My foray into the city that celebrates the shameless begins . . .
I was going for a bachelor party.
There were five of us:
- The groom (hereinafter referred to as Dead Man Walking or DMW for short.) Fairly successful male, lower middle management making a good income. Despite this, he has lived at home with his parents for years. His fiance asked him out, otherwise he would have continued a celibate lifestyle. They’ve already bought a McMansion and he suffers from the principle of scarcity.
- (Not so) Secretly Unhappily Married Guy (UMG), Much more successful individual, although his success comes from inheritance and not necessarily skill or talent, he’s the sole heir to his grandfather’s considerable business.
- The best man (Angry Beta or AB), I love this guy, but he is a crazy chick magnet, and since all women tend to have a little crazy, he gets the really bad ones. The girls he dates are the ones that steals the tips off the tables when they’re leaving – off of all the tables.
- Bold Beta (BB). Hispanic and has at least one doctorate that he doesn’t use. I suspect he is a secret MGTOWer.
- and myself, Talleyrand. The protagonist (It should by DMW, but as you will see the tale’s central character is . . . lacking)
It starts off with me picking them all up to save on parking overnight at the airport. (I suspect since my primary vehicle is a piece of shit that it probably had something to do with leaving it out there to be vandalized instead of their new vehicles).
DMW and UMG are both carrying their golf clubs to take with them to Vegas. Yee Haw! I am having buyers remorse. The flight leaves in the evening, well past dinner time. It is dark when we get to the airport. This detail is important.
We head to the security check point and there is a tall blond, at least a nine, standing in line and she’s alone. The other four are oblivious and go to get a drink at the airport bar. I get in line behind her. Security asks her help them shove all the little plastic bins through the conveyor while they go have a snack or something.
I make a joke about her finding a vocation that suits her skills. She chuckles. I make a couple more jokes, but it isn’t hooking. That’s fine.
There’s a whole bunch of women I know through work going to have a girl’s outing in Vegas. I’m chatting with them. One asks me to come have a drink with them at the bar.
“Only if you’re buying.”
One of the other women says I should buy the drinks. I tell her I don’t do that.
They accept that and buy me a drink instead. DMW, UMG, AB and BB finally rejoin me and ask where I went. I say nothing. We board the plane. The nine happens to end up in the seat next to mine.
They suddenly realize she exists and I get texts “OMG, Dude nice seating!” and crap like that. Since the nine isn’t buying what I’m selling, I text back “She’s dead to me.” and I ignore her and go to sleep.
We arrive and take the Shuttle to the hotel. Six Hispanic girls are in the shuttle with us, one with the longest legs ever, three of them are chunky and ugly. UMG dutifully takes there picture at their request and wears a goofy grin as he does it.
We drop off the girls at their hotel first. Two fat middle aged women are walking nearby. DMW leans forward in his seat and points at the women: “Hey Talleyrand, there’s a couple strippers for you.” He starts laughing.
My lip curls. “You won’t be laughing when I hire them and they show up at your room at three in the morning.”
The laughter cuts off abruptly, “Dude, that’s not funny.” There’s fear in his voice. The man is so afraid of his fiance that even miles away he can feel the lash.
I turn away from him.
We get our rooms and head out. DMW walking is whining about the fact that they ended up with a smoking room. Like it matters. The only thing he should be doing in his room is passing out.
Heading to the strip, DMW announces “I’m fucking starving.” It’s almost midnight. We haven’t had a lick of alcohol, so it isn’t the booze talking, we left well past dinner time and I guarantee that DMW’s owner fiance had him sit down and eat with her.
Does he head for a sushi place, a signature restaurant, a cool bar? Something with food we can’t get back home? Of course not. He heads to a chain restaurant.
We sit down, I take an outside seat. The cocktail waitress comes to take our order. She’s one step away from becoming a cougar, but she’s thin, pretty dark hair and eyes. I ignore her when she’s talking to the others and then get a whiskey.
