Decision Time: Poker Or Underwear?

This morning when I was writing that last post, I got so wrapped up in telling the story of beating down the stiff at the Pai Gow table that I'd forgotten a couple other details of my night in the orange-felt jungle.

Early on, I was sitting on a Pai Gow table that had just opened, and I didn't have a single player. I was like the lone dead game in the casino, as most hard-core Pai Gow players won't sit at an empty table--they want a chance to get an envy bonus from other players. So if nobody "breaks the seal", a game will sit dead for a long time. But as soon as one person bites the bullet and sits down, it's Game On! and the table usually fills up within just a couple of minutes.

So there I was, chillin' at my dead game, watching the TVs in the bar (love my new glasses!), trying to think of something funny or clever to say whenever the future wife cocktail waitress came by, and doing the mental countdown as to how much time I had before my weekend, when who did I see wandering through the casino? Why, it was my buddy Lars Vargas and his lovely bride Sherri, having just finished up a dinner date to the Mexican joint on the other side of the casino. So they came over and sat down to visit, and I thought it might entice a few players to join them, but nobody was biting. Regardless, we had a nice visit for about ten minutes or so before they headed back home for the evening. It was a needed break from the monotony.

Later on, a different cocktail waitress wandered by, one that I hadn't seen in awhile. So I said Hey stranger--where you been?

She told me that it was her first night back after having been out for a month. I asked if she had gotten 'downsized' like the other departments, where they took people off the schedule and said 'Don't call us, we'll call you!'.

Her response cracked me up.

She said, Oh yeah, I got downsized alright--I had surgery. I'm surprised you didn't notice!

Oh geez. The first time ever I wasn't staring at her rack, and I totally missed the fact that she had gone from about a 32-FFF down to about a 32-C. Seriously, I'd been looking at her face since she walked up, and I missed the new, normal-sized, girls! I guess, as a youthful indiscretion many years ago, she'd had her boobies super-sized. And believe me, she's a tiny little thing--like maybe 5-foot nothin' and about 98 lbs. But she'd had an absolutely *huge* rack, so much so that it was almost a tourist attraction at our casino.

Anyhow, I guess it wasn't a novelty anymore, and a husband and a couple kids later, she decided to get back to normal.

But I told her that she looked good and apologized for not noticing at first, and we had a laugh and she moved on. And I got back to spending most of that rotation relaxing at a dead game.

While sitting there, I was daydreaming, of course, mostly about winning huge at the poker table or dice tables during March Madness. Knowing that my poker game probably needed a tune-up, I figured I'd go play in that Casino Employee's Tuesday Night Tournament at the Silverton.

I may have mentioned it before, but it's $40 to get in, and they've only been averaging around 20 players per week, yet there is $1500 in guaranteed prize money. That's huge! And I've knocked 20 people out of tournaments many many times in the past, so I figured my chances were good.

Fast forward to today. I was sitting here surfing the web, doing my thing, when I checked my Yahoo mail account--the addy I give whenever I buy stuff online. I'd gotten a message from one of the places I shop that they were having a sale on Jockey underwear this week.

Now, I've got plenty of drawers, but that's a commodity like razor blades--you can never have too many because you're always gonna need them. But the one thing I'm woefully short of is black undershirts. Oh, I have piles and piles and piles of Tom Petty white undershirts--almost too many, in fact. But I work in a casino where we are required to wear black undershirts, if we choose to wear undershirts at all. I can't understand those nasty gross hairy sickos I work with who wear nothing under our polyester uniform shirts, and that's a rant for another day, but I cannot go without an undershirt, and all of mine are old and ratty--getting thin, faded, and worn out. And man-sized black undershirts are actually pretty damn hard to find. It's not like I can just walk into Target or WalMart and pick some up.

So when I saw the email ad, I followed the link and saw that they had black Jockey tagless undershirts, in my size, for 30% off. I *had* to buy some. So I bought three packs of two for about $55 with shipping. Not a bad price considering how bad I'm used to getting poked at the Big & Tall store.

But that was my poker budget for the evening--entry fee, valet, and cocktail tips, just in case I busted out before the money. I guess the tune-up will have to wait until next week when the budget is replenished. In the meantime, I can throw away all my nasty faded black t-shirts and start all over again.

Next on the shopping agenda, black polyester pants. Oooh la la, they're always a hit with the ladies! And speaking of the ladies, I suppose if my poker game was strong enough to win a big pile of money on a regular basis, I wouldn't need to wear underwear in the first place.

Gotta work on that.

Mikey

Instant Karma

I would've posted earlier, but by the time my workweek ended, I wanted nothing but a shower and some sleep. I was home around 2:30, and in bed with the light off by 3:00, asleep within about thirty seconds after that. It was a very long week at work, especially the past three days. Luckily the money was pretty damn good--no complaints there. So when I got home, instead of spending time in front of the computer, I just basically went straight to bed. And since the weather is good once again, I slept with my bedroom window open--and it was all the birds outside that woke me up this morning--no garbage truck, no screaming kids, no low-flying jets. I felt sorta like I was camping, except with the luxury of porcelain facilities nearby.

I had a nice night at work, again. Usually Mondays are the slowest night of the week for me, but we were so busy that *every* single seat at our blackjack tables were occupied. It was Standing Room Only in the main pit. So the bosses closed a couple of the slow games in Chinatown, like Let It Ride (thank god) and opened up five more blackjack tables once the 8:00 pm crew showed up. That bodes well for our tokes, because we make so much more money on blackjack than on stuff like Let It Ride, Pai Gow, and Mini-Pai Gow. I'll be interested to find out how we did last night.

But I was still working in Chinatown, dealing Pai Gow for most of the night. At one point, I had only two players on my game, a guy with his girlfriend, and after just ten minutes or so on the table, I dealt the guy a straight flush for a $250 bonus payoff. Like I said, we don't normally make much in tokes on Pai Gow, but whenever a big bonus hand is paid, we get a few bucks--Generally, on a $250 Straight Flush, even our stiffest of players will cough up ten bucks. Everyone knows they hate to do it, but the unspoken peer pressure to give something to the guy who dealt it is pretty powerful. Otherwise, the decent players always give in the neighborhood of $15 to $25 (And honestly, I think 10% is awfully generous, especially on that game--I never expect to see that, but I love it when it happens).

Anyhow, I'd been laughing it up with this guy and his girlfriend since I first sat down, and we all got pretty excited because his hand was just one card away from a 7-card straight flush and a $25,000 payday. (He had the 5 thru Jack of diamonds, except for the 6--it was a heart). But as soon as I paid him off, along with his girlfriend's $20 Envy Bonus, he acted like I wasn't even there at the table, and totally stiffed me. Granted some people are in mild shock when they win a good hand like that, and it takes them a second to get their bearings, but that wasn't the case--this guy made a conscious decision to stiff me. I could see it by the look on his face. I made eye contact with him after all the payoffs, and he looked away. So I took my time shuffling up and getting the next hand ready, and even said By the way... You're welcome! thinking that maybe I could shame him into coughing up a little love.

But it was not to be. Hell, the asshole even stiffed my favorite cocktail waitress a few minutes later!

So I decided that I was gonna 'go in the tank' and wasn't going to say another word to the guy for the rest of the hour. Sorry, but I live on tips, and I don't apologize for it--and if you're gonna stiff me, especially if I've been social, funny, and paying off good hands, well then, I'm not going to make the effort to do anything except bust you. I'll sit there and deal as fast as I can like the most expressionless closer from the Asian Gaming Room you've ever seen.

So at that point, it was head down, speed up. The guy waited a couple of hands and tried to initiate conversation, but I just ignored him. He must've thought that I didn't hear him so he kept trying.

So Mikey, what are your days off?

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't completely ignore him with one of the bosses lurking about the pit, so I gave him terse, one-word answers.

Tomorrow.

Where do you live?

Henderson.

After that, the boss wandered off and I decided that he'd get no more personal info from me--I'd just act like I couldn't hear him.

He then had the audacity to say Well, before you get out of here, we need to exchange contact information.

That didn't compute--it's not like I gave the guy several thousand and he wanted to meet me somewhere offsite to throw me a couple hundy.

So I said, Why on earth would I do that?

Well because I've got an opportunity for you where you can make $10,000 or more per month in residual income, if you're interested!

Oh yeah, like I wanted to sell Amway with this f*cking loser. So I rolled my eyes, made an obvious smirk, and said I don't think I want to do business with the type of person who's going to stiff me and my cocktail waitress after I pay off a monster hand. No thanks.

Heh.

While this conversation was taking place, we were still playing the game, and he had kept making bigger and bigger bets--and losing. I'd taken nearly $400 off of him since his straight flush several minutes before.

With that, he chunked out about $160 in red, so I called out Checks play! to the floor.

Go Checks! I heard, so out came the next set of cards. I could see that he was semi-disgusted with his hand, so I was hoping to lay down a good beat-down, but when I turned over my hand, I had a King-high Pai Gow.

Shiat.

I was pissed, thinking I was gonna have to pay off that asshole.

As it turned out, he also had a King-high Pai Gow, and I beat him by one card. Score! I didn't make any effort to hide the grin on my face as I scooped up his entire stack and dropped it in the rack, and I figured he would leave after that hand. His girlfriend had just gone broke, he could tell that I was obviously trying to bust him, and he'd just lost all of his red $5 chips. He had about $350 in green left, so I thought he'd just walk with that.

But no. Brothaman wanted to dance.

