Recovery

Leftover pizza, a bottle of Coke, and two Aleve tablets--I'm feeling like a champ this afternoon!

Yes, I'm finally awake after yesterday's epic adventures, although I'm moving kind of slowly. I have to leave for work in about four hours, and hopefully I should be up to full speed by then. Luckily it'll be an easy night--probably nothing but Pai Gow and carnival games for Mikey at the casino tonight. At least that's what I'm hoping. I really don't want to deal blackjack and have to add up all those low numbers thousands of times.

Anyhow.

Yesterday was a blast. I got up early, doctored up a few bottles of Diet Coke by pouring off the 'angels share' and refilling them with Captain Morgan, putting them on ice, and packing them in a small insulated lunch cooler. I also stopped at Walgreens for a couple of sports bottles that would come in handy later in the afternoon.

The next thing I did was show up at the airport unexpectedly and wait at the Allegiant baggage claim carousel hoping Angy and her sisters would show up. They did, eventually--they were the absolute last three people to come claim their luggage, long after the carousel had stopped turning. I panicked at first, thinking they'd missed their flight, but it turns out that after three and a half hours in the air, somebody needed a cigarette before picking up her bags. We eventually found each other, and I graciously offered to haul them all to their hotel, saving them the money and the hassle of waiting in the cab line. They also appreciated the icy-cold cocktails I'd brought along with me--nothing beats having a drink at the airport to kick off a Vegas trip!

So all the luggage went in the back, and the four of us (me, Angy, and her two sisters, Gail and Jackie) piled into the truck and headed toward Paris. Leaving the truck in the capable hands of the valet, and ditching the bags with the bellman, we headed for the long line at the registration desk.

Angy's attempt at the '$20 trick' was rebuffed once again, but it's tough to upgrade to a Calais Suite when you're asking for two adjoining rooms. There was no free upgrade available, but luckily she got the adjoining rooms she asked for, on the fourth floor overlooking the shady part of the pool deck.

The first order of business was to call the bellman and have the bags delivered, and as soon as they arrived, we broke out the Captain, filled up the sports bottles with rum, ice, and Coke for the pool and changed into swimsuits. Angy's goal was to be at the pool 20 minutes after checking in, and I think we may have just slid in under the wire.

Even though it was hot-hot-hot outside, she insisted on finding a sunny spot to set up camp (not hard to do with two acres of bare concrete surrounding the pool). I slathered myself in sunscreen while Angy rounded up some frozen fruity drinks and turned off her cellphone, and a few minutes later we toasted the beginning of another Vegas adventure.

It wasn't long before I was roasting in my own juices, so I insisted on hot-footing it over to the pool and getting in the water. Angy agreed, and we spent the rest of the afternoon neck deep in the cool refreshing oasis of the Paris pool. We also started talking to a couple of young hotties from Orange county who were having a 24-hour getaway from life in SoCal, and it was a fascinating conversation. Turns out that one of them is the person who chooses all of the 'soundtrack' flashback music for that tv show 'Cold Case'.

Just goes to show that you never know who you're gonna meet while lounging around the pool in Vegas, sipping on seventeen-dollar Pina Coladas!

After about three hours of sun-worship, we decided that we'd had enough and headed back up to the room. We lounged there for just a bit before heading out. One of Angy's sisters had the unfortunate luck to get a heat-induced migraine, and the other one was meeting up with some other friends, so we took off.

Angy had obviously never seen the new place, so she wanted to come check out the new apartment. I wasn't planning on having her over until Saturday, so it was less-than-immaculate when we got there. Oh well, it's not like she hasn't seen my messy room before, so it was no big deal having a pile of laundry climbing the wall. At least the bathroom and kitchen were clean. And she claims the title of being the first chick to come over and visit our luxurious new digs.

We hung out for about 45 minutes or so, and I packed a bag with some slacks, decent shoes, and a nice shirt, as the tentative plan was to go over to the Palms later that night and Hef it up at the Playboy Club.

