Bachelor Bender - March 3/7-11 Trip Report
03-14-2024
, 07:33 AM
03-14-2024
, 03:24 PM
The knocks on the door woke me. A thumping, violent banging. “Just one minute,” I yell to housekeeping.
Krug, irish car bombs, vodka shots, green tea shots, macallan 25, gin & tonic, and **** knows what else. My headache splits across my skull and the incessant pounding on my hotel room door doesn’t help. I glance at the alarm clock: 12:15pm. I have to dodge the nippers of booze and clothes littering my floor to find a jersey and basketball shorts. The knocking continues. ****, I think, these are some aggressive housekeepers. I open the door to tell them to come back later and as I turn the handle, the weight of a large man leaning against it overpowers me. I’m knocked back on my ass. He steps inside.
“Bro,” and I recognize my friend, still wearing his clothes from Saturday night. “They took everything.”
We start off Saturday afternoon by running things up; some of the boys go to the Caesars sportsbook and watch their college basketball bets, others play roulette.
I go with one friend to grab lunch (we split Ramsey’s fish & chips and in n out) then play blackjack in Flamingo’s semi-renovated HL room. I break even for a long period before getting up to $2500ish and leaving with a small profit.
I put the profit on the Red Wings / VGK game under (6.5 goals). We reconvene at NoMad Bar, which is ideal for pre-Knights game drinking. I was less than impressed with the food, bad seating, slow service, and the unavailability of a few signature cocktails. But it ultimately gets the job done and we start to feel a slight buzz before we head to T-Mobile. A few guys mash VGK -1.5, some of them ride the under, and others still parlay VGK and the over.
T-Mobile is awesome, of course. One of the best hockey stadiums in the country with no bad seats, I pound three more margaritas down here. The Red Wings are tired at the end of a long road trip and it’s apparent in the first - VGK get the puck in front of the goal at will. But a couple of minutes into the third period the Knights err and it’s 2-2. We lock in and get loud, the knights score, the Red Wings equalize again, and the stadium is fired up at 3-3. The under is all but dead, but I want the rest of my gang to win. Marchessault eventually finds the winner off a beautiful whip from Eichel, then adds the empty netter for the boys to cover the puck line. Hell of a game.
But after, the real pregame begins. We head back up to the Flamingo to pound shots in my room and pump up energy. I reserved a limo for our ride to the Palazzo, where we begin with a little jaunt through its bars. My brother works at Bar Luca and comps us some shots then we vibe at Electra for a minute but it’s dead for a Saturday around midnight.
We roll out, now to Circa and Legacy Club for another elite view of the city. I ordered a package there so we had a table reserved, a couple bottles of alcohol and charcuterie spread, and some cheap sparkling wine. Finally here we get the boys to an appropriate level of intoxication. (side note: the servers at Legacy Club are smokes and wear the skimpiest dresses. They almost make up for the fact that LC has a 90/10 dudes/females ratio at all times). One of our group starts to fall asleep on the couch, smh, and he’s gotta uber back. The rest of us, plus a couple new friends we made at Circa, go downstairs and wander Fremont. We hit bars at the D and Nugget before the call is made: limo to Sapphire. I would estimate a group BAC of .12 at this point.
We get a table near the bar but a bit back from the main stage. I don’t have a lot to say about what went on here except the bachelor refused two lap dances, one guy spent $2500 in a back room, and I got us shots of don julio 1942 to try to loosen up some of the tighter butts in those seats. The dancers on this Sunday morning were good but I was expecting a bit more tbh. As was my guy A, who himself is getting married in early April and expected a bit more “wildness” out of the strip club. I guess we didn’t bring enough $1s to draw that out.
Half our squad, a bit uncomfortable in the first place, leaves back to the hotel. I suggest one more spot and uber the final 6 of us to the Cosmopolitan for the chandelier bar. At this point, it’s 4:30am. We arrive and one guy pulls a funny move: he gets out of our uber and turns around, rather than walk with us into the casino, for a second uber to go back to the Flamingo. Maybe he had premonition, maybe he was just tired. Cya anyway. Down to 5.
We get to the bottom floor of the chandelier and it’s almost empty. A buys green tea shots to get things going when he’s approached by a woman who is built like a defensive tackle, or for my non-ball-knowing friends, a medium-sized refrigerator. She’s also got a tied-off jean shirt with a couple buttons performing A LOT of work. She puts her best flirty voice on with A, tells him she’s here with her friends, and I convince the rest of my group to let A do his thing while we see how it plays out. Eventually her taller friend arrives, dressed in boot heels, fishnets, jean shorts, and a skimpy top. Classic downtown LA streetwalker look, to be honest. A falls for the bait like a Vegas rookie. They get to chatting when A loudly asks her if she knows where he can get some blow. This draws the attention of the bartender.