He put all $350 out in the betting circle. Again I called out Checks play!, and again I heard Go checks!

Watching his face like we were in a heads-up poker tournament, I could tell he liked his hand. As soon as he set it down, he announced Ace-Queen top, two pair bottom! putting an exclamation point on his thoughts with an in-my-face flourish of his hand.

I guess he felt like he was going to win that one.

But when I turned over my cards and set a pair of fours on top and four Kings on the bottom, the look on his stupid mug was priceless!

I actually said YOINK! as I snatched up the last of his chips. Both he and his foul girlfriend wandered away, broke and disgusted. And I sat there giggling to myself for a good five minutes after.

By then, it was getting late, and some of the dead games got closed down. I got an early push onto my next break and was told to take a long break. As luck would have it, my favorite cocktail waitress was going to take a break at the same time.

So we headed back to the the dining room, and I rehashed the whole story for her and we had a lot of laughs at his expense. I'd never dealt to the guy before, but she knew him and said he's been a stiff for years. So that made her day, too. And the bonus of being able to sit and chat for a half-hour with this girl who I've had a crush on for months made the evening that much better.

Mikey had a spring in his step when he got back to the pit awhile later.

When I got to my next table, it was just dead, but they waited until it was almost time for me to go before closing it up. So I got out a few minutes early--not as early as I'd hoped because the rest of the casino was still hopping--but ahead of most of the crowd. It was still my Friday night and the boss tried to cut me loose as soon as they could, but we just had too many players still chugging along that night. No biggie--I'll take the money!

I considered hitting the grocery store on the way home, thinking I'd bang around in the kitchen today, but I had that weary throbbing going on behind my eyes, and I didn't have a list of stuff I needed or wanted. Hell, I didn't even have any ideas on what I'd want to make. So I just came straight home instead, happy that my workweek was lucrative, fun, and that I got the slight thrill of spending a little time with my favorite hottie.

And now it's my weekend. Life is good.

Mikey

Gonna Have Fun In The City...

Howdy everyone! It's amazing, the rejuvenative powers of a good cup of coffee, a humjob, and six hours of uninterrupted sleep. I feel like a new man today! Finally, I think that I've killed most of that sleep deficit that I've been running, and I may survive this week yet.

I was going to write more on Sunday, but Saturday night at the casino was just so routine that it was boring--no big wins, no big losses, no fights, no asshats, no fleas, no huge Georges, no spilled drinks at my tables, nothing really of note happened at all. It was just a nice easy night at work.

Last night, however, was great. I felt like the night flew by--even though I was exhausted--and I dropped a ton of money in the toke box. I certainly carried my substantial weight last night. When I first checked in, I stopped at the podium behind my table to get a clean hand towel, and the floorperson gave me an ominous-sounding Have fun... greeting. I looked and saw that one of our biggest fleas was playing green action on two spots, and another old guy had a huge stack of black chips and was playing two spots at $300 per hand. And the minimum table limit was set at $50.

Nice! It kinda felt, for a second, like I was dealing at a class joint like Caesars Palace.

Well, I flipped my 'On' switch, sat down, greeted my players, and started dealing the cards. I tried being nice to our flea, but he was oblivious, so I was ok with providing minimal interaction while I just crushed him hand after hand. The old guy with all the black chips, however, seemed like a nice old gent and I concentrated on giving him all of my attention. And he was doing pretty well. Pretty soon, he was putting me up for $10 a hand, and I was paying him off, so we both were making pretty good money. He wouldn't play the bonus, saying something along the lines of I've been playing Pai Gow since before they put me in this wheelchair, and I never win that damn bonus!, but of course whenever he'd get one, he'd toss me a green $25 chip and tell me to drop it in my box--this was in addition to the bets he was making for me.

Making all that money, with the added gravy of busting the old stiff that comes in every night, well, that was just good clean fun. After about forty-five minutes or so, the old gent decided to color up, several thousand dollars to the good.

As I was changing up his chips, the boss was standing directly behind me, as they tend to do when players make a killing. The player asked if I would be able to join him for dinner in the Italian restaurant, but I had to decline.

So, they'll dock your pay if you have dinner with me and my wife, huh? That's ok, tell 'em I'll cover it!

I looked up at the boss and said, Hey Gary, you mind if I go to dinner for about an hour? I'll come right back, I promise!

He just smirked and said You're not going anywhere... and the unsaid part, You've got to win back all that money you just dumped...

So I stayed and proceeded to just bust out everyone else. But believe me, it was so nice to drop some good money on Pai Gow--I dropped more tokes in that first 45 minutes than I made for eight hours the night before (and we had a good night on Saturday, too). So I was off and running.

I was back on my favorite string of tables, and paid out enough big hands on Deuces Wild to squeeze another hundy or so out of my players during the next hour. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, and time just flew by.

Before I knew it, it was after midnight and they started closing tables. But not mine--I went from midnight until 1:00 am, and hour straight, without dealing a single hand. I sat on a dead game the entire time, trying to keep from falling asleep. The other boss--the one even higher up who everyone thinks that I'm her teacher's pet--came by and asked me how long I was staying that night, fishing for me to take an early out. But I had to decline, having missed 12 hours during the pay period which ended as soon as I punched out last night. I *did* however, sign up for the half-hour early out, hoping to get out at 2:20.

But it was not to be--I ended up dealing blackjack (dropped another small fortune) and Ultimate Holdem, not getting tapped out until 3:04 am--the last man standing, literally, on my shift. That was two days in a row of that nonsense. I didn't know what to do--I *always* get the half-hour early out, and both Saturday and Sunday I had to stay till the bitter end! I honestly haven't worked a full eight-hour day in a month--so it was quite a shock to my already worn-out system.

Of course, after work, I had to go out with a couple of my ladies for some Chinese food. This time we went with Orange Beef, Extra Spicy Cashew Chicken, rice, and Pan-Fried Dumplings. Oh yeah, and a couple of beers. The food was great, as usual, but I was in for a shock with the orange beef--they actually cook big hunks of orange rind in the wok with the meat, and it makes it look just like bacon after it's cooked. So when your eyes and your brain are thinking "bacon" and your mouth finds out the hard way that it's "scorched orange peel", well, there's kind of a disconnect. Aside from that and the toasted red chilis that I had the unfortunate situation of biting in half, it was a decent dish. But one that I probably won't order again. Between that and the spicy chicken, my dessert consisted of a cup full of ice cubes.

Around 5:00 am, I found myself hitting the wall, barely able to carry on a conversation, so I had to say goodnight to all my friends. A couple of us snuck out as soon as the bill was paid, and I was in bed a half hour later, spent.

Luckily, I was asleep before the sun came up, so I was able to get some rest. I got a few chores done once I woke up, although I'm saving the big To Do list for tomorrow.

Until then, I've got about 12 hours until my weekend starts. The countdown is on!

Mikey

Bookmarks?

I thought I did some pretty good writing these past few days, and thereby thought I would get more responses than what I have had today, which just goes to show that I have no idea what interests people besides food and gambling. Everything else, to torture a pun, seems to be a crapshoot.

Everyone seems to have an opinion of coleslaw though...

Anyhow, I went to my Sitemeter homepage to see who was on and who was lurking, and it raised a question that I cannot figure out on my own.

I check my referral pages all the time, and a majority of my hits come from other blogs that have linked me, or the discussion boards over at T2V because I have a link in my signature. But I get dozens and dozens of hits every day from Google and Yahoo searches where the search terms are nothing but the words 'Hurricane Mikey'.

Who does this???

Obviously if you're searching for Hurricane Mikey, you've heard of me and likely been here before. Do I have that many readers who don't know how to use bookmarks? Or can't? My question is--why not use bookmarks? Why go to Google every day and type it in and use that link?

Are there issues at home or at the office where my site is banned? Seriously--I have to know! It drives me crazy to see so many people going that route--it just doesn't make any sense.

However, while checking the same referral pages, I found out that if you type in the words 'toothless crack hore picture'[sic], guess who's site comes up NUMERO UNO on Google?

That's right baby. Cachet--I haz it! Along those same lines, somebody else used the search term 'Woman Brick' and it led them to me, too. I have no idea what that means, but whoever you are, I hope you found what you were looking for...

Oh well, that's what on my mind this afternoon. Well, that and boobies.

Mikey

I Need Sleep!

You guys know how in zombie movies the monsters are all glazed over, looking at nothing in particular, but always plodding along? Well, that was me at work last night. Seriously--I was on autopilot, but I still had a fantastic night at work--one of those nights where you just love your job--but I am so tired from all the silliness this week that I'm afraid I'm going to collapse in mid senten












Just kidding. But I'm pretty tired though. I couldn't sleep at all yesterday, and went to work on just a two-hour catnap between shifts. Right now the only thing keeping me awake is caffeine. It took two cappuccinos, about five Mountain Dews, and three Cokes to get me through my shift. And then I let a couple of girls talk me into going out for Chinese food with them after work, and here it is now 5:00 am, and I'm just getting home.

Seriously, I'm about to pass out.

But I wanted to write another 'casino' post for you guys, and I feel I owe you a couple after all the food-bloggin' these past couple of weeks, but I know that if I start writing, it'll take a couple more hours, the sun will be up, and the whole ugly cycle will repeat itself.

I need to rest--I've got that exhausted and drained feeling, and I probably *do* look like a movie zombie. Except zombies are never chubby.

If I wake up with time to spare this afternoon, I'll put up a post or two. But right now it's all I can do to keep from passing out on the keyboard.