There’s the obligatory toast to DMW. I toast the bride. AB is trying not to laugh because he can hear the sarcasm in my voice. DMW thanks me. Marriage becomes a topic. I don’t say anything, but I drink my whiskey fast and leave as UMG makes the statement “I’ve been married six years, and dated her for six before that, I got to much time in to change things.” Statements like that bleed out of the guy.
I put my drink down and get up and head to the cocktail lounge. There’s a dye blond in there with giant fake breasts and a loser hovering around her trying to get her attention as she plays keno on the screen inset on the bar. (Do the casinos have no shame, its bad enough for most men trying to approach women, without some shiny screen pulling their attention away).
The cocktail waitress is in the lounge and she’s surprised to see me. “That was quick.”
“I was thirsty.” I order another whiskey from the bartender.
“I’ll check on you more often.” The waitress tries to reassure me.
“Do that.” I place a hand on her shoulder for just a second, then turn away.
I get back with the four amigos and resume drinking as they talk about women in ways that make my head hurt. The cocktail waitress comes back.
I smirk and say, “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”
She smiles and say, “I just want to keep you happy.” I offer my empty glass and she takes it and her fingers linger over mine for a moment as I order another drink. The four of them are watching this for a moment before resuming their conversation. The food waitress brings them whatever slop they’re eating.
UMG says, “When’s last call.”
AB looks at the guy like he’s a complete fool.
I say, “It’s Vegas, there is no last call. The more you drink, the more you gamble. It’s 24/7.”
Cocktail waitress comes up again and I say “I had a feeling you’d be back.”
She chuckles.
UMG says, “Do you serve alcohol 24/7?”
“Yes.”
I say, “Are you 24/7?” She pauses trying to figure out how to answer that bit of random weirdness and finally decides on “No.” But she’s watching to see what I say next when DMW shouts: “We just saw Talleyrand’s first rejection of the night!” He starts laughing.
I just got cock blocked by this tool. Technically the blond was the first rejection, but I don’t correct him. I’m used to rejection, you don’t get every girl, you just play the odds, and try to shave them in your favor.
I am thoroughly pissed off with him though. I haven’t said jack shit about him getting married, even though I think he’s a complete fool.
I keep my mouth shut and they finish eating and we leave. We wander the strip. There are tens walking to all the clubs, all of them in the short black dresses, one beautiful woman with a cascade of black hair is in front of us. UMG and DMW are admiring the view.
I look at the two of them and say, “Want to meet her?”
They look like two scared little boys, “Don’t Talleyrand.”
I walk up to her and talk to her. I am not enough of an asshole to intrigue her, my vibe is gone.
Attempts by everyone to get DMW to drink are rebuffed. We stop at Margaritaville and sit down. Instead of wild proclamations that this is his bachelor party, or whooping it up we sit there like bumps. DMW sucks the fun out of everything. I’m so irritated with him, that all I can think about are ways to kill him as I drink the margarita BB has bought for everyone and which DMW isn’t touching .
DMW decides he’s tired and wants to get to bed, the rest of them tromp off with him. I wave goodbye and head out into the strip. I look for opportunities to try the apocalypse opener, but I don’t see any (I do try it a couple times on the subsequent nights, but I will get to that with the next post). I flirt while I can as I wander around.
I’m wearing my sunglasses. It’s four a.m., the clubs close a six. One girl looks at me and says in a challenging tone, “Why are you wearing those glasses? The sun went down.”
Her looks are fading rapidly, I call back as I walk away “The sun set on you a long time ago.”
Another girls says, “Am I that shiny?”
“I don’t know, spin around for me and we’ll see.”
She pirouttes, laughing.
Her friend whines, “You said you’d drive me home.” and pulls her away. The stink of DMW must still be upon me.
I am now drunk, pissed off, and my game is not tight. I head to the hotel and find BB there drinking and gambling. I sit down next to him.
“You know, I almost got married once.” BB says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Sometimes I wish I had kids.” He takes a sip out of his drink.
“I can understand that.”
“But I’m happy. You know?” He glances out at me to see my reaction.
“Yeah I do.”
“Married guys are never happy. They say they are, but they’re not.”
“No.”
BB nods and we sit there and drink for a long time in silence.
Day two tomorrow . . .
