P.S. For those of you who read the first part of this blog, and believed Mr. Thompson to indeed be a homosexual, I can verify factually that he is not. In fact, he is a young, very successful man who lives in LA, works in TV and is, by all accounts, handsome. He is also single. And yes, I am pimping him out a bit. Please forward all email inquiries to
Now, back to the story. We continue the story after the three weary travelers awake from a drunken stupor. I pains me to think back and realize how much I drank the night before, how early I got up, and how I wasn’t hung over at all. In fact, I got up, turned on the TV (volume down) and proceeded to function like every other Saturday. By watching College Football. While I sat in the dark room contemplating my life, I thought to myself, maybe I should cut back on my drinking. I mean how much longer can I continue to drink as heavily as I do with no side effects (other than blacking out. More on that.) and no reason to slow down. (P.S., all of these thoughts/and reasons to slow down were evident at the end of the trip.)
Jdub seemed to be fairing a bit better.
Mr. Thompson was hit the hardest. As we all got up and got on our way to a buffet, Mr. Thompson was still hurting pretty bad. We all attempted to eat some food after declaring “actually getting out of the room made me feel better.” This was indeed a lie. The food did help a bit, but the buffet at Harrah’s was indeed not what it was nearly 9 years ago. (When this small little fact was brought to both JDub and Mr. Thompson’s attention, they replied in shock… “We were 16 then.”) Not going to lie. That one hurt.
After brunch, JDub and I decided to catch the end of the Oregon Ducks football game at an awesome sports bar in Planet Hollywood called Blondie’s. Blondie’s is probably one of my favorite places to go in Las Vegas. Is it one of the best… hell no. However, the waitresses dress in cheerleader outfits, they have 8-12 beer pong tables, and a tournament every Saturday night. I highly recommend this little known gem. Anyway, we got to Blondie’s and grabbed a table and waited from Mr. Thomspon to return from visiting the room for a bit. It was a good hour or so, when Mr. Thompson returned victoriously. Albeit he looked extremely pale and was moving very, very slowly down the walkway. When he sat before us, he exclaimed… I’m still hurting. And he looked it. Mr. Thompson decided (best decision when hung over btw) to order the “bucket of beers.” 5 beers for the low price of 20 bucks, served in a plastic bucket. Half way through the bucket, Mr. Thompson mentioned he may be using the bucket for extra curricular activities. To which I replied…. “Oh hell, no.” Mr. Thompson asked at least 2 waitresses if they had Aleve on them in which both of them failed him. He walked down to the store in the mall, picked up a small bottle, and proceeded to wash down two with a couple swigs from the Bucket o’ Beers. Needless to say, we almost lost the big guy.
After some bitching we convinced Mr. Thompson to grab some more food with us and see what the night brought us. We all got some dinner at 9 Fine Irishmen in New York, New York and mapped out the rest of our night. We ventured back to the Mirage and settled in for some resting up. Which ultimately means we all took naps. Except me. I’m not sure what my deal is, but sleep was just something I was taking for granted.
The time came for us to begin getting ready and I, for some reason, hit a wall. I was not excited to go out. I almost considered not going out at all. This brings me to a very important point about my friend Mr. Thompson. Mr. Thompson seeing and knowing full well that I may not make it the rest of the night, did what any good friend would do. Feed me booze. Mr. Thompson took it upon himself to fire up the iPod fresh with Jay-Z’s current Blueprint 3 songs, and pour me a Jack and Coke. Mr. Thompson, being the good friend that he is, also poured a mighty hefty drink. One thing lead to another and there was more bathrobe wearing, outfit comparing, drink having, dancing, and general merriment.
We left the room in plenty of time to make the designated cut off time to get into JET and waited a short amount of time to get in. Once inside, we followed our animal instincts to the watering hole and procured more booze. Obviously to get the party rolling shots were ordered from a busty brunette babe working the counter. I for one thought we would be perfect together, however there were others in the group that quickly nixed that decision. Good-bye sweet busty brunette bartender (good lord I love alliteration.)
We made our way to another dance floor where once again we made our way to get more booze. (After reading this, there is probably a good indication of what my true problems are.) We gathered some more drinks and began judging/dancing about. Just then, a very attractive girl came up to Mr. Thompson and greeted him with a handshake that wouldn’t end. No seriously. She wouldn’t let go. It’s probably because he’s good looking and all the chicks like him, and he is by no means gay. (Zing.) (No seriously… pretty sure if the chick didn’t have a boyfriend she’d be all over Mr. Thompson, and he would oblige. P.S. I think things sound a little classier when one obliges.) However, the chick did have a boyfriend, which she indeed introduced to Mr. Thompson after she held his hand for an awkward 2 minutes.