See ya,

Mikey

Casino Double Happiness

No... That's not the daily special at my new favorite Chinese restaurant here in Vegas, it's a three-word summation of last night at work.

After signing in and seeing the road map, I found out that I was dealing one of the strings most of the dealers really don't like, officially, it's known as BJ 9, BJ 10, and Pai Gow 5. Unofficially, it's known as Eight Hours in Dealer Hell.

BJ 9 is a $10 Super Fun 21 game, that normally wouldn't be a bad table to deal, except on the weekends, when one of our worst and most annoying fleas in the entire area code camps out at that table all night long and never leaves. I mentioned him before--the smelly guy who doesn't wash his hands after using the men's room that Rob and I refer to as 'Edgar Winter', while the rest of my co-workers just call him 'Freakshow'. He never shuts up, he never tips, and he's just disgusting. Everyone cringes when they see that they have to deal that game on the weekends.

BJ 10 is a six-deck shoe game, but a lot of times it's a $5 table, so it obviously attracts the best and brightest players--usually the salt-of-the-earth types from the trailer parks out on Boulder Highway, trying to double up their rent money. That's always a treat!

And Pai Gow 5--The bane of my existence, the $5 'Flea Gow' game that everyone hates so much. Every dealer in the joint wants to be the one to finally take a match to that table, then wait until the flames are good and uncontrollable, and then attempt to put it out by peeing on it.

So as soon as I saw the road map and learned that I'd be on those tables last night, I got a few empathetic nods from my co-workers, but on the inside they were all saying Heh--glad it's him and not me... But I had a moment to make my peace with my sorry luck and remind myself that I can put up with anything for eight hours. And I figured that I could just fake it and make the best of it. I certainly couldn't take the night off, so I had to just deal with it.

Anyhow, on my first stop, Freakshow was there, stinkin' up the joint and babbling incessantly. And it pissed me off that he lost his first four hands at ten bucks a pop, then chunked out a $120 bet and won it. Man that was irritating! But I guess he had to get one, because after that, the beat-down commenced. I was only on that table for twenty minutes to start, but the tippers were winning and I was just pounding on this guy. Several times I took his bet but paid off everyone else.

Hey, that hand worked out perfectly! I uttered on more than one occasion.

When I moved over to the shoe game a little later, the table was full but the limit was bumped up to ten bucks, thereby cutting the moron factor in half. There were still a couple of die-hards who had been there all day who were grandfathered in at five bucks, but overall, there was a good vibe, fun players, and both the players and myself made a bit of money.

When I got to the Pai Gow table, I encountered the most shocking development of the evening. It was no longer $5. It was now a $10 minimum game. Woot! It's a Festivus Miracle! Oh thank you dear lord baby jeebus!

And guess what? Every seat was still full. Hmmm. I hope the bosses remember that next weekend, too. But I'm not concerned about next weekend. I was just thrilled that the usual fleas were shut out. Well, all but one of them--he was still there betting $5 on the bonus and $5 on the hand, having been sitting there before they raised the limit. But I didn't give him a single bonus for the entire hour--so his outcomes would either be to lose both bets, and lose ten bucks per hand, or lose the bonus and push the hand, so he'd lose five bucks each time, or lose the bonus and win the hand, so he had to pay 25-cents commission each time when I moved the five-dollar chip from the bonus spot over to pay his hand. He had no possible way of winning. It was beautiful--even when he 'won' a hand, he still had to pay, so it was like witnessing Death by a Thousand Cuts.

While all that was happening, there was a guy playing two hands at $200 per hand, and he had me up on the bonuses and the play hand, so I was dropping a small fortune in tokes at the same time. Again--the best possible combination.

That was my first four hours of work, and I was feeling pretty good, but when I got back over to the Super Fun game, I had the absolute highlight of the weekend--crushing Freakshow for every dime. He went so broke the ATM wouldn't even acknowledge him... anymore. Yep, between me and the other three dealers on my string, we killed his bankroll and his reinforcements.

Right near the end of his run, everyone else at the table had pat hands of either 18 or 19, and he had a 13, while I was showing a Jack as my upcard. When it was his turn to act, he hesitated, and then made a huge flourish out of taking a hit. I gave him the seven, which made a twenty for him. I swore to myself under my breath, and then when I flipped my hole-card, it was a three, giving me a thirteen. The next card off the deck was a ten, causing me to bust.

You know what this jerkoff said?

See--I saved the table!

So I responded with Oh yeah, you're a super hero all right--it takes a huge set of stones to hit a thirteen when the dealer is showing a ten...

I thought the guy on first base was going to spit his drink out.

Anyhow, the dude went broke a few hands later when he chunked out his last $100, got a 17, and I drew a four-card twenty. As soon as he left, all the rest of the players started bagging on the guy for not only playing like a dumbass (splitting tens, standing on hands he should've hit, etc.), but also being a dumbass and 'coaching' everyone, wrongly, of course. It was a breath of fresh air, both literally and figuratively, when he left.

Once I got off that table, I did another round at the shoe game, where I was just the soul-crusher. I mowed down everybody for an hour straight, and by the time I was done, I couldn't fit any more chips in the rack. Of course, I didn't make squat for tokes that hour, but I'd already dropped something north of $200 by that time. I spent the last 15 minutes of that rotation watching the action at the roulette table and trying to figure out in my head how to divide 18.2 million into 25 equal installments should I win the Megabucks this weekend. (It only took a few minutes, but it's $728,000, if you must know. Before taxes, of course). Since I haven't dropped a dime into a Megabucks machine in over six years, I figured my chances were pretty slim. But it helped pass the time.

After that, it was after midnight and tables started closing down, so we went on 'Rubber Band'--no more assigned tables, we just check with the floor after each break and they'll tell you what to deal. I got lucky and ended up back in Chinatown dealing Ultimate Holdem, where I had some fun players and dealt a couple of big hands. I ended the night back in at a six-deck shoe with another pierced and tattooed freak, but as annoying as he was, at least he had the sense to take the money and run after a small winning streak. By then, it was 2:00 am, so I closed down the game and got the half-hour early push.

Not wanting to go home right away, and remembering my conversation earlier in the week with the little blonde cocktail waitress, I hooked up with her and had a couple of drinks at a local bar before calling it a night. We had a few laughs, but there are no prurient details to report. I was home and in bed, alone, by 3:45.

Actually, I was on the computer and such--still a bit wound up. After the 'coast was clear' (I heard Rob's woman lurking about when I first got home), I snuck out to take a shower and get all the casino funk off of me. When I got out, I saw Rob sitting in the living room, watching SportsCenter, grubbing on a huge plate of pasta. I asked him if Danielle had gone home, but he said no, she was back in the bedroom asleep, but he couldn't sleep because his stomach was growling. So while he was on a late-night munchin' spree, I sat down and we caught up on the latest 'current events' while watching our usual Jeopardy episode recorded from the night before.

But then the sunlight was starting to creep through the blinds, and vampires that we are, we had to call it a night. Still not quite sleepy yet, I cranked out this post.

Now it's bedtime. And still no cocktail waitress in sight. Damn.

Mikey

This One's For Falcon Rob (and Eddie B)

Apparently, my technically-challenged roommate seems to think that he can't embed YouTube videos on Blogger anymore. I'm here to tell otherwise. It can be done, and whenever he wakes up, I'll show him how to do it the right way.

In the meantime, here's one of my all-time favorite videos that is still basically the biggest WTF??? ever. I can't believe there are people out there who still haven't seen this, and if you're one of them, you're in for a treat. Enjoy!



I remember seeing this for the first time about six years ago, and it still makes me laugh out loud, even after all this time. And if you think the video is funny, you should see Eddie B get drunk and do the Yatta dance, especially say, in the crosswalk between the Plaza and the Golden Gate in downtown Vegas on a Friday night... That's just quality entertainment.

Mikey

Back To Reality

Oh man, this morning I'm feeling a lot like I did back in the old days when I'd get back to Phoenix after a 3-day bender in Vegas. I want nothing but water, sleep, and silence.

It turns out that the last two days of buffoonery with CoolP were much more taxing on my system than I thought, and, I still didn't get hardly any sleep after the fact, either. Once I got home yesterday morning, I did my write-up, surfed the net, etc., and all the coffee I'd had made me pretty wired, so I while I may have been exhausted, I wasn't sleepy. So instead of going to bed, I futzed around the house all morning, and finally committed to meeting my old buddy Lars for lunch at Grimaldi's. I was beginning to worry about him--he was sounding like a lost puppy this week when I kept delaying, but he had a good reason. He starts a new job next week that requires him to work in an office--no more telecommuting and sitting at home in his pajamas all day. So our weekly ritual of pizza at Patsy G's may be coming to an end--at least as far as weekdays are concerned.

But instead of going to bed, I stayed up long enough so that we could meet up at 11:30, figuring that afterwards I'd come home, crash for a few hours, and head into the casino somewhat ready to face the work week.

So I left the house at 11:00, stopped at the bank to redeposit the money I'd taken out of the ATM this week, and then filled up my gas tank ($3.17 per gallon, $52 to take it from less than a quarter tank all the way up to the cap). I rolled in to Grimaldi's one minute late, and Lars was already there. We wasted no time in placing an order for our new usual--2 large pies, one with pepperoni and mushroom, the other with Italian sausage and Kalamata olives.

And of course we didn't have to wait long before we found ourselves face-deep in ultimate pizza goodness.

