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Let's just say I wasn't the happiest of campers when I got to dinner. I still think it's garbage that a restaurant won't seat your party until everyone arrives. It's not like we don't have cell phones; it's not like they didn't know we were coming! And so what if we didn't show? Take away a table at the end of the row and go on with your day!

It's just that obnoxious, rich-boy, I'm-Better-Than-You attitude that I hate. I hate it in people and I hate it in establishments. I hate going anywhere where you're expected to "dress nice" in order to get inside the door. Like, in this magical realm, dressing in fancy clothes is of the utmost importance. Normally, in these types of places, the people in the nice clothes are the best things about even being there!

But, not the Mesa Grill. The food was actually good. More than good in some cases. In addition to the best steak I've ever had, they had some appetizers that were outrageously good. I know Mark and Colin were raving up and down about the various tamales they had. All I know is, if you go there, get the rib eye and get the barbecue meat-filled pancake thing. It's like this thin crepe-like pancake with barbecued meat folded inside ... best thing ever!

So yeah, we shot the shit there. Kon left at the very beginning, after Mark tried to get him to consume some water, and later Mario led him back to the hotel for bedrest. This was at about 6pm. So, we had appetizers without Mario and he ended up coming back a few minutes after the main dishes were set down.

All told, between the six of us who paid for the eight, it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. $110 apiece. That includes tax and tip. Some of us (like me) got off better than others. I'm talking, I had a $46 steak, plus $8 for the side order of potatoes, plus I bet I had about $15 worth of appetizers (since each were about $15 and we ordered a few for the table), plus I had two margaritas which Eric and I guessed were about $12 each. That puts me at an $80 meal right there, without tax and tip. Meanwhile Devin ate on the cheap ($35 meal, no drinks, minimal appetizers) and paid the same amount as me. Score one for me! That would be the last victory for some time.

We went back to the hotel and I sat in the Alcohol Room finishing almost an entire half-a-fifth of 60 proof peppermint schnapps. Most of the guys went off and gambled until the limo arrived, but I just stayed there with Pete and Mario, drinking until drunk.

We went downstairs as the limo arrived, wrangled everyone in there, and away we went. Kon was still sleeping, and still breathing, and mumbling incoherently as we left.

With the limo, you're granted free entry through the VIP (aka Employee) Entrance. We went straight to the bar where Pete bought the shots and Nate bought the beers. Whiskey, down. Bud Light, to go. They sat us down at a circle of chairs and bada-POW, the ladies are on our laps. Right off the bat. I had a cigarette in one hand and a smokin' hot Russian thigh in the other. She had to go dance for a spell, but she promised she'd be back.

In the meantime, I had three or four dances from other ladies. A white girl named Jennifer (I think) had the biggest and best fake breasts; the black girl was the most personable; and the other white girl was, I dunno, she was there.

Then my Russian came back and we went off to the other room. There weren't nearly as many people in the back room, so we got a corner spot and I ordered a half hour. It quickly turned into an hour when A. she asked me if I wanted another go-around, and B. I realized probably 20 minutes in that the whole "hands off the merchandise" thing you hear about is a crock of shit once you get in the back room. Hell, it could've been a crock of shit in general out there too, but I wasn't willing to test it. But, I tell you, hands ... all ... over.

By the time I got out of there, no one had ANY idea where the fuck I was. It was a little chaotic, though, I have to admit. We had already been there longer than I ever thought we'd be there. Mark was damn near passed out - and from what I hear, nodded off a little bit while I was gone. Mario wanted to get him out of there, and Pete decided to join us in the cab ride back.

From here, I'm not gonna lie to you, I'm hit or miss in the ol' memory department. I hung up in Mark and Mario's room, listening to music (badgering for Mark to give me some Wu-Tang until he couldn't take it anymore) until he decided to hit the hay. Then, Mario and I joined Pete in the Alcohol Room until, I guess, Pete wanted to go to bed. The chicken whatever didn't really settle well with him. Then, I think I left Mario and went downstairs to find other people.

Got ahold of Devin and heard they were at Harrah's (I think), so I took a cab there.

Somewhere in here, Kon called me and decided to join. He either rode with me in the cab (probably not), or what I think happened was that he called me when I was already at Harrah's.

It was a dance party at some stage they had inside there. Eric snuck me in for free, and I snuck in some 4-foot tall alcohol-filled drink that I was never able to finish even though I held it and sucked on its straw for what felt like an eternity. I eventually had to leave to go pee and eventually had to pay to get back inside the dance area.

We danced, we sang, Devin and I left the dance area ...

Oh shit, almost forgot the best part! Devin and Colin were involved in some shenanigans where, if Colin ate meat, Devin would have to drink. So Colin ate meat a few times the first couple days and Devin got drunk Saturday night. It, was, AWESOME.

So, yeah, Devin and I left, and I don't really remember much of what happened next. I found Kon and he decided to make a late-night run back to the strip club that he slept through.

We got there and, well, that story has already been told to death. I drunkenly spent a shitload of money.

Somewhere in there, you have to wonder where the liability falls. Now, I'm not saying I would do anything like this, but you have to wonder: if a guy is super duper intoxicated - such as I was - and ends up in his super duper intoxicated state paying exorbitant amounts of money for dances and more dances and other stuff; and then he sobers up and immediately regrets spending said amount of money; and maybe he decides he doesn't want to give that establishment said amount of money because they took advantage of his super duper intoxicated state; how would that look to an impartial bystander who perhaps is forced to rule one way or the other on whether or not that guy should be held responsible for his expenditures, or if that establishment should be held responsible.

It's an interesting question, I think. Are you really expected to be liable for your actions when you walk into a place already stinking drunk? Do you think these places ever see lawsuits from regretful patrons? They MUST have dealt with these kinds of lawsuits multiple times; there's got to be some kind of defense they have handy. I'm just kind of curious what the law says on that.

Anyway, fuck, Kon probably thought I was dead or something when I finally got out of there. We had a free limo waiting to pick us up; headed over to Ellis Island for an 8am breakfast (I had a BLT I think, or a club or something) and then I hit the fucking sack in the Not Having Sex Room at 9am.

Awake at noon! Fuck, gotta check out by one. That didn't feel good. I staggered over to the Alcohol Room (tapped out of booze by this point), staggered downstairs, staggered over to some damned French restaurant for a French Dip, staggered over to Planet Hollywood completely broke, staggered over to some bar area to watch the Mariners game (on Diamondbacks television) and call The Hammer on Father's Day, staggered over to the Sports Book when it was made clear that the fucking bar area had a 1-drink minimum when they start filling up with people, staggered to the bathroom to shit, staggered over to my friends who were ready to leave, staggered back to the Westin to get our bags, staggered over to the front to wait for a cab, rode over to the airport, staggered over to buy a pretzel dog and some ice cream, staggered over to security, staggered over to our gate, sat in the chairs with the fellas and a mortal case of the TJs (tired jollies), staggered over to stand for the plane, staggered onto the plane, staggered to the toilet in the back to pee, staggered over to my seat, and finally sat there until the plane landed, feeling 110% better.

Got dropped off at the apartment by Devin, threw a load of laundry into the washing machine, went to bed at around 11pm, got up at my regular 6am time to go to work.

That's the nutshell. Vegas baby. Vegas. Only 359 days, 10 hours, 32 minutes until we all go back and do it again.