At about this point I couldn’t help but notice little Ms. Handshake and I decided to strike up a conversation with her. We talked about all sorts of things. Her tattoos, where she is from (can’t remember), what she does for a living (can’t remember) that she has a boyfriend (can’t remember) what she was doing later (can’t remember) that her boyfriend was walking over (can’t remember) and basically just having a really good chat. Had I been a bit more sober, I would have noticed Mr. Thompson AND JDub both making the throat slash motion, like stop. Quit it. Her Boyfriend is bigger than you. At any rate, the boyfriend bought Mr. Thompson and I some shots (didn’t notice if JDub got down on one) and I considered all was well. Well, I was a tad wrong, after a couple more minutes of chatting it up, Ms. Handshake leaned in and said, “I’m getting in trouble.” To which I have no idea what I said, but she was gone a minute later with her hipster trendy boyfriend.
Now usually I would have been a bit bummed, but I had 3 of my best friends with me. Mr. Thomspon, JDub, and Jack. They helped me get through it. It was decided that we would all move on to another dance floor. And this is honestly where things get insanely hazy. I remember at one point, JDub up on ANOTHER stage. I was wielding a camera like I was Annie Leibovitz, and Mr. Thompson was doing who knows what…. I seriously don’t remember. We danced our ass off and then, to my best recollection we headed back to the room to wake up and catch an 8 am flight.
Sarcasm is pleased to Announce for the first time ever a guest writer. Please welcome… JDub. JDub felt she could add some more to this blog so I agreed…. and with that….
1. Let me first just say for readers of part 1 I in no way shape or form wanted to get Mindfreaked by Cris Angel. Or even hang out with Cris Angel. I feel as though I have been misrepresented here and if Mr. Thompson can be publically vindicated then I deserve the same.
Also, I have no idea why Mr. Thompson wasn’t referred to as Big Cat in this recap of shenanigans in Sin City – I for one referred to him pretty much exclusively as Big Cat.
As the sole responsible person when the coalition gets together I feel it only right to let Sarcasm readers know the truth – the three of us were having a great time at Jet, you see Jet is set up as one main bar and then two smaller bars with alternate music selections. Our time in the back bar was where mysterious shots were purchased by a dude for other dudes (note: I did not participate in this dude on dude shot taking) was brought to an end by the need to see what other music was playing besides late 90’s mainstream Rap/R&B hits.
What a wise move it was for when we ventured back into the main club area I made the executive decision to push our way through the crowd do where a center stage complete with girls dancing on poles was so we could essentially lean against something while judging people instead of getting bumped into at all angles. All club goers should be so lucky to have a smart thinker like me there. At this point my camera was taken away and as a result there are all sorts of shots of random legs, women, drinks and half portraits of what I think are Big Cat and I.
At this point I made some new friends with a pair of other brunettes who were dancing on the stages and I think trying to get at Big Cat. Hard to say since mostly we were all singing “Empire State of Mind” at the top of our lungs. At some point I realized it was getting to be about 1:30am and considering we stayed out partying until 3:30am the night before it wasn’t “technically” late but I knew I had to get up at 5:30am and would have to wrangle someone (ie Mr. Sarcasm as a Weapon) to the airport – which we previously have done when I went to Italy and he went to San Diego (I don’t want to get into it now but let’s just say I have a new appreciation for mom’s who deal with getting unruly children from place to place). I told the boys we were done and thankfully they were intoxicated enough they knew better than to put up a fight. Great success. We were leaving! As we head out the door Big Cat yells “We are going to McDonalds!!!” I was out. I had awesome heels on and after all that dancing and trekking around the last thing I wanted was to tromp across the street for fries. So I double checked that Big Cat had his room key and was aware enough to recite back to me the room number (Mr. Sarcasm was never trusted to be in charge of a key – I mean really, we knew that I was going to have to make sure he made it home safe). After a successful recalling of the room number I headed through the casino to the elevator and the boys headed out the door.
Just when I was starting to worry about the boys I hear giggling (yes, giggling) outside the door. Low and behold there they were. Key in hand – yet not in door. The giggling duo come barreling in with matching chicken nugget combo meals. Big Cat sits down and opens a packet of ranch – you would of thought Big Cat open palm slapped Mr. Sarcasm in the face. Mr. Sarcasm proceeds to flip out about Big Cat eating 1 of 2 ranch sauce packets when Big Cat requested BBQ Sauce and was awarded a half dozen. To calm down the rampage I did what any rational girl would – I tried to calm Mr. Sarcasm down by having him eat his feelings. But he was too distraught or maybe just too enraged – so he demanded I feed him. So here I am a grown adult feeding another adult French fries and chicken nuggets dipped in ranch and receiving the following feedback: “I can’t eat the whole thing at once! Just hold it there while I bite a piece off.” “Put more ranch on the next bite.” “I want more fries.” You get the idea.