I was giving Lars the details of the Craftsteak tasting menu just as I took my first bite of the pepperoni pizza, and paused to savor the first mouthful. And Lars, ever observant, said Dude, you've got to have the happiest tummy in the 702 this week!

He was absolutely right--I've had some great meals this week, and of course lunch at Grimaldi's is always a favorite.

Our tab was $46, as usual, and for about $28 bucks apiece, we both get two meals out of it, so it's not a bad deal. We've both learned to stop gorging ourselves and trying to kill an entire pizza each in one sitting (although it's oh so tempting!), and that it's much better to have some leftovers for the next day.

Hell, who am I kidding? Next day my ass--the leftovers only make it a few hours until dinner time, that's it.

But once we finished up and headed our separate ways, I immediately went to bed, knowing that I had less than five hours to sleep before going back to work. Of course, it seemed like the time passed in an instant, and that alarm clock going off might as well have been a funeral dirge because of the way I was feeling.

I dragged my ass to the shower, got dressed, and autopiloted myself to the casino.

Oh yeah, it was my lucky night. I'd forgotten that this was a 'busy' weekend, and nobody could take vacation. We have our usual group of twice-a-year golfers in town filling up the hotel and casino, so every available table was open, plus there was a blackjack tournament scheduled. Well, the golfers in this group aren't exactly huge partiers, and while most of them arrived yesterday, hardly any of them were down in the casino gambling last night. And the blackjack tournament didn't even last an hour.

In other words, we were dead. The entire casino was just empty, magnified by the fact that all those extra tables were open and empty.

I was scheduled on three $5 shoe games--no Pai Gow for me last night. My first game was in the small pit on the far side of the dice tables, and for that entire first hour, I didn't have one single player sit down and play a hand. Those cards sat in the shoe in the exactly the way I put them in after their initial wash. No action at all. My other two tables were up in the bar, which is generally cool, and I actually had some players there.

The most memorable, however, was this complete and total dipshiat and his girlfriend. The girlfriend was cool, but this guy was the epitome of loserdom. He was about 5'4" tall, weighed maybe a buck twenty, and was covered head-to-toe, face included, with piercings and tattoos. And he had a really bad case of Short Man's Disease. Plus he was about the worst blackjack player in captivity.

He didn't follow basic strategy for shiat, yet had to give running commentary the entire time about why and how he was playing his cards, and insisted on telling his girlfriend how she should play hers. Of course I laid down a well-deserved beating on him, and he went broke, yet the whole time he was telling me how he was playing $100 per hand the night before (yet sweating his $5 bets last night). His girlfriend was holding her own, and when the dude got a phone call, I did what I could to teach the girl basic strategy and why her boy lost all his money. Well, he was on the phone for a good twenty minutes, away from the table, and without him pressuring her to play like a jackass, she started doing pretty well and turned her last ten bucks into almost $200.

When he came back, he started right back up in telling her how to play, wrongly, and I'd just say, Remember what I told you? and she'd do the opposite of what he said, and usually win. Well, this didn't sit well with him, and he damn near lost his mind.

Bitch--you don't listen to him, you're my woman. You listen to me! and so forth...

It was tough to keep from rolling my eyes and chuckling at this douchebag, but I just dummied up and dealt, watching this chick give back all of her winnings over the next ten minutes or so. Luckily, I got tapped off the table shortly after that.

When I got back from break 20 minutes later, they had moved to my new table. He started off by being a jackass, and I won the first three or four bets from him. There was another player at first base, who I could tell was already getting tired of the guy, so we both shared a few knowing glances whenever the moron said anything spectacularly stupid, which was quite often.

On one hand, I actually busted, and ended up paying the table. While making the payouts, this tattooed freak said You're lucky you busted, otherwise I would've had to meet you outside later and teach you a lesson.

I was like, WTF? Is this jackass serious?

So I said, only half-jokingly, Oh really? You wanna dance, little man?

Bring it!

This made the other players at the table crack up laughing. Of course, he was broke and gone about five minutes later, and I could just tell by the look in his girlfriend's eyes as they walked away that she finally realized that she was dating a loser. The table had a much more fun vibe after that.

I got an early push after just forty minutes, and realized that it wasn't even 11:00 pm yet and we had way too many dealers around, even closing games didn't help. And my original game in the small pit was still open, four hours later, and still hadn't had one player stop by and make a bet. Not one.

I went down to the main pit to see what the deal was with my tables, and saw that a bunch of other dealers were doing twenty-on, twenty-off rotations, and that we were very unlikely to make any money that night. So I told Kenny to launch me on Early Out as soon as it was available--I still kinda felt like shiat and although I was awake, my system was still paying for the weekend's activities.

His two-word response? Good night!

Of course, who did I run into in the men's room on my way back to my locker? Oh yeah, you guessed it, the loser with the tattoos. But he didn't say a word or even acknowledge my presence. Apparently, I'd already learned my lesson and he didn't need to beat my ass. Whew! I dodged a bullet there!

Anyhow, I headed for home, but stopped at the grocery store first to get a few essentials like milk, juice, coffee, Coke, and some Texas Toast bread. Yeah, I'm in the mood for French Toast. When I got home, the front door was unlocked and I walked in on Rob and his woman putting the love in loveseat.

I awkwardly put my groceries away, filled up a large glass with ice, grabbed a bottle of rum and and bottle of Coke, and scurried off to my bedroom for the balance of the night. But I didn't last a half hour before I was face down and drooling into my pillow, my cocktail a watery mess under the lamp on my nightstand. I slept for four straight hours, waking up only because my feet were cold and I had to pee.

The living area was all clear, so I fetched another glass of ice, came back here to my room, and the rest, they say, is history. I've got nothing on the agenda today but a walk down to the mailbox and a load of laundry. Maybe by the time I go to work tonight, all the ill effects of my buffoonery will have passed.

Oh, and I also talked to CoolP just before getting home last night--He finally got that elusive Royal Flush for $2000, basically covering the costs of our first night's debauch. With that royal, our three four-of-a-kinds, and our monster run at the GVR Pai Gow tables, all the bad gambling ju-ju of the past week was erased for both of us.

Now I've just got to find my poker game before the circus comes to town...

Wait-- Is this a dagger I see before me?

No... it's much better than that--it's a box of leftover Grimaldi's! The French toast can wait.

Mikey

Bank Error In My Favor

... Collect $42.49

Woot!

Apparently, I either can't add with a calculator, or I just can't read my own damn writing, because this morning while I was trying to make sense of my checkbook, it just wasn't adding up.

After the last two nights of buffoonery, a couple of visits to the ATM, and a weekend of bill-paying, my checkbook needed a little bit of attention. Visiting my account online, there seemed to be an error of some sort. But a good error--like $40 in my account which I had no idea where it came from. I went over every check I wrote and every debit I've made for the past three weeks, and I was still stumped.

But like a forensic accountant, I doggedly kept at it--all of the deposits matched up, too. But when I went line-by-line with a calculator, my checkbook, and my online account showing, I noticed that on my last big deposit date, I either jacked up the math or transposed a couple of numbers (yeah, it was the second one), thereby shorting myself over forty bucks.

So I guess it really wasn't a bank error, it was just my dumb ass trying to do some quick and dirty bookkeeping at 3:00 am while hoisting a rum drink in one hand. So instead of panicking because my accounts wouldn't balance, I am now happy because I just had the equivalent of finding a couple of twenties in the dryer on laundry day.

This week just keeps getting better and better!

Mikey

It Was Another One Of Those Awesome Vegas Nights

...Although, last night was *much* more mellow than Tuesday night. And we weren't beating the hookers off with a stick, either.

After I posted that epic report of Tuesday night's activities yesterday morning and answered all of the emails and phone calls I'd gotten, I finally got to bed around 10:00 am in the morning. And I was completely wiped out. (Yeah, it took me almost three hours to write yesterday's post!)

But Lars was still hoping to talk me into Grimaldi's for lunch, but I had to tell him that lunch was out of the question--I needed my sleep. In the meantime, CoolP had gotten a few hour's sleep, packed up his gear from the Tropicana, and checked into the Augustus Tower at Caesars Palace. He had his blackberry with him and was sending me messages, trying to get me to come out and have another dose of drunk and stupid. I finally wrote him back and said I was going to bed and I'd call him at 3:00 pm, once I got some sleep.

It felt like I had my eyes closed for maybe five minutes when my alarm went off again, so I woke up and called him. I said I'd pick him up and we'd drive down to Grimaldi's for dinner, but he made a counter-offer. Since I had to drive down to Ceasars anyways, why not just hang out there and have dinner at Rao's. Apparently, he had some comps that he needed to burn. Sure--why not? I had no problem with having two great meals this week. But I told him to make the reservation for 7:30 so that 1) rush hour would be mostly over by then, and 2) it would give me an extra hour to sleep.

As soon as I hung up, I went back to sleep, setting my alarm for 6:00 pm. Finally, it felt like I was able to catch up and get some proper rest. I was still a little groggy, but I showered and got dressed, heading out the door a half hour later, stopping to hit the ATM and buy a can of that Starbuck's espresso stuff just to make sure I was awake.

Of course, the Strip was crowded, and the driveway at Caesars was a zoo, as usual. But I pulled right up in front of the main entrance, made a show of fumbling around for a few bucks, and the valet guy couldn't get there fast enough--he gave me one of the plastic VIP valet cards that looks like a room key and gives you the illusion of priority service, and my parking business was settled before the rest of the unwashed masses lined up and huddling around the entrance.