Someone else in our group starts to feel sick. It’s just before 7am at this point. I walk him to the bathroom and he regurgitates the liquor directly into a toilet. A has disappeared and stopped answering his phone; we’ve gotta move on. I get the 4 of us non-A boys into the Henry for breakfast to soak up what’s left in our stomachs. Unfortunately, we get seated in the back room - those who have been know that the wall is tiled with windows open to the casino floor. Right after my chicken and biscuits arrive, the defensive tackle spots us through the window and yells over. “Hey what the **** your friend do to my girl?” We’ve gotta get rid of her. She comes over and yells that (1) her friend and our guy left together, (2) she doesn’t have a phone, (3) she’s relying on her friend to get home, and (4) we should come back to the chandelier bar for more drinks (???). I’m over it by this point and want nothing to do with this woman. My friend P is a bit nicer and calms her down, tells her to go back to the bar, and that we’d tell her friend where she is if we find them.
After breakfast, we try A’s phone again. Nothing. It’s 8:30am and time to go. We uber back to the Flamingo, I give $400 more to the VP machine per ritual, and then go up to the room with $8 in singles left in my wallet.
I ended blackjack with $2500ish in cash. **** out of luck but I’m too drunk and tired to care. I barely stay awake to brush my teeth and I’m out as soon as I touch the sheets.
And so comes the pounding. Less than 3 hours after I fall asleep, A rouses me and damn near knocks my door off its hinges. The “everything” they took ended up being an unknown amount of cash - probably a few hundred and definitely not more than $500, all of his credit cards, and his new iPhone. Unfortunate. I get the full rundown as I drink the only liquid left in my room - a glass corona uncapped using my bathroom door boor. My brain at that time thought it would be healthier than the flamingo tap water, a conclusion I remain confident in while sober.
Here’s what we pieced together. Note that he was blackout drunk the whole time and his recollection is affected. A brought fishnets to a handicapped bathroom somewhere for acts he did not further describe. She said she could get him cocaine and to wait there. She leaves the bathroom, he gives her 5 minutes and leaves too. He realizes when he gets out that his phone is missing. He returns to the chandelier bar, where — what he thought was LVMPD but actually ended up being Cosmo security guards — waited for him. They handcuff him, bring him to a weird downstairs basement area, threaten him with legal action, and accuse him of various offenses. He tells them he’s missing his phone, they say they don’t care and to get the **** off their property. He sobers up in that room for an hour or so, then goes RIGHT BACK to the chandelier bar to look for his phone lol. The guards are waiting there again and snap re-cuff him, bring him back to the same room, and tell him in no uncertain terms that they will call the real police if he doesn’t leave. He takes the L and walks toward the cab line to go home. He opens his wallet to see how he’s going to pay and finds the news went from bad to worse. Credit cards and cash gone too. Fishnets must have been a real pro. So he walks to my room.
I have no words. I bring him to the forum shoppes and front him the cash for a new iPhone. On the way out, I pause by the hindu statute outside Hell’s Kitchen and enjoy the daytime air and a moment to reflect. What a ****ing story. We get back to the flamingo by 1:30pm and go straight to bed, planning to do it all again Sunday night.
Krug, irish car bombs, vodka shots, green tea shots, macallan 25, gin & tonic, and **** knows what else. My headache splits across my skull and the incessant pounding on my hotel room door doesn’t help. I glance at the alarm clock: 12:15pm. I have to dodge the nippers of booze and clothes littering my floor to find a jersey and basketball shorts. The knocking continues. ****, I think, these are some aggressive housekeepers. I open the door to tell them to come back later and as I turn the handle, the weight of a large man leaning against it overpowers me. I’m knocked back on my ass. He steps inside.
“Bro,” and I recognize my friend, still wearing his clothes from Saturday night. “They took everything.”
We start off Saturday afternoon by running things up; some of the boys go to the Caesars sportsbook and watch their college basketball bets, others play roulette.
I go with one friend to grab lunch (we split Ramsey’s fish & chips and in n out) then play blackjack in Flamingo’s semi-renovated HL room. I break even for a long period before getting up to $2500ish and leaving with a small profit.
I put the profit on the Red Wings / VGK game under (6.5 goals). We reconvene at NoMad Bar, which is ideal for pre-Knights game drinking. I was less than impressed with the food, bad seating, slow service, and the unavailability of a few signature cocktails. But it ultimately gets the job done and we start to feel a slight buzz before we head to T-Mobile. A few guys mash VGK -1.5, some of them ride the under, and others still parlay VGK and the over.
T-Mobile is awesome, of course. One of the best hockey stadiums in the country with no bad seats, I pound three more margaritas down here. The Red Wings are tired at the end of a long road trip and it’s apparent in the first - VGK get the puck in front of the goal at will. But a couple of minutes into the third period the Knights err and it’s 2-2. We lock in and get loud, the knights score, the Red Wings equalize again, and the stadium is fired up at 3-3. The under is all but dead, but I want the rest of my gang to win. Marchessault eventually finds the winner off a beautiful whip from Eichel, then adds the empty netter for the boys to cover the puck line. Hell of a game.
