making people in the line around us, people checking into a hotel in Las Vegas, shake their heads at how drunk he is.
9:40PM: Admittedly I packed poorly and haphazardly, with one backpack and two paper bags full of beer and random stuff. Wheel offers to help me hold a bag, but he won't put down his yard drink. The bag rips, sending tall-boy PBRs rolling all over the tile. The guys behind us are the only ones who seem to find any humor in this.
9:42PM: A Vitamin Water falls, it's lid breaks off, spilling all over. I convince Wheel it is time to go locate his missing luggage. He finally wanders off. I wonder if I am going to even get into the hotel, then come to the realization that this is Vegas and people like Wheel are the reason it was invented. I relax.
9:50PM: My room is upgraded, I get free drink vouchers and advice about which clubs to go (it's my brithday, Boosh). So much for Wheel being too drunk.
10:20PM: We get to the room. Wheel demands I give him some of the beer. He really doesn't remember much of the previous exchange in the lobby. As he tries to hook his laptop up to the 13.99/day internet I decide to make it so no internet/porn can be charged to my room. I am still sober. I lock up my camera and Wheel's laptop in the safe, but for some reason don't lock my keys up. FAIL.
11:00: A few PRBs down we cross over to the Monte Carlo. FlyBoy, Secret Twin and Nasty are there playing craps, along with Trophy Wife and Wrestler. Wheel wanders away from us before we even can make it over two escalators. This would be a theme.
11:30PM: We meet up. Everyone is ahead of me, drunk-wise. I am out of beer that I bought and don't really want to pay for any more. I decide I will give Craps another try, even though it confuses me and steals my gwop. Instead of actually betting, I just watch and snake drinks. The girls talk about something sad. I steal their drinks. File this under obvious foreshadowing.
I also decide that the theme song of the night is 'Shots' by LMFAO and Lil' Jon.
Saturday 12:30AM: I head out with the girls to head to a club at Treasure Island. The guys say they will come later. We meet up with a group of about 15 CSU kids, who have bottle service, and basically a private patio section, at the Christian Audiger Club.
12:45AM: I begin arguing with Cartman and friends about Lakers vs. Nuggets. This goes on for a while. There is dancing, lapdances and other belligerence. There is a fairly intense discussion of ovaries and testicles, and the comparisons between the two sensitive areas after Trophy Wife nut-punches me.
1:15AM: I take a long ass trip to the pisser (read; Get lost) and realize I am drunker than I thought. I resolve to slow down and get some water.
1:54AM: I respond to a text message with "Shots. X the Western World. Let's get it." I am clearly taking it slow.
I
AM
BLACKED
OUT
8:30AM: I have no idea how I got home. I am not wearing any of my clothes. I am alone in a bed. There are more people in the room than there should be, yet a couple people who should be in the room are absent. I find this odd. Not as odd as the people in the other bed, Wheel, Grand Theft and Azn. I think someone is on the ground. I don't care. I go back to sleep.
In the time I was blacked out this much I can gather:
-No one remembers when exactly we left the club, or if I even left with the group. All they know is that when they returned to the room, I was already there. Teleportation at it's finest.
-Some continued the night gambling and doing God-knows-what.
-Two people (Cartman was one, I believe) yakked into the Bellagio Fountains. I am so disappointed that I didn't get to remember this.
10:00AM: I think Grand Theft leaves, and I awake. There is not a whole lot of energy in the room. I start to drink a PBR. It isn't going well. Wheel wakes up singing Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA" and immediately begins drinking. He is in college, I am not. He is also quickly returning to super fucked up, while I decide that I need to take a break. There is tailgating to plan, and all the PBRs are now gone.
11:00AM: I look for my keys. They are nowhere. That is odd, as my phone and wallet were neatly stacked on top of each other. I did use my cell phone all night, but don't remember taking my keys out. Why didn't I lock them in the safe? Goddamn, I am a fucking idiot. Wheel assures me I that will find them before the end of the trip, as suitcases eat thing. I remind him I don't have a suitcase, I am not taking a plane home and I need my car.
11:20AM: After frantically looking I give up. They are gone. We are fucked.
11:21AM: I remember I have On-Star and a spare key in the car. FUCK and YES. Maybe I donated my keys to the Bellagio Fountain or something, in my drunken haze, but I can still get out of here.