I sent CoolP a text that said I had arrived, and he showed up about two minutes later--unshaven and wearing the same shirt from the night before. Nice! He said to give him ten minutes as he had to run upstairs and change. So I hung out in the pit for a few minutes, watching the action at the $50 dice tables, and then hit the sundries shop for a bottle of that vitamin water stuff (I kinda had an idea of how the night was likely to end up).

CoolP was back, sporting a clean shirt and a new pair of jeans just a few minutes later, and we headed over to Rao's. The restaurant was packed to the gills but they said they could seat us in the bar at 7:45 once the crowd left and headed over to the Colosseum to see the Divine Miss M. We had no problem with that, and were seated immediately--in the bar, but still at a table along the wall.

The bar menu isn't quite as extensive as the regular dinner menu, but there was still plenty to choose from. I opted for one of the evening's specials, the veal marsala with mashed potatoes, and CoolP ordered a plate of Italian comfort food--potato gnocchi. I also deferred to his wine expertise and he ordered us another fantastic bottle of fermented Italian grape juice. I can't remember the winery or the vintage, but it was, as they say in the business, "the good stuff".

The meal started with the requisite crusty Tuscan bread dipped in olive oil and freshly ground pepper, but we skipped appetizers and salads. The previous night's dinner and breakfast were still with us, and we didn't want to get stuffed, which is fairly easy to do at an Italian restaurant. We didn't have to wait long for our meals, and the food was wonderful. I had two generous portions of veal, pounded thin and covered in mushrooms and wine sauce, with a large helping of mashed potatoes. CoolP's gnocchi was also a generous portion, and we both remarked that he'd be lucky to finish half of what they brought--for those that have never had potato gnocchi in meat sauce, it is a heavy meal.

I tried a bite of his gnocchi, and I thought it was very good. But I liked my veal much better. We skipped dessert, and I have no idea what the total tab was--I ordered one of the specials not listed on the menu, and I'm pretty sure that our bottle of wine was more than the food itself. But it was all comped, so there was no damage done to the bankroll.

After dinner, we wandered over to the Seahorse bar for some video poker. We both put a hundy into the machines, and the bartender told us that anything we wanted was on the house. CoolP went with his favorite pear-flavored Grey Goose and soda, while I asked for a Captain and Seven. The bartender said Are you sure you want Captain? You can have any booze we got! So I asked for a sample of his best rum, and he poured me a snifter of some new Dominican spirit that I'd never heard of. One sip was enough for me, and I had him pour me a glass on the rocks with soda and a twist of lime. It was damn tasty. But I limited myself to one, after having half a bottle of wine with dinner, because I knew that I'd have to drive--we weren't planning on hanging out at Caesars all night.

But we hung out there for awhile, and of course we had our first hooker sighting. We were sitting at the bar, and CoolP had an open seat next to him, with a conventioneer at the next seat beyond that. Well, just a few minutes later, Miss Hoochie Mama in the low-cut top, high heels, and a lotta leg showing sat down in the empty seat. Thinking the conventioneer sitting by himself was the easier mark, she initiated the conversation.

CoolP, without even looking up, started in like he was announcing a baseball game. Here's the wind-up... and the pitch... Ooooh, swing and a miss! I don't know if she brought her A-game with her to the ballpark tonight... I was cracking up, and we were getting a kick out of watching her approach, acting like she didn't know what video poker was or how to play it. But what made it even funnier was that the guy was totally clueless that he was being worked by a hooker. CoolP about lost it when the guy asked "So, you're from Vegas? Where do you work?"

From about six feet away, looking straight ahead, I answered in my best hoochie-girl voice I could muster, You're sitting in my office, daddy!

CoolP was laughing so hard that I was afraid he was gonna satchel his wares right there on the spot. I think the wine might've had something to do with it, but we were obviously the two funniest guys ever to give play-by-play and color commentary while a hooker was trolling for business. But I think she became exasperated by the guy's cluelessness, and eventually moved on to greener pastures. Luckily she didn't approach us, because our anti-hooker Kung Fu was pretty strong after the previous night's adventures. And she didn't want any part of the Laurel and Hardy comedy team that was sitting there playing video poker.

At some point during the silliness, I caught four of a kind for a hundy, and CoolP hit four of a kind with Aces for $400, so we cashed out once we both got to nice round numbers. We'd been talking about Red Rock and Green Valley Ranch over the course of his visit, and he thought he'd like to check them out and see if maybe his wife would be interested in staying there for a future visit. So while redeeming our tickets, we decided to drive down to Henderson and play a bit at GVR.

About a half hour later, we were driving through The District, making our way to the valet. But the Henderson cops had half of the vehicles on the force restricting traffic right there between the casino entrance and the Elephant Bar, and we saw that some ill-mannered lout was on the receiving end of some pepper spray and zip-ties, getting tossed in the backseat of a cruiser like an overstuffed duffelbag. Just another night at the casino!

We parked the truck, and immediately went up the escalator to the main floor of the casino. Whoa... They had completely changed the layout of the pit. It was no longer in a circle around the Drop Bar, but instead all of the games were in four long rows in the area between the cage and the poker room. It was a much better setup if you ask me, and I'm glad they changed it. I really don't like having the bar in the middle of all the games--it's confusing to players and tourists, sometimes the music is too loud, and it's hard to find your friends at other tables without wandering around. So I really liked the new setup. Of course, the downer was the fact that they removed my favorite dollar slot machine--the one that I'd never lost on.

Anyhow, we bought in at a $10 Pai Gow game, ordered some drinks, and settled in for the balance of the evening. I started out on a hot streak, getting the joker and/or a bonus every hand for the first five or six hands. CoolP was getting his ass handed to him. I was up about a hundy before the wheels fell off, and I went on a 45 minute stretch where I only won two, yes, two hands. It was brutal. CoolP bought in for another $200, but I got down to my last $25 chip before making the Mother of All Comebacks. Just as the cards were heading up, CoolP got a straight flush for a $250 bonus, and within an hour or so, I had almost quadrupled up from my original buy-in.

Instead of staying one hand too long, like I always seem to do, I colored up on a winning $30 hand. CoolP said that he wanted to ride the streak, but I jogged my chubby little ass over to the cage as fast as I could, knowing that if I was holding chips, they'd find their way back into the game. I wasn't going to give back any of the money I'd worked so hard to win, so I was content to just sit there enjoying my coffee and Kahlua and watch the action.

At that time, CoolP was up about $250, so he said he'd play a $75 hand until it lost and then color up. Well, I immediately felt like a jackass for getting out of the game because the dealer went on a cold streak like I'd never seen. Out of the next five hands, brothaman won four and pushed one, collecting an extra $300. On the sixth hand, the dealer turned over a full-house, wiping out everyone, and letting us know that it was time to call it a night.

While CoolP was coloring up for something in the neighborhood of a banana chip, the floorman was kind enough to write us a comp ticket for breakfast in the coffee shop. After our visit to the cage, it was off to breakfast.

Actually, it was breakfast for me--I don't know why, but I just *love* eating breakfast in the coffeeshop after an all-nighter of gambling and drinking debauchery. Granted, we toned it down a level or two from the previous night, but still, it was one of those nights. Anyhow, I went with the hamsteak special--ham, eggs, hashbrowns, toast, coffee, while CoolP decided on having a pattymelt and an Amstel light.

Our waitress was very friendly, and since we had such a good night at the tables, CoolP said Hey man, let's make this chick's night. So when the meal was winding down and she presented the check, he pulled out a $50 bill and said This is for you!

She was stunned of course, because our tab came to like $26, and it was all comped anyways. She gathered her thoughts and asked us why, and I told her We got lucky tonight, so it's your lucky night too...

She was more than appreciative, and we got a little charge out of it, knowing that it not only made her night, but that she'd be bragging about it for days to come. Feeling pretty damn good about the entire evening's experiences, we headed for the valet. Once we got the truck back, I gave CoolP a quick tour of the area, pointing out a few places to check out when he brought his wife out in a few months. Then it was back to Caesars Palace.

It was funny, because as we were driving back, I could literally see the moment when CoolP hit the wall. Head-bob city, slurred speech, I was seeing the effects of the past 48 hours of buffoonery crashing down on his head like a ton of bricks. We got back to the hotel without incident, and said our farewells. He promised that next year his March trip will coincide with the Madness, and made plans for our next outrageous dinner to be at Guy Savoy.

I was in much better shape than he was, having drunk quite a bit less and gotten a few more hours of sleep, so my weekend didn't come to such a crashing halt. Oh yeah, I'm pretty tired as I write this, but I've got all day to sleep. But I've got to tell you, I've had more fun in the past two days than I've had in months. We laughed our asses off like old buddies, gambled like fools, and acted like complete buffoons. But we also enjoyed two very good meals, a couple of fine Cuban cigars, and some of the best wine I've ever had. I crammed a lot into the past two days, and I'm sure I'll go to work tonight wishing I'd slept more.

But as they say, the juice was worth the squeeze. I can't wait to do it again.

Mikey

Stuffed, Groped, and Bent Over

What are three services you can purchase in the Champagne room, Alex?

Man, what a helluva night! I swear, I feel like I was starring in a 12-hour long beer commercial. I just got home a little while ago, after just barely beating the sunrise to my front door. It was a great time--one of "those" Vegas nights that all other experiences are measured against. And it was a helluva appetizer for the main course of March Madness which is lurking off in the distance, ready to strike. (Mixed metaphors are just another one of the freebies I offer on this site)

Anyhow, Tuesday was rather dull for me. I consciously avoided writing about what was on my mind because I swear, it was so hot that if the wrong person read it, I probably would've gotten in heap big trouble. So it's safely tucked away in the vault, another one of those stories that can't be repeated until I'm safely out of Vegas and I publish my tell-all casino insider book. Lets just say that the casino business is the most brutal combination of tyranny and capitalism ever conceived, and leave it at that.

