What Happened in Vegas...PT I

Reporting live from Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport on a 4 hour layover (during morning rush hour mind you, or I woulda been out of this shit hole and in Bankhead looking for TI the King of the Souf) [photos to come]

In summary…VEGAS IS THE SHIT!

Thursday…The Journey:

We miss our flight.

Fcuking around leaving late, making stops on the way to the airport (ok, guilty… I had to make a trip deposit at the bank). We all accept the blame…but I had to be an azz and ask my brother who was driving, if he had a clean license…because I simply couldn’t condone him driving a mere 70 mph as we face the possibility of missing a night on the left coast.

But alas, we get there 11 minutes after baggage check closes for the flight. But luckily we manage to get a later flight to ATL, which gets us on the same connecting flight we’re scheduled on originally. And for once, my brother, who we’ll call “Anger Management,” doesn’t blow a fuse, and instead succeeds in hustling us out of the extra 25 buck fee for changing flights.

I had neither the patience nor the sobriety. Didn’t take long for me to start cussing out the Delta Airlines representative. I digress….

So I’m traveling with:

“Anger Management (AM),” my older brother

“London Bridge (LB),” my brothers’ best friend, who I also consider a big brother

And the “Codependent Couple” (CC), a friend we grew up with and his baby moms, who we’ve also known forever.

So as we’re polying to get rebooked and checked in, I’m furiously texting my other brother, who we’ll call “The Boss of Me.” He’s out of town on biz, and is meeting us in Vegas on Saturday. He foregoes texting me back and instead calls me laughing and asking all the right questions ("How drunk are you bastards?"). As I’m struggling to recall what we’ve all consumed, I look up and AM is posing for pictures with Buffalo Bills Hall of Fame QB Jim Kelly. (PS - not sure about the time stamp on that photo, but it was taken 4/6/06. That's my brother "Anger Management," blurred out)

My brother is a lifelong Cowboys fan, so it’s all the more of an azzhole statement when he looks Jim in the eye and says, “Thanks for all the great years, Jim.” I’m crying laughing now, and "The Boss of Me" is howling in my ear.

Later AM tells me he also told Jim, “I’m really sorry to hear about Hunter. He was a brave young man.” He's an azzhole for sure, but AM is also a dad, so I know that at least that sentiment was sincere.

So we pass the time at a pizza/bar, of course. Since about noon I’ve been nursing a Sprite bottle, my makeshift flask, filled with Malibu rum on the rocks.

Not my usual fare, but it’s light and smooth…and there was a bottle of it at my house leftover from my birthday dinner.

By the time we get to ATL for our connecting flight, I’m pleasantly tossed. My brother “London Bridge” (more on the name later) is a smoker, so after checking the boarding time at our gate, and finding that it’s delayed by about 25 minutes, we post up in the cigarette room, have a round of Coronas and wait. We meet up with my boys “Stay Hype” and “Pac” there, and we quickly get lost in the anticipation of our Manifest Destiny…so much so that we don’t hear the alleged last calls that the obnoxiously flamboyant gate boy insists he’s been repeating ad naseum. Turns out the gate time posted was wrong and the boarding time was indeed 25 minutes prior.

I immediately text “The Boss of Me” to tell him we almost miss 2 flights in one day.
===

Have you ever flown into LaGuardia, or say O’Hare or Louie Armstrong…and notice how usually when you get off the plane there are like, restrooms right outside the gates?

Not in Vegas, baby.

I thought it was a joke when I heard there are slot machines in the airport.

Not only were there slot machines, them sons a bitches are damn near on the tarmac.

Muhfucking Vegas!

Oh yeah, Bow Wow was on our flight from ATL…and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t stand all of 3 apples high. I got speakers taller than that kid. The best part was that no one cared that he was there (with one brolic bodyguard). Ok there was one girl who asked to take a pic with him at baggage claim, and I tried to piggyback and take a flick with my phone to send to my niece, but he turned away mad quickly[that's is his back]. But trust, these are indeed his freshazimiz braids. [pic taken with my cellie]

Amidst severe overpopulation at baggage claim, we manage to coordinate our arrival with my cousins “Oh Canada” and “MIA,” and head to the telly.

Over the next 36 hours “Boss of Me,” “Bourgie Boy” and “Entourage” join us to round out the travel crew.

The Strip, Spics & Sluts:

The next 4 days are spent wandering The Strip, pilfering hotel buffets, ping ponging through casinos playing slots, getting shit faced and modestly tan.

If you’ve never been, I will do my best to compile the So Wise “Everything You Need To Know About Vegas” list, but for now here’s the deal. Basically the Strip is a 5-mile road that is home to hotels/casinos and restaurants and shopping and sight seeing. Think Times Square if it spanned from like 14th Street to 42nd…think Times Square back in the smut days.

Spics…

Ya know, I’ve never heard a Latino call his hermano o hermana a “spic.” I’ve heard them say “nigga”, tho.

Anywho, there are none here. These are hard working Mexicans, and I say that sincerely without sarcasm. I can only imagine the powerful imagine it would send to Capitol Hill if the Latin population in Vegas was to protest the immigration bill along the Strip.

Let’s just say they appear to run this town, and I ain’t mad at ‘em. They contribute to a real genuine diversity in LV that I sense immediately, and enjoy immensely. There’s a little bit of everybody there, doing a little bit of everything. My crew blends in nicely.

So the first thing we learn as we step out onto the Strip on Friday afternoon is that Vegas has lots of freebies to offer. No sooner do we pass by a “Dirty Babes and Beer” marquee, are we accosted by a bevy of street salesmen and women.

“Are any of you a couple?” [so they can offer you free tickets to shows]

“How long are you in town? [so they can invite you to some promo presentations about various shows, products, services]

“Want girls?” [so you can get to know them?? Huh?]

This was a very frequent inquiry, usually spoken in broken English. The Mexicans get their hustle on promoting escort services. They wear their shirts that say, “Girls,” have a blond in a slutty backshot pose and a phone number.

After passing through a gauntlet of them for like the whole first mile and a half of walking, reaching over me to get to my boys, I start asking, “Got Boys?” all of a sudden they don’t speak no English.

White trash ain’t even standing in nobody’s hot azz sun handing out no soft porn postcards. F immigration laws. Open the borders, dammit. Puta.

Sluts...

I expected to see so many more, and I didn’t have the pleasure of seeing any. In fact, there seemed to be more couples than anything, and not too much T&A to speak of. At least not during the day. There was a fair share of skin shown after hours, but even that was tame compared to a night out on 23rd St in the city.

I personally find Vegas to be counterproductive to quality time with the honey…I think I prefer it as a Homey Weekend destination. But then there are lots of places like this to get your cuddle on…

But I think perhaps the new millennium slut is actually a preppy dude in cargo shorts and short sleeve Polo. Now THEY were on the prowl. And I LOVED it!

Up next… PT II..."Buffets, Booze & Boys”

Part III..."The Fight"