But after, the real pregame begins. We head back up to the Flamingo to pound shots in my room and pump up energy. I reserved a limo for our ride to the Palazzo, where we begin with a little jaunt through its bars. My brother works at Bar Luca and comps us some shots then we vibe at Electra for a minute but it’s dead for a Saturday around midnight.
We roll out, now to Circa and Legacy Club for another elite view of the city. I ordered a package there so we had a table reserved, a couple bottles of alcohol and charcuterie spread, and some cheap sparkling wine. Finally here we get the boys to an appropriate level of intoxication. (side note: the servers at Legacy Club are smokes and wear the skimpiest dresses. They almost make up for the fact that LC has a 90/10 dudes/females ratio at all times). One of our group starts to fall asleep on the couch, smh, and he’s gotta uber back. The rest of us, plus a couple new friends we made at Circa, go downstairs and wander Fremont. We hit bars at the D and Nugget before the call is made: limo to Sapphire. I would estimate a group BAC of .12 at this point.
We get a table near the bar but a bit back from the main stage. I don’t have a lot to say about what went on here except the bachelor refused two lap dances, one guy spent $2500 in a back room, and I got us shots of don julio 1942 to try to loosen up some of the tighter butts in those seats. The dancers on this Sunday morning were good but I was expecting a bit more tbh. As was my guy A, who himself is getting married in early April and expected a bit more “wildness” out of the strip club. I guess we didn’t bring enough $1s to draw that out.
Half our squad, a bit uncomfortable in the first place, leaves back to the hotel. I suggest one more spot and uber the final 6 of us to the Cosmopolitan for the chandelier bar. At this point, it’s 4:30am. We arrive and one guy pulls a funny move: he gets out of our uber and turns around, rather than walk with us into the casino, for a second uber to go back to the Flamingo. Maybe he had premonition, maybe he was just tired. Cya anyway. Down to 5.
We get to the bottom floor of the chandelier and it’s almost empty. A buys green tea shots to get things going when he’s approached by a woman who is built like a defensive tackle, or for my non-ball-knowing friends, a medium-sized refrigerator. She’s also got a tied-off jean shirt with a couple buttons performing A LOT of work. She puts her best flirty voice on with A, tells him she’s here with her friends, and I convince the rest of my group to let A do his thing while we see how it plays out. Eventually her taller friend arrives, dressed in boot heels, fishnets, jean shorts, and a skimpy top. Classic downtown LA streetwalker look, to be honest. A falls for the bait like a Vegas rookie. They get to chatting when A loudly asks her if she knows where he can get some blow. This draws the attention of the bartender.
Someone else in our group starts to feel sick. It’s just before 7am at this point. I walk him to the bathroom and he regurgitates the liquor directly into a toilet. A has disappeared and stopped answering his phone; we’ve gotta move on. I get the 4 of us non-A boys into the Henry for breakfast to soak up what’s left in our stomachs. Unfortunately, we get seated in the back room - those who have been know that the wall is tiled with windows open to the casino floor. Right after my chicken and biscuits arrive, the defensive tackle spots us through the window and yells over. “Hey what the **** your friend do to my girl?” We’ve gotta get rid of her. She comes over and yells that (1) her friend and our guy left together, (2) she doesn’t have a phone, (3) she’s relying on her friend to get home, and (4) we should come back to the chandelier bar for more drinks (???). I’m over it by this point and want nothing to do with this woman. My friend P is a bit nicer and calms her down, tells her to go back to the bar, and that we’d tell her friend where she is if we find them.
After breakfast, we try A’s phone again. Nothing. It’s 8:30am and time to go. We uber back to the Flamingo, I give $400 more to the VP machine per ritual, and then go up to the room with $8 in singles left in my wallet.
I ended blackjack with $2500ish in cash. **** out of luck but I’m too drunk and tired to care. I barely stay awake to brush my teeth and I’m out as soon as I touch the sheets.
And so comes the pounding. Less than 3 hours after I fall asleep, A rouses me and damn near knocks my door off its hinges. The “everything” they took ended up being an unknown amount of cash - probably a few hundred and definitely not more than $500, all of his credit cards, and his new iPhone. Unfortunate. I get the full rundown as I drink the only liquid left in my room - a glass corona uncapped using my bathroom door boor. My brain at that time thought it would be healthier than the flamingo tap water, a conclusion I remain confident in while sober.
Here’s what we pieced together. Note that he was blackout drunk the whole time and his recollection is affected. A brought fishnets to a handicapped bathroom somewhere for acts he did not further describe. She said she could get him cocaine and to wait there. She leaves the bathroom, he gives her