12:00PM: Wheel and I decide it is time to go get food. I call On-Star while Wheel finishes up his beer by the car. The girls need some more sleep. I drive to Whole Foods and pick up more big PBRs. Wheel and I blast "Shots" the whole way, repeatedly replaying Lil' Jon screaming, "SUCK MY COCK." I declare myself Vegas sober.
1:00PM: We eat Chipotle. Wheel demands they make nachos, even though they are not on the menu. He is already getting drunk to the point it is risky. I order a beer, but then realize that I am probably still dangerously close to drunk, despite not really drinking anything all day and eating a giant burrito. I give the beer to Wheel. I am what you call an enabler. He begins to get angry that a family near us is dressed in Arizona State gear. Especially the baby.
1:10PM: He actually says he wants to fight the baby. It is time to leave.
2:00PM: After a stop for two 18-packs of Coors Light, we finally get back to the hotel. We find out that tickets to the UNLV game are only 5 bucks each if you donate three cans of food. Back to the Scratch-Mobile.
2:30PM: A Vons trip consists of: 4-48oz. bottles of water, hairspray, 6 cans of Golden Corn, 6 cans of peas, and every single 5-hour energy in the whole store. Such a ghetto Vons that you need to have someone escort you into the Beauty Supply/vitamin aisle. Fucking Meth-addicts.
3:30PM: Back to the hotel to prep for the game. I drink my entire bottle of water in about ten minutes. I debate my second 5-hour energy of the night. I drink half.
4:00PM: I call down to the Valet and ask how much cab fare will be to Sam Boyd Stadium. "About 10-12 dollars." Sweet, we roll.
4:30PM: In the cab, Wheel is shocked by the fact that we can have open containers. In the confusion of this and the fact that Miley Cirus blows up on the radio, ("I got my hands up, their singing my song") we get taken for a loop by the cab driver. Yes, we didn't have to stop at any lights, Mr. KANSAjsalhkfo3wefi, but you took us down to Henderson before swinging back up to the stadium. SHHHHHHEEEEET.
5:00PM: That'll be a $60 cab ride. Dumbass valet, dumbass me and dumbass cabby. Oh well, fuck it. Let's get drunk.
5:10PM: Wow, the parking lot was depressing. Not a whole lot going on for those folks. I don't blame them, since they are fucked way worse by stadium location than even CSU. Unlike us, many CSU 'fans' who claimed to the game was the reason for the trip skipped it entirely.
The only nice thing was that half of the tailgate was on some sweet grass (aka not mud/snow) and it was nice weather. Still boring, but CSU knows how to party.
5:30: After walking all the way to the Northwest corner of the field, we finally find a few CSU people. After bullshitting a little bit and throwing around a football, CSU fans do what we do best. Create a drinking game. In this case, Duck-Duck-Goose.
It was surprisingly entertaining when you involve people that have been drinking for hours (no one showed up to this game in any form of sober). Basically you just take turns running in a circle and tapping heads, because now that we are older no one ever catches anyone else. Unless the goose is fucking hammered with no coordination (Wheel!). Yep, out of about 30 turns he was the only one caught. Still, you chug your beer if you are the goose (or Rebel, as the game progressed to be called), so you get drunk. Shotgunning would be a more Brawsome penalty, but I didn't think of this at the time.
Look at that unbrideled joy. Johnny getting Ram-Ram-Rebel going.
A redheaded homeboy was so amped up, that every time he was close to being tapped, he would cheat and get into a sprinter's stance, but every time he would burn out and fall onto his face. Another spirited participant in this activity went by the name of Johnny. He begins calling me Stretch. I was certain I recognized him, but couldn't place his face. In fact, as Stretch has morphed into my nickname at work, I thought he knew me from there. He was from the San Diego area, and had heard of the bar, but had never been. Later I would figure out how I knew him, and this connection would turn out to be vital to my Vegas survival.
6:00PM: At a tailgate in Nevada I meet two people from Aspen, one from Hotchkiss and run into an old friend from Basalt. Western Slope represent. Johnny's Tahoe runs out of battery. He receives a jump from someone in a Toyota truck, leading to a barrage of "Nice truck, Howie Long?" and "What is this, a Toyota commercial?" jokes.
6:30PM: A game of catch nearly kills an old couple with the unfortunate idea to tailgate near us.I am absent for much of this, dealing with a list issues that could have gotten me fired. I am 500 miles from work and still able to fuck up. I think that maybe I am getting a little to drunk, then take a look around at everyone else. I am fine.
7:00PM: The game is about to start, but no one has made any movement inside.