That's what we call 'creating a buzz', by the way...

So where were we? Oh yeah. Tuesday with Mikey. About the only thing that happened of note during the day was I got an email from Lars Vargas wanting to know if I was interested in some hot wings for lunch. Of course I was interested, but knowing that I was about to embark of a culinary adventure like none I had previously experienced, later that evening, I politely declined. And then I took a nap.

I got up around 5:15, took a shower, shaved, made myself pretty, found some matching socks, got dressed, and headed down towards the Strip. My destination for the evening was Craftsteak at MGM Grand, and my dining companion was longtime reader/occasional commenter CoolPacific. We've been emailing back and forth for a couple of years, mostly about cigars, gambling, booze, and women--you know, the basics--and since he was going to be in town for a solo trip, he invited me to join him for one of his self-proclaimed 12 Incredible Meals for 2008.

Our dinner reservation was for 6:30, and I pulled into the MGM valet about ten minutes before that. Now, I've been to the MGM Grand about a dozen times, but it was like a whole new experience for me, walking in the front door like that--I've always entered off of the second-level walkway from New York New York, near Studio 54 and the poker room. So basically, I was lost. But I followed the signs, arrived at the restaurant with one minute to spare, and found CoolP at the bar chatting up the bartender and sipping a Grey Goose Pear & Soda. Seriously--pear flavored Grey Goose. Who knew?

Anyhow, he said I have some catching up to do, and just a few seconds later, I was happily sipping on a Stoli Vanilla & Coke, hearing about his Vegas adventures up to that point. The hostess came by to say that our table was ready, but we delayed for a couple of minutes there in the bar. We decided that one round was enough, and we found our way back to our comfy table in the much larger-than-expected dining room.

Even before we started talking about steaks, the discussion turned to wine. CoolP is very much a wine connoisseur, and had already picked out a $160 bottle of something that in my limited experience I had never heard of. But I trusted his judgment. But then the waitress came over and started giving us the rundown on the menu, and all previous ideas went directly out the window. While deciding on what to have, we started with a cold bottle of Pellegrino--no tap water for us, we were civilized buffoons on this night!

We had planned on both ordering a large hunk-o-meat, some sides, and a bottle of wine. But the waitress made the various tasting menus (plural) sound so damn good that my full day of ribeye anticipation evaporated in an instant. (Yes, they have several tasting menus available).

After a few questions about the various offerings, we decided to go with the Chef's Three Course Kobe Beef Tasting Menu and instead of the standard wine flight, we opted for the two-step upgrade to the Premium Wine Experience. Giggity!

First things first, a basket of fresh bread and nice soft butter to nibble on. But it sat dormant--we didn't want to fill up. Besides, we really had no idea whatsoever about what we'd be getting for our first course.

The first course turned out to be three courses in one--there was a Caesar Salad which was pretty damn good--all the dressing was concentrated on the croûtons, which were just sprinkled all over full romaine leaves and topped with shredded Parmesan. I'm not a huge fan of Caesar salads, but this one was very good. There was also a plate full of the most incredibly tasty grilled shrimp I've ever had--these were the full-sized ones, with body, head, and legs still intact, and grilled to absolute perfection. When I took my first bite, it almost startled me, and CoolP said Dude--are you ok? You just completely stopped talking and you look like you're having "a moment" over there.

Seriously--it was the best shrimp I have ever tasted. It had a grill char like a fine steak. The first flavor you got was the taste of seared meat--almost like a hamburger at a picnic. That's the only way I could describe it--and CoolP agreed. He said that's exactly what it tasted like. But the shrimp meat was buttery soft and cooked to perfection--not dry at all. We both wondered how on earth they cooked them so that they turned out like that. Of course we enjoyed the hell out of that, and the cocktail sauce was almost an afterthought--it really wasn't needed.

The third part of the first course was Kobe Steak Tartare. Yep--a big hunk of raw Kobe beef, topped with a raw egg yolk and served with baguette chips. It was surprisingly tasty, and was a great compliment to the shrimp and salad.

Our wine selection for the first course was a Pinot Grigio from the Alsace. I didn't get to see the label, as CoolP did the honors, and neither one of us could remember the winery. Normally, I don't really care for Pinot Grigio --I find that most of the Italian versions taste funny to me--but this was a serious bottle of excellent wine and I enjoyed it very much. I couldn't believe how much I liked it, and most of our dinner conversation centered around wine because my host was a treasure trove of knowledge.

We killed everything in the first course, and didn't have to wait long for the main event once they cleared the table.

The main course was a sight to behold. First of all, there were two huge Kobe steaks, already sliced, for us to enjoy. One was the Kobe Ribeye (oh hell yeah!) and the other was a Kobe Flat Iron Steak, which seemed to be a very rich cousin of the sirloin. Both were cooked medium rare, with a nice red center, both were fork tender. One bite, and I was in my happy place. Along with our steaks, we had a generous serving of whipped potatoes and chives, assorted sauteed mushrooms, and grilled asparagus. Oh, and we finally got around to eating the bread and butter at that point, too. But the steaks--easily the best in recent memory. It was like poetry on a plate. Not that crap poetry you have to read in high school either--the good poetry that you find on your own and almost moves you to tears when you read it. I don't know how else to describe it. It was the most tender, flavorful steak that I can ever remember eating. I've eaten at a lot of nice steakhouses in this town, but Craftsteak has set the bar pretty damn high for those that like to enjoy a nice piece of meat. (Seriously--Vegetarians... WTF???)

The wine we had with our main course was a Robert Mondavi Cabernet--1993, I believe (no, I didn't write anything down or take any pictures). Again, whoever was picking out the wine was doing an excellent job, and perfect harmony between food and wine was achieved.

As you can imagine, it took us quite awhile to work our way through the main course, but once we did, they let us digest a bit before the final course. It started off with a glass of some of the sweetest wine I've ever had. Not sweet in a bad way, but it was a super-premium Sauternes wine. I wish I could remember the vintage and the winery, but CoolP informed me that if we were buying it by the glass, it would likely be $50+ per glass. While we were drinking that, I got an education about 'botrytis', or noble rot, where the grapes have to be harvested at exactly the right time or the entire vintage is lost. But when they get it right, oh man, do they ever get it right. It was like nothing I've ever tasted before. Again, I was amazed at how much I could enjoy a glass of 'dessert wine'.

But before we got too deep into the wine-freak forest, they brought out our final course--dessert. We had two different types of ice cream (butter pecan was one, can't remember the other), two types of sherbet, freshly sliced pineapple and tangerine, a lemon tart, and a liquid chocolate cake that we immediately renamed 'the cure for PMS', as it was very rich and very girly.

We nibbled on everything, not finishing anything but the sherbet, and when we were done, we both agreed that we were perfectly satisfied--not so full that we felt like we needed a nap and a new pair of pants, but certainly finished eating.

It was one of the most incredible meals I've ever eaten, and certainly one of the most memorable. Everything was prepared just right, and there wasn't a single hitch in the service.

But that kind of experience doesn't come cheap. We basically went top-of-the-line all the way around the menu, and for the two of us, with tip, the bill came to $600.

No, it's not an everyday meal--it's definitely a special occasion destination. But was it worth the price? Absolutely. The food and wine were both exceptional, and the service was professional without being stuffy. We actually conversed with our waitress at several points throughout the meal, and she was just as friendly as could be, and obviously concerned that we were enjoying every aspect of our visit.

We didn't time it, but for a tasting menu, it moved along at a pretty good pace. I'd say we were out of there in less than two hours. But damn, was it ever a good two hours!

Once we got out of Craftsteak, our evening's buffoonery was just beginning. The plan was to go find a good place to hole up and smoke a couple of Cuban cigars, drink some cocktails, and tell stories--pretty much the ideal night-off activity for me. We made our way over to the Rouge lounge, grabbed a couch in the corner, and proceeded to make friends with the incredibly hot cocktail waitress.

For my first round, I went with the old Vegas standard--a Bombay Sapphire martini, while CoolP went back to his pear-flavored potato juice. One time through was enough for me, and after that I was back to my old reliable Captain & Coke. But we had some fine Cuban cigars to smoke, and we spent at least another hour--maybe more--chilling out, laughing it up, and just relaxing, basking in the experience of a perfect Vegas evening.

After five rounds or so, and the cigars were reduced to stubby piles of ashes, we decided that a walk over to the Tropicana would do us good. By that time, we were good and liquored up, so the combination of actually getting up off the couch and getting some fresh cool night air seemed to give us our second wind. Of course, we were silly-drunk by that time, and the immediate and obvious contrast from the high-rent MGM to the low-rent Tropicana really tickled us--we made quite the entrance to the Trop.

We wanted to play some Pai Gow, but they only have one table at the Trop, and it was full of angry-looking extras from a Jackie Chan movie. So we moved on and parked ourselves at a $10 blackjack shoe. We started out pretty damn good, and I was up about $50 at one point, but they changed the dealer and it went downhill pretty quick.

Since the cocktail service was spotty, and I didn't want to take a beating at the table, I offered to just go to the bar and buy our next round.

Little did I know that I had to run the gauntlet to do so.