Big Cat took down food like a champ and this time managed to climb into bed instead of passing out on top of it. Although he did try to push some good night Robin Thicke music on us yet again. I waited until he fell asleep and turned off his iPod. Mr. Sarcasm at one point got out of bed, waking me up along the way and 5 minutes later I had to basically promise the boy a pony with a red bow to get him up off sleeping on “the nice cold” bathroom floor.
I remember none of this.
I awoke for an 8 am flight bright eyed and bushy tailed! JDub did her best and got me up and out the door. We nudged Mr. Thompson who would be driving back to LA that day. We got to the airport, checked in and said our goodbyes for JDub was off to Charlotte and I would be returning home to Portland. Before we left, JDub noticed my drunken state, and offered to get me some water, or powerade, or SOMETHING. To which I vetoed and would inevitably it would be my greatest downfall.
I would board the plane, put up my hoodie and fall asleep dreaming of my nice warm bed and a safe flight home. However what I got was probably the single most embarrassing moment of my life. About 30 minutes into the flight I felt the sudden urge that I was going to throw up. Instead of just doing the obvious of throwing up in a bag, I decided to get up and head back to the bathroom. I was only three rows from the back so I figured what could go wrong. Apparently a lot.
I tapped the shoulder of the gentleman sitting on the aisle and asked politely to pass. That’s the last thing I remember.
I came too, with a flight attendant kneeling above my head asking if I was ok. I was a bit disoriented and wasn’t quite sure why I was laying in the middle of the fucking aisle, but assured her I was ok and began to get up. She helped me to my feet and I rushed back to the bathroom where I did a little dry heaving and generally felt a bit better. I came out of the bathroom with both flight attendants (who were cute obviously. The one time I get cute flight attendants I’m passing out in the aisle) and a nice gentleman who helped me up. Then they began a conversation that went something like this…
FA 1: “Are you ok?”
ME: “Yeah, I’m fine.”
FA 2: “Are you diabetic?”
ME: “Not yet.”
FA 2: “Did you drink a lot last night?”
ME: “What’s a lot?”
FA 1: “Enough that we can smell it on you now.”
ME: “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
FA 2: “Here take some water, and eat some cookies.”
ME: inaudible mumbling.
FA 1: “You know this is quite common. Happens a bit on flights outta Vegas.”
ME: (sounding hopeful) “Oh? Happens a lot?”
FA 1: “Well, no, not like you. I mean we don’t just hear a ton of assistance buttons being pushed and look down the aisle and see someone passed out in the middle of it.”
ME: “So, I was passed out in the middle.”
FA 2: “Yeah, someone said you went down like a boxer in a fight. Right into the aisle.”
FA 1: (putting on a headset) “Hold on, this is no big deal, we just have to communicate with ground and let them know that our little medical “emergency” is just fine. (Into headset) “Yeah, he said he feels much better now. We gave him some water and some cookies. He looks a lot better than he did a minute ago. The color is back in his face. Yup. Uh huh. No. Sure. Ok. Over.
FA 2: “Don’t worry we gotta call ground when there is a potential medical problem with our passengers.
FA 1: (To FA 2) “You know, I told you this was going to be a weird flight!”
FA 2: (To FA 1) “I know right. We should totally document this!”
FA 2: (To Me) “You think you could lay back down in the middle of the aisle while I snap a picture real quick?”
Me: “Well, um yeah I suppose I could.”
FA 2: “Oh you’re the best…… smile!”
I spent the rest of the flight sitting in the jump seat with the Flight Attendants who were very nice, and didn’t mind divulging which pilots were douches, their plans for the upcoming holidays, and even a little bit about themselves. All in all, aside from the passing out, Michelle and Shannon from Southwest Airlines took great care of me. Even saved my life a little. I will be forever in their debt.
In conclusion, I got my answer to all those questions plaguing me. Yes, I should probably slow down. Yes, it’s a bad sign you don’t get hung over any more. And sure as hell, the minute you start passing out on airplanes, you probably have a problem.
I just know, everyone on that flight who’s seen The Hangover, is saying in their heads (or out loud) “Some people just can’t handle Vegas.” And for now, it’s true. Vegas and I are splitting up. However, the time I had with two of the greatest people in my life… Mr. Thompson and JDub… I’ll never trade in. Even if it means passing out on a plane.
Until Next time…