7:15PM: The beer is pretty much gone and everyone begins to move inside. Everyone partakes in one final shotgun. We should have just stayed outside.
7:30PM: Despite having no one to deal with, UNLV ushers are fucking worthless. We finally are able to find the CSU section. Most of the group is late arriving as they rush to buy more beer from the concession stand. FlyBoy is excited to watch Nick Oppeneer, as he is another of the rare white cornerbacks.
Failgate of the week: 7:45PM: Wheel enters the front row armed with what looks like a cup of whiskey. He begins screaming curses and insults at everything UNLV. Everyone tells him to tone it down. He does no such thing. He isn't even focusing on anything in particular, just shouting at the top of his lungs that "UNLV IS FUCKING FAGGOTS."
I have been drunk at games. I have seen other wasted kids yell dumb, ignorant shit. I have yelled worse things at refs in anger. I have yelled stupid, retarded shit unrelated to the game and seen others do the same. But nothing, nothing, compares to this. His anger and unrelenting vulgarity make a crowd of about 50 people take a collective step back.
8:00PM: A security guard comes over and attempts to calm Wheel down. They get into an argument and it seems there is no way he doesn't get kicked out. This may be Las Vegas, but it is a football game, still a family environment to a certain degree. And with only about 10,000 people in the whole stadium I can say that almost everyone could hear him.
Somehow Wheel has talked himself out of trouble. Still, if you had given me odds I would have taken 1000-1 that he got kicked out. Glad no one took that bet.
8:15PM: CSU is playing more terrible than even Wheel could describe. When they finally score a TD to make it interesting, UNLV shoves a TD right back up our asses in about 30 seconds.
FlyBoy notes that Jon Eastman's delivery is "embarrassing to football." Awesome.
8:30PM: Halftime: UNLV has the mini cheerleaders come out to perform. What a terrible idea, in that town. Even the Pope couldn't avoid making future hooker/stripper jokes.
9:30PM: The CSU side begins to empty as it becomes apparent we will drop our seventh straight. Most have given up hope, not Wheel. In an effort to keep him from yelling horrible thing at the field, I sit a few rows behind him and begin betting him on every play. He keeps betting on CSU getting a first down, I keep accepting. This keeps him busy for most of the fourth quarter, including a five minute stretch where I bet him he couldn't use any word beginning with F. He slipped once, only using the word 'five,' so I gave him that one. In total, though, I would rack up $55 from him. Fuck blackjack, I am just going to wager the house against the Rams from now on. I'll get that tuition back quickly.
10:15PM: The game is basically over. I can't even remember who has the ball, but the game is down near the end zone in front of us. Nothing is really going on, but as the ref goes to set the ball Wheel decides to yet again yell, "FUCK YOU FAGGOTS." I don't know if he was insulting UNLV or CSU, or the refs, but all three guys on the chain-gang turned around, looked at Wheel, started chuckling and rolled their eyes. So absurd and surreal.
Refs work extremely hard to block out the crowd, so you know it was something pretty blatant to get their attention, but it was like everyone in the crowd had a "Fuck it, it is Vegas"-reaction. For all the embarrassment and annoyance that Wheel brought that night, that moment pretty much redeemed him. Not a single person who witnessed it didn't laugh. Even some mothers of the CSU players laughed. Maybe Wheel may have been one of those "people that can't handle Vegas," but he pulled it out in the end.
10:30PM: The security guard who almost kicked Wheel out comes back, and in the burn of the game states "You are the only guy I threatened to kick out who actually wanted to stay." UNLV-CSU: quality college football played here.
10:45PM: The game mercifully ends, and everyone begins to leave. I exit the stadium only to realize that I suddenly am alone. Wheel wandered off to piss, and the girls, it seems, bailed early, forgetting that they have my wallet in their purse. Awesome, no money and a drunken friend who I will be hard pressed to find and is probably getting arrested/in a fight.
I hear someone yell, "Lurch." at me. I turn to see Johnny from before the game. If he and Wheel were to have a drunk-off it would be Forman-Ali-esque. I remind him that he labeled me 'Stretch.' He tries to get up in my face and act tough, but due to size and sobriety he sort of half smiles. Suddenly I know where I remember him from. The Poinsettia Bowl four years ago. I remember that he was in the Tahoe and I ask if I can get a ride back to the strip. He says, "Pile on in, why the fuck not?"