For those of you unfamiliar with the main pit at the Tropicana, the tables nearest the front door are also very close to a short corridor with four elevators in it. On the other side of that corridor is a good-sized bar and a lounge with live music. But between the elevators and the bar, there are two rows of slot machines, and that's dangerous waters. In them swim the most aggressive hookers in all of Las Vegas. Walking through there the first time, I got no less than four propositions in less than thirty seconds. While at the bar, waiting for the bartender, I got two more. Once I got my beers and headed back, I got two more propositions, along with one gal who literally jumped on me, hung on to my neck, told me to take her upstairs right now!, and then straight up grabbed me directly in the junk. Of course, I was so drunk that I was laughing pretty hard, and since I wasn't 20 feet away from our blackjack table, the game game to a stop and everyone else was laughing along with at me.

My new 'girlfriend' kept grabbin' at my package, saying I wanna get me some of this!, so I responded the only way I knew how. I said, If you can find it, you can have it..., which pretty much brought the whole table down in a bout of laughter. But there was some sort of invisible dog fence around the pit, and the working girls couldn't come within ten feet or so. So once I escaped, I was pretty safe. But I complimented the pit boss on the work ethic of his lineup--they were some pretty persistent ho's.

We divided our time between watching our cards and watching the business propositions taking place, and we all cheered when some 70-year old dude picked out the hottest one and headed for the door. Being obnoxious drunks, we had to shout our approval at him, but the line that just killed the entire pit was Grandpa's gonna try to shove an oyster into the piggybank! I thought CoolP and the dealer were both going to pass out from laughing so hard.

We played blackjack and laughed it up for about an hour or so, then headed over to the Pai Gow tables. I got crushed, but CoolP played an adrenalin hand for $250 and squeaked out a win to end the session. After that, we thought it might be safe to go play some video poker and listen to the band, so we ran the gauntlet one more time.

Nope--those girls have a 24/7 operation going, so we got approached over and over again. Some stopped to chat, some just came out firing like a used-poontang salesman, and some were more subtle, asking for a light and such. We actually chatted with a few, but one of them was quite memorable. She come over and asked me if I wanted to play video poker with her. I said Why not, sit down and have a drink with us!

She declined, saying that she doesn't drink.

I asked her what kind of girl would hang out in a casino at 2:00 in the morning and not drink.

The underage kind, she told me.

Doh! I guess hanging out and selling your ass to strangers is cool, but having a beer is a no-no. Again, who knew?

Since she couldn't sit at the bar with us, she moved along and the ho-train kept rolling by. At some point, between all the working girls and the rum drinks, CoolP hit four of a kind for a cool $800. Dinner is paid for!, he announced. Of course, when the ladies saw him cashing out for several Benjamins with the bartender, it was like chumming for sharks. We were immediately the center of attention, but we kept them at bay pretty well.

I have to hand it to them, the workin' girls at the Trop had their shiat wired pretty tight. They knew their boundaries, what they could get away with in the casino, and they have the skank telegraph with all of their 'girlfriends' around town telling each other which casinos the vice cops have been spotted in.

It was actually rather fascinating to see how they ran their business. And certainly more educational that plain old Spot The Hooker. Hell, you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting one in that place, so spotting them wasn't the issue--declining them politely was the challenge. Seriously, I never thought I'd ever say no to that much cootchie in my life. I kinda felt like I was in the b-list Playboy Mansion--the chicks weren't quite as hot as at the real Mansion, the surroundings weren't nearly as nice, and there was definitely an air of seediness about it. But all you needed was a pulse, a room key, and a few bucks, and all the freaky freaky you wanted was yours for the taking.

Anyhow, at some point CoolP produced a couple of bottles of water, and I knew that our adventure was winding down. It was getting pretty damn late, and to avoid the hangovers, we decided to get some greasy food in us. So we downed the water, said goodnight to the bartender and all the working girls, and headed for the cafe. They had a $5.95 chicken fried steak and eggs special going, so we indulged. It wasn't nearly as good as the Peppermill, and the cafe was about as empty the Keno lounge, too. So we got in and out of there pretty quickly.

We settled the tab, and we said goodnight. I left CoolP to fight his way to the elevator on his own, and I made my way back over to MGM Grand.

I was wandering through, with my original $50 gambling stake still in my pocket, so I decided to sit down at a $10 shoe and make some magic happen before going home. I won a few bets, and before I knew it, I had an extra hundred bucks in front of me. Getting too tired to see straight, I bet the whole hundred at once, and got a twenty against a dealer nine. Of course, the jerkoff at third base decided that it would be the perfect time to split his fours. He got an ace, doubled, and ended up with 15 on one hand, got a fourteen on the second hand and stood.

The dealer then proceeded to make a five-card 21, where he would've busted, robbing me of my winnings for the night, a $200 swing. I believe an expletive was uttered, and I headed for the valet. It was freezing cold, and breezy, but I didn't have to wait long. I was home in record time.

Rob was still up, so I gave him the rundown on the night's activities, and he told me about his night at work. Oh my god do I ever feel sorry for him--brothaman stepped out of the flea frying pan and into the flea fire. But we stayed up, watched an episode of Jeopardy, and I finally called it a night. But instead of going to bed, I stayed up to write this for you folks, because I care. I'm a giver.

As it turns out, CoolP has already slept off the ill effects of last night's buffoonery, and has sent me an email asking if I want an Eiffel Tower full of margaritas for breakfast. Just like with the hookers, I politely declined. But we might be having dinner at Grimaldi's tonight. If I can get some sleep.

I may have another story to tell in 24 hours.

Until then, peace out, y'all!

Mikey

The Sunday Night Yawnfest

I don't know why, but I just couldn't get to sleep on Sunday. I stayed up all night on Saturday, watched a bit of TV, made yesterday's post, talked on the phone to both Amy and Mamasan, but after that, I went to bed and tried to sleep, but it just wasn't happening. I finally caught a bit of a catnap, but woke up at 2:00 pm or so, watched a little bit of the race, but was dozing in the chair, so I went back to bed. As soon as I fell asleep again, Rob called, asking if I might be of service, using my truck to help move a coffee table for his new main squeeze. I said sure, just let me know when, and he said he'd call me back. I fell asleep until 5:45, when my alarm went off, and he never called back.

I was looking forward to work last night--I was finally able to deal my favorite string of tables, and I figured it'd be busy as hell--it was still Nascar weekend. But, my anticipation was for naught, as I got to the casino and it was just dead. The circus had clearly left town, except for a few die-hards. Oh, and I don't care if you are a die-hard Nascar fan, but if you and your three buddies all have matching leather Amp Energy/Dale Jr. jackets, and all four of you wear them at the same time, then you'll end up looking like the gayest biker gang ever as you sashay around the casino. Seriously, it's not a good look. Ask any chick, they'll tell you.

I too am a Nascar fan, and make a point to watch all of the races and keep informed as to what's going on and such, but I draw the line at wearing a bunch of moronic-looking advertisements like my favorite driver does. He's getting paid to wear that ridiculous outfit. The rest of you sheep--you're just of goofy-looking free advertising. Besides, I don't have one favorite driver or team. I like a bunch of them--I'm not partial to any one guy. I like Dale Jr, Jimmy Johnson, Kurt Busch, and Clint Bowyer. Hell, I've even been known to root for Jeff Gordon on occasion. So wearing any one driver's gear wouldn't really be my thing, anyways. (I do, however, like to root against some of the asshats on the circuit--Tony Stewart and Robbie Gordon, for instance, but otherwise, I just like to watch the races). Until Amp Energy, Lowes, Miller Lite, Jack Daniels, or DuPont Automotive Finishes actually mails me a check, I'll be damned if you'll catch me wearing any of their gear in public. As of right now, the only free advertising you'll find in my wardrobe is for Captain Morgan and Corona. But I'm not exactly the ideal spokesmodel type anyways, so I don't think I'm impacting their bottom line. Nobody is drinking Duff's because Barney is wearing their shirt...

Anyhow, I don't know how I got off an that tangent, but the casino was pretty quiet last night. In fact, from 9:40 until 10:20, I didn't deal a single hand at my Pai Gow table. I just sat there watching SportsCenter on the bar TVs and flirting with the cocktail waitress every few minutes whenever she'd pass by. And I was dozing, due to lack of sleep, and caught myself doing the head-bob a time or two. It was awful. Luckily I was way out at the end of Chinatown where the bosses rarely venture. And it was so slow that my Deuces Wild table got shut down before midnight, too. Before I knew it, we were back to doing twenty on/twenty off--too many dealers, not enough players.

I knew the end was near when I got sent to Let It Ride at 1:00 am. When the boss came around at 1:15 and asked if I wanted an hour and a half EO, I jumped at the chance, as did about 15 of my co-workers. I believe I walked over to the podium to sign out and my first words were I've had all I can stands and I can't stands no more!

I hit the door before they could change their mind, and I was home, in bed, asleep, by 2:00 am.

But the night wasn't a total loss. On one of my early breaks, I ditched the 'dealers table' in the dining room and went to sit with one of the cocktail waitresses. A few weeks back, she told me about her part-time gig bartending at another place, and I've gone over to see her a couple times after work. So I went over to chat with her. I told her that I almost came to see her the night before, but I was just too tired. We caught up for a few minutes, and then out of the clear blue, she suggested that I take her number and give her a call next weekend so we can hang out after work...

Bow chicka bow bow!

