Hoofin' it in Vegas

Begas Bellagio

Crazy Joe Davola?

rockin' the house

Chihuly at the Bellagio

Everyone always says that they love Vegas. People who don't drink, people who don't gamble, they all love it there. This stop wasn't on my original agenda, but my lovely friend Stephanie happened to be working there for a few months, so we swung by and took a peek at the place. 

Our night out began at the Double Down, a divey, dark place, open 24-7, where they serve bacon martinis and something called ass juice. I made Stephanie drink the bacon martini, she said it tasted like, well, like bacon. I didn't drink my cap'n and coke because after I ordered and shot the shit with the old perv next to me, the bartender informed me that it was cash only. So, I stared at the drinks, which he left on the bar, anxiously from afar and the perv knew I was watching him. It was an odd stare-down. There was a punk show going on, three dudes from San Jose. The crowd was tatted and tough. Even the unenthused chicks were resembled men. It was the kind of place I'd go to if I lived there.

Next we went to Ellis Island to try our luck out at the blackjack tables. The guy loved Stephanie and I and we both ended up loosing $30 a piece, no biggie. He was trying to keep us at the tables, "hey beautiful ladies, cut the deck." The drinks were $1.50 for beer and something like $3 for booze. We enjoyed the prices and I sang some Janis in the karaoke room. This place was, to use a technical term, the bomb. I mean, it was dirty, people were basically "making love" on nearby chairs, and had to be asked to stop. It looked aged, the people, the bar, but it was so much fun. I even met a guy who looked just like Seinfeld's Crazy Joe Davola. We made friends. I smelt like smoke for days after. 

The next morning, we ate a delicious brunch at the Bellagio. It was excessive and I overdid it. The food was really yummy, but since I hadn't eaten enough greens lately, I ate too many veggies. It was not pretty. Pictured below was my third plate. Yes. Third.