I struggle to track down Wheel as the crew around the Tahoe grows to about 10. Finally I locate him and we get ready to jump in. The driver, affectionately being referred to as Pablo or El Diablo, doesn't seem too thrilled to be the official random-CSU sober driver, but he shrugs as we jump in.
We finally get going, and Johnny jumps into the front seat and begins cranking the tunes. Diablo shuts them off. They seem pissed at each other. I am just worried that Wheel is going to begin screaming dumb shit and get us kicked out of the car. Turns out is was Johnny up front who was drunker than Wheel, along with the redheaded guy in the back who passed out mid-drink of his Coorls Light. I begin to worry a little less, but get anxious every time Wheel yells song requests to Johnny.
Johnny gets a call on his cell phone and drops an N-Bomb on whomever it is. The black guy next to me in the car could not have been too thrilled. I was certain something serious was going to happen. It turned out that he was also a random getting a ride, and like me wasn't going to say anything to rock the boat, but it was still a couple of pretty tense minutes.
We almost reach the strip, and I can see our hotel, but instead we cut up a backstreet, apparently the Tahoe group is staying somewhere else. Diablo seems to have relaxed, and after a little heckling about his driving ability, decides to race the car next to us at the light. We lose the race, as the Mazda cuts us off, only to almost immediately get pulled over by one of the two cops in Vegas. You have got to be shitting me.
11:00 PM: We pull into the Pallazo. I jump out of the car and almost kiss the ground. How do I always find myself in these situations? What's that? Sure, Johnny, I'll drink a beer and toss the football around with you, in this parking garage full of expensive cars. What was I worried about again?
Johnny demands that we meet him at Tao, right then. I tell him that I might have to change to meet dress code and he finally lets us go.
11:15PM: Wheel and I catch a cab back to the hotel. The girls are ready to go out. They are sorry for ditching us. Apparently we know some other CSU people with a VIP table at Tao. We rush to get dressed in our clubbing clothes, and Wheel is so excited to dress in his suit, even if it seems a little overdressed. He does get on his sweet cowboy boots and resumes singing Miley.
11:45AM: We get to Tao and pound some PRBs. The line is starting to back up, and we don't really want to pay $100 to get in. The girls wander to try and find a voucher to let us in cheap. Amazingly, within a couple of minutes, they find one for two girls free and two guys discounted. I have yet to place a bet in Vegas this trip, but I have certainly have seen some wild swings of luck.
Before we jump in line Wheel tries to give away our last PBR. The first poor bastard to meet his eyes happens to be a Gaysian. As I walk to the line I just see him sprinting away from Wheel, shouting that he isn't drinking.
11:58PM: Wheel and AZN get into the wrong line, and as I try to get them to step over the ropes, one of them gets their foot caught and knocks over the ropes. We might get into this club, but I am very certain that we won't be there for long.
12:05AM: I get a text. "Happy birthday. Hope you are having fun. Stay safe. Will call tomorrow. Mom." I just turned 24.
Shots? You bet.
Post Script: We exited the club, to the best I can tell, at around 4:30, maybe. When people started to pass out in the booth. Got a taxi back to the hotel. Having not really eaten in hours, we then hit up the Dan Marino Steakhouse inside the neighboring Hooters Hotel. Finished that meal at about 6:30AM. I did not see Johnny again, and I am unsure if he would have even remembered his own name, let alone mine.
I awoke at about 10:30 due to some my grandpa calling from the hospital (he's allright), and then never really went back to sleep. We checked out the hotel at noon, said goodbye to Wheel, who had another day until his flight home. About six hours later we pulled into LA, in time to allow FoF to pick her friend up from the airport. I drove the whole way. By the end I was literally unable to form sentences again, but I could focus on the car ahead of me, which was really all I needed to do.
In almost 80 hours I figure I slept, at most, about 15 hours, and drank heavily most of the time I was awake. It was quite the experience. Having that many CSU kids in Vegas was amazing. I recommend a return visit in two years, and next year I'll help host the shitshow in San Diego.
Monday night, while watching the Broncos game, the Azn called. It turns out that Grand Theft, on his way out the room early on Saturday, pilfered my keys. Turns out I am not the only one with black Chevy keys and a New Belgium bottle opener. I have now lost a cell phone and a set of keys in the giant city of Vegas, on my last two trips, yet I have managed to have them returned both times. I would say that makes me lucky.
CSU may have played like shit, but the Rams presence in town gave me the best birthday weekend of my life.
I guess the motto still rings true for CSU: Win or lose, we still booze.