Alrighty then! So I was quite obvious in making a show of entering her phone number into the address book on my cellphone, and of course as I was walking back to my table at the end of my break down that long beige mile of hallways in the back of the house, I enjoyed the ego trip of having a couple of my buddies question me about what they just saw.

Dude, did you just get that chick's number? What's up with that? How'd you manage that??? etc, etc, etc.

I just smiled, laughed it off, and told them that it was the culmination of months and months of hard work. Hell, I think the first time she ever used my name was just three weeks ago, and I'd been shamelessly hitting on her for going on three years now. Besides, I figure the most I'm gonna get out of it is a bar tab and a few good stories, anyways.

But it was the highlight of an otherwise dull and uneventful evening in the casino.

And I don't care how slow or dull it is tonight, either. It's my Friday night, and if I can endure another eight hours behind the green felt, I'll be free for another two days. Just don't put me back on that damn Let It Ride table, or else I'm likely to kick off my weekend a bit earlier than expected.

Mikey

My Feet Hurt

Here it is on a very breezy Sunday morning in Vegas-land, and I'm lying in bed, curling my toes over and over again, trying to avoid the old bottom-of-the-foot charlie-horse.

Here's the scoop. I have three pairs of shoes I wear to work, but honestly I only use two of them. The black Reeboks just don't look right--tennis shoes with slacks looks even more ghetto when combined with all of that polyester I have to wear. Anyhow, I have one set of slip-on loafers which are the most comfortable, and one set of black man-clogs, which are pretty comfy, but don't seem to be quite wide enough, so after about four or five hours on my feet, they start to hurt.

But after last night, I figured I'd be back on my 'home' string of tables tonight--two Pai Gow tables and Deuces wild. So I wore the clogs, thinking I'd be sitting on my ass all night. But it was not to be. As soon as I got to work, I found out that I'd be in the 'retard' pit, dealing $5 blackjack all night to the most annoying of the drunks. It was awful. I hate dealing low-limit blackjack worse than just about anything. (Well, a quarter craps game is about as bad as it gets, but luckily we haven't had that shiat in almost two years).

So not having any sit down games, my feet were bothering me by 11:00 pm. And I was dealing to a couple of guys who were easily the stupidest and most annoying people I've dealt to in months. Seriously, who the f*ck stands on an Ace/three against anything? And then to split tens, stand on 15's, and then complain that they can't make a hand? I was surrounded by morons pretty much all night long.

And do you know what the worst thing about wearing a name tag is? The idiots who insist on using your name about six times a minute for the entire hour you're at the table.

Mikey, be nice to me.

Mikey, give me some good cards.

Mikey, let me win a hand.

I thought you were going to bust, Mikey.

Mikey, can you call a cocktail waitress over here?

You're not being very nice, Mikey.

Mikey, what should I do with my soft 17, Mikey?

You should shut the f*ck up and make a decision on your own, jerkwad. (That's what I was saying on the inside...)

I actually told this one asshat that if every time he used my name from that point on, it was going to cost him a dollar. He started doing it again, and was just drunk enough that when I said, Dude, give me three bucks--he did, and I dropped it in the toke box.

I told you it was going to cost you.

Everyone else at the table started laughing at him, but it curtailed the annoyance factor quite a bit after that.

It finally started slowing down around 1:00 am or so, and one of my tables got closed. Being the teacher's pet, instead of having to go back and work on that crappy string again, I got to spend a little time mucking chips at the roulette wheel, and then spend about a half hour or so gathering tokes. Without even hitting the main pit, we filled up two treasure boxes, something I've never seen happen before in the three years I've been working there. Hopefully there was more green than white, and we'll have a big night. (Oh, and by the way, it turns out that last night's little adventure in stupidity cost me $308. Damn.)

The biggest bummer of the night was that not only was I not in Chinatown, which just happens to be the section of the pit covered by my favorite cocktail waitress, but the fact that she called out sick last night, too, so I didn't get to see her at all. I mean, geez, I only get to stare at her for three nights a week, the least she could do was gut it up and make it to work, right? Oh well, I guess it just wasn't my night.

In addition to all that, around 7:30 or so, my cellphone just started going nuts. I got back to the dining room on my break and saw that I had six missed calls and four voicemails, all from different members of my family. Of course, after this week, I just assumed the worst.

But all the voice mails turned out to be nothing but drunk-dialing from my siblings. Apparently, everyone is still in Nashville, and all four of my sisters and my brother Reverend Dave decided to go out together and just get absolutely shiat-faced last night. And they kept calling, over and over again all night long. I finally had to turn my phone off, and when I got off of work, I had six more voice mails. Oh yeah, they were in rare form last night, and apparently, wished I was there with them. Woulda been fun, that's for sure...

But instead of getting silly with those I love the most, well, I spent my evening doing something much less enjoyable. But it's not as bad as I'm making it sound--it's still a pretty easy gig, and right now the money ain't too bad, either. And I'm in Vegas for cryin' out loud! Believe me when I tell you that working in Vegas beats drinking in Nashville 99 times out of a hundred.

And tonight, I'm back on my home string of tables, and maybe my favorite gal will be there serving drinks and letting me flirt a little, while I spend eight hours or so hustling tokes and telling jokes.

I can think of worse ways to spend a Sunday night.

Mikey

Waste of a Night

Good morning everybody. I hope you all had a wonderful Friday night and it leads to a nice enjoyable weekend.

Well, let's see here... My Friday night kinda sucked, when you get right down to it. When I left work on Thursday, I saw that I wasn't even on the roadmap for Friday night--no tables assigned to me. When they did that to me last week, I ended up pushing out dice tables all night, which was basically the vortex of suck. I mean, it was fun putting the smack down on some of our more annoying players, to be sure, but I don't know why, when I *know* I'm scheduled to deal dice, no problemo, but when I'm not, and I get stuck over there, it just wears my ass out. So I was really not looking forward to working last night, thinking that the same thing would happen.

So, when I got to the casino last night, I *still* wasn't on the roadmap, and five other dealers didn't have tables assigned, either. I figured it would be a replay of the week before, so I put my name on the Early Out list, which would create a headache for them if they wanted me to deal dice.

When my shift began, I found myself standing around with five other dealers, waiting for the bosses to find tables for us. When they asked who was on the E.O. list, well, I couldn't lie, and I got sent home right then. I though for sure that I'd make it till 11:00, at least.

Well, that was fun. I probably made a pretty critical error in judgment by signing that early out list--it's Nascar weekend here in Vegas, and I'm guessing we made pretty good money last night. Of which I will not see one thin dime...

So, getting the boot at 7 pm without dealing a single card, what was I to do? Well, it's Friday night in Vegas, and I needed to make about $200 to make up for missing work, so of course I headed out to Boulder Highway to see Rob deal dice at his first night at his new job.

I hadn't been out there in over a year, back when Sticky and I were low-rolling on one of her visits. It's pretty much still the same. I found Rob standing stick on a $3 craps table, so I bought in for $50. And the table was ice cold, forcing me to buy in for another $50 just a few minutes later. Luckily one guy had a monster roll, bringing me from the felt up to $148 when I colored up.

But I had to make another $150 to justify my night out. So I headed over to the $5 table and spent the next 20 minutes or so giving it all back.

Damn.

Just couldn't get anything going. Instead of hitting the ATM and pissing away even more money, I left the last six bucks for the dealers (not worth standing in line at the cage for) and headed home.

I figure between getting wiped out at the Pai Gow table at the Flea-esta two weeks ago, and then losing again last night at the dice table, well, by the time March Madness rolls around, I'm way overdue for a monster run! No more gambling until then, not even poker. Well, it's not like I go gambling anymore--Besides those two visits in the past two weeks, and that night I spent gambling with Angy back in January, I haven't gambled a penny in several months--it's just not in the budget. And apparently, my gambling chi is a bit off right now, anyways.

The only highlight of my night was seeing one of my favorite gals at the casino--she was dressed up and looking all hot, saying she was meeting some of her friends for dinner. But when she saw me she came over and gave me a big hug in front of all my buddies, so it was a nice ego boost.

Once I got home from my losing dice adventure, I fell asleep for several hours. I woke up at 1:30, got dressed, and headed back out. I knew that a few of my friends were going out for an after-work dinner at Kenny's Chinese joint, so I headed over there. Only one of my buddies was there at the time, but then they started trickling in after 2:30.

Having not eaten a thing all day before that, I was pretty hungry. I got some pan-fried dumplings, fried rice, and sweet & sour pork (and yeah, it is lychee they use in it to add to the sweetness). Everything was excellent, as usual, and I couldn't finish it all. I was so stuffed that I had a hard time finishing my beer (which, by the way, he's still not charging his friends for...) Some of the other folks I was with ordered a bunch of different dishes, and I was forced--FORCED I tell you--to sample some other goodies from the menu. I found the Shrimp With Vegetables offering to be especially outstanding, and the Kung Pao chicken had a nice pleasant zip to it.

But I had to wave the white flag. My meal ticket came to only about $14, but it felt like I'd been nibbling for two hours. I left 'em a twenty spot and waddled out of there. Once I got home, I found Rob watching hockey highlights and eating a bowl of his famous minestrone. He had some thoughts on his first night of work, which I'm sure he'll be writing about at some point this weekend.

Anyhow, that's all I got. My Friday night was pretty much a bust--between missing work and losing a hundy at the dice table, it was easily a $300 swing, and not in my favor either. Oh well. Luckily it was the last day of the month, because that was about it for my February budget.

But March is finally here. That means that Madness cannot be far off...

Mikey