We hit the road, and traffic on the 215 was just getting cranked up to full-on rush-hour goodness. Once we got past the bottleneck of the required daily accident, we decided to head over to New York Pizza and Pasta for dinner. Suprisingly, I-15 northbound was absolutely deserted, leaving me to believe that there was some sort of huge bloody accident somewhere between Primm and the 215 keeping people from getting to Vegas from the south, but I didn't complain that I could actually do 80 mph on a stretch of freeway that usually sees a top speed of about 15 mph on average.

Dinner, of course, was fantastic--we ordered two large pies, a ham & onion and a pepperoni & sausage. We both ate four slices, leaving the equivalent of an entire pie to take home (which Rob and I finished off this afternoon).

We got back to the hotel around 8 pm, and spent the next half-hour or so showering, changing, and getting ready to go out again. The plan was to head over to the Sahara and see the 9:00 pm Savannah Jack show (by the way, they got a nice, if brief write-up here). For those of you that don't know, my connection to the band is that the guitar/fiddle player, Mike Ulvila, is married to my niece Ally, so I try and go see them play whenever they're in town.

Anyhow, after cabbing it over to the Sahara, we got to the Casbar Lounge just in time for the first song. There were only two other couples in the lounge when we got there, but by the end of the set, several other people had gotten sucked in by the good music. The show was great, as usual, and afterwards we got to visit with the guys for a bit before they had to go 'take care of bidness' with some other booking agents and whatnot who were in attendance that night.

Angy bought a couple of autographed CDs and we said goodbye, hoping to make our fortune on the Elvis slots. The progressive jackpot was up to about $350,000, so we took a shot at it. Unfortunately, the King was not in a giving mood, and I lost $40 before we ever saw a cocktail waitress. Angy, however, did much better and actually won ten bucks.

Figuring we'd get better drink service at the tables, we headed for a $10 Pai Gow game. While the cocktail service was certainly better, you'd figure that the waitress would know the difference between a lemon and a lime. Well, you'd figure, but you'd be wrong. Once we got that issue straightened out, it was smooth sailing as far as the drinks were concerned. The cards, however, weren't so accommodating, and after about an hour, I'd lost my entire buy-in. Angy did a little better, being down only ten bucks for the entire night.

After a quick stop at the cage--cashing chips for her, breaking a hundred for me, we cabbed it back to Paris. We hoped to play a little Rapid Roulette over at Bally's, but as soon as we sat down, we realized just how tired we were. It was after midnight, and Angy's system was still on Central time. After traveling all morning, hanging out in the hot-ass sun all afternoon, eating a big meal that night, and drinking heavily all day, it was beginning to take it's toll.

Instead of chasing numbers, we stumbled back up to the room and crashed. I couldn't stay there, though, as she only had a king-sized bed in the room and her sister was due to come back at some point and stay there, too. I've made some bold moves in the past, but didn't think it would be a wise move to try and pull off the double with Angy and her sister. So after napping a bit and sobering up, I drove home around 3:00 am. I did, however, learn that it's possible to make it from Paris to Green Valley Ranch in less than 15 minutes. And since the trek from GVR to my pillow is less than three minutes, I was asleep by 3:30, not waking up until early afternoon.

But the Aleve is kicking in, and aside from the normal aches and pains of being a 40 year old guy who's built like a beer keg, I guess I'm good to go.

Like I said, I've got to work tonight and tomorrow, so I won't see Angy again until Saturday. Which is cool, because she'll get to spend a lot of vacation time with her sisters. They're seeing a couple of shows and doing more pool time while I'm off doing my thing, and we'll hook up again this weekend. I think we're having dinner at Casa de Amore on Saturday night, followed by a few hours of cocktails and white-people-dancing. I think I'll leave the camera behind on that night. Her sisters leave on Sunday afternoon, but we're going to head over to the Frontier one last time before the wrecking ball hits, getting one last chance to enjoy the heady aroma of duct tape and stale beer.

We might also put in a bid for their mechanical bull from Gilley's, as I happen to know a couple of chicks who have some experience with that type of thing.

Mikey