With Liberty & Justice for All: How Americans Can Take TOO MUCH Advantage of Their Freedom

I'm in the airport while I write this. Don't ask, I won't explain. I think my cell is still working though.

Be aware that you will read these stories, and the only words that will come to your head are, "Fucking Vegas, man." It's like a fairy tale in three parts.

Chapter One: The Princess Has Lost Her Slipper, and Her Boyfriend is PISSED
So, I've been going out a lot lately. I feel, you know, more myself because of that. On Friday, Krock and I head out to 80's night at the House of Blues (or HOB if you're THAT FUCKING HIP). I love 80's night, not only because I love the music, but because, as a general rule, there are no men at eighties night. I mean, there are boyfriends who are dragged there by their girlfriends. There are the occassional gay men, but not that many at HOB. Every once in a while, there's that guy who figures out that eighties night is basically the home of the bachelorette party, and those men inevitably score like Matthew McConaughey does pretty much every day of his life. Gentlemen, I give you this piece of information freely. Do with it what you will. My point here is that most women at eighties night realize there won't be men at eighties night, so it creates an atmosphere where women feel free and comfortable to get drunk and act as stupid as possible. This is important for the rest of this story.

So, eighties night at the HOB features a band called the Spazmatics. During their first set, the Spazmatics are pretty entertaining. Between the first set and the second set, the band apparently got really, really, really drunk/high/messed up. The second set is a wreck, but no part of it is more of a wreck than the "ladies on stage" section.

During each set, the Spazmatics like to invite all of the "ladies" on stage to dance with them. Wohoo! I don't think I need to tell you that I'm too lazy for that shit. But I'm amused to watch. But the time the "ladies" came up on stage for the second set, the "ladies" were amply drunk themselves. And the Spazmatics were singing "Like a Virgin." Yes, any reasonably sober person could see that this was going to be a cluster.

So Miss "I'm MUCH Drunker Than You" starts to grab the microphone out of the singer's hand and sing with him. She is, needless to say, hopelessly out of tune. Think of the worst American Idol audition you've ever seen and you're just about there. Not to be outdone in the inebriation category, the lead singer gently pulls Miss "I'm MUCH Drunker Than You" down to the floor, where he climbs on top of her, sticks his ass in his face and -- yes, rides her. I turn away in horror, as does most of the audience, but fortunately, I turn back just in time to see the next trainwreck happen. The lead singer then removes Miss "I'm MUCH Drunker Than You"'s shoe. In my head, I'm thinking "No, he's not going to ..." And even as I can't finish that sentence, the lead singer puts half of Miss "I'm MUCH Drunker Than You"'s foot in his mouth. I'm not talking toe suckling, people. I'm talking full-on foot sucking.

I'm about to turn my head away in horror again, but I'm so glad that I didn't, because if I had, I would have missed the moment wherein Miss "I'm MUCH Drunker Than You"'s enraged boyfriend ran onto stage followed by security. Security who managed to grab him and throw him off the stage BEFORE he could remove his girlfriend's foot FROM HER OWN MOUTH, which is where the lead singer had now placed it, and possibly save some of her dignity.

I will tell you that, after that display, while the rest of the world went back to dancing, I was amused by watching the stage exit where Enraged Boyfriend was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his girlfriend. I have never seen a boyfriend escort an embarassing drunken girlfriend from a club more rapidly, and that's saying it politely. And I have mixed emotions about that. It kind of feels like, if you're a couple, this should be previously decided upon. If your girl wants to get ass drunk and make an idiot out of herself when she goes out, perhaps you should just stay home. Or at least advise against eighties night, where the atmosphere is girls acting stupid.

It was a good night.

Chapter Two: The Princess Tames the (Mechanical) Wild Beast
Saturday night we go out again, meeting up with Kim at Gilley's at the Frontier. Let me begin by saying that I love country music, I have hours of it on my iPod. I love country bars, if you're in, say, Tennessee or Kentucky, which is where I typically visit country bars. I do not love Vegas country bars which are, frankly, a scene.

On the way into Gilley's, I couldn't remember what their marketing catch phrase was. I was all like, "You know, Gilley's, with slutty girls and free chilli." I later realized that the phrase is "Cold beer and bikini bull riding." I like mine better. I think, not that they're having a hard time getting people in the door, but I think they'd pack the place more if they gave away free chilli and just put the thing about the slutty girls right out there. That's all.

Anyway, my point is that we hung out until bikini bull riding time. People, it IS as magnificent as it sounds. If you want to watch slutty girls gyrate on a mechanical bull while taking their clothes off, this is your place! And you can get cheap domestic beer there, too! Check it out, yo!

Chapter Three: The Prince Turns Into a Pumpkin at 3:00am (and then he pukes)
Our next stop is the Empire Ballroom, where we are supposed to be meeting friends. It's also eighties night there, too.

We've never been to the Empire Ballroom. We're there to check it out. It's kind of new, except not new because something else was there first. But whatever. We get there, I don't know, maybe 12:30am, and it's totally dead. So dead, in fact, that our friends have already left. And the DJ SUCKS. I mean, SUCKS. But we're there, there's nothing else on the board, and we're like, "Let's get a drink and see if it picks up."

Firstly, it does pick up from the standpoint of amusing things to watch. One of my favorite amusing things to watch in Vegas is dudes who have gotten hookers and don't know what to do with them. There are these guys in VIP who have gotten themselves three hookers for the evening, and they're clueless. CLUELESS. The hookers are pretty much drinking their booze and having a conversation about people they know while the guys kind of do that white guy bounce dance in the VIP area. It's so sadly that by the end of the night I just give up and go explain to one of the guys the proper way to get your money's worth out of hookers in a club. So sad.

Speaking of sad, the club is pretty sad, but you know how sometimes you're somewhere and you feel like if you leave you'll be leaving right before the party starts? Exactly. So Krock and I decide to give it until 1:45am, which apparently is when the party starts! Or at least it's when tragically cute bartender from across the street at New York, New York buys us a round of shots. And he's fun, and we're having a good time. And then I buy a second round of shots.

In my defense, since I was driving that night, I'd hardly had anything to drink, so it didn't occur to me that normal people who had been drinking all night (and it was now about 2:30am) might be at the point where a huge shot would put them over the edge. Yep, didn't even occur to me. So we do the shot, and when I get back, tragically cute bartender from across the street at New York, New York is literally falling over at the bar.

He says he sees a cab in his future, and in the interest of full disclosure, when he goes into the bathroom to puke, Krock and I are like "Do you want to bail out of here before this gets worse?" But here's the thing, I'm standing there, and I'm thinking about all the times in my life I've been drunk beyond reasonable repair and somebody has taken me home rather than just plant me in a cab (yeah, you know who you are -- and you're not shamus, who's more like "You're so drunk! Lay down on the ground in the middle of the street! No, wait, flirt with that guy, he TOTALLY looks STD free."). Anyway, I believe in the karma bank. I strongly believe in the karma bank. So when tragically cute bartender comes out of the bathroom, I say, "Why don't you just give me your keys? I'll go get your car and we'll drive you home and then we'll cab back to our car. I'm not sure you'd last in a cab."

Tragically cute bartender is an IDIOT and hands me over his keys. I could have been gone to the chop shop, but this night is all about karma bank. So I leave Krock with Tragically Cute Bartender while I go to get his car and muddle my way through its ridiculously complex security system. When I get back, I see the look on Krock's face, and I wonder if this is such a good idea.

Within seconds of getting into his car, Tragically Cute Bartender pukes an entire puddle on the floor of his backseat. "Karma bank!" I think.

Tragically Cute Bartender is so drunk that he turns a 15 minute trip to his house into 35 minutes of driving in cirles. "Karma bank!"

Did I mention that Tragically Cute Bartender has a half mastiff, half pitbull dog? Karma bank! Except that actually that dog was very sweet.

Tragically Cute Bartender immediately passes out face down on his bathroom floor. Krock and I have at least 20 minutes to kill to wait for the cab back to the strip and/or Tripsright (and for the record, TripsRight is the most awesome person and totally a super star about heading out to get us in the middle of the night/morning -- because it's now, like, 4:30am). Anyway, so I drag Tragically Drunk Bartender into bed to get him put away for the night. This is where, for the record, soemthing I NEVER want to say again is said, and something I NEVER want to hear again is said.

The thing I NEVER want to have to say again: "Seriously, no joking, aside from any other reason, I'm not kissing you because my mouth is not coming within five feet of your mouth -- because your mouth is FULL OF PUKE."

The thing I NEVER want to have to hear again: "I'm SO SORRY I'm PUKING ALL OVER THE PLACE ... can I call you tomorrow?"

The night is made most excellent though by a convesation with our most wonderful cab driver back to the strip about whether, even though opposites attract, can they make a go of it long term? And then by mini-cheeseburgers and coffee with TripsRight at Denny's followed by whiskey with TripsRight at my place.

Fortunately, my Fourth of July weekend ended on a relaxing note (I mean, I had to work on Monday, but still), with Scategories and Corona at Matt & Jess's barbeque. It was lovely, and in Scategories I got to answer the question "Things Found at a Gym" using the letter G with "Gigantic Guns" for double points.

It was a good Fourth of July. I wish you'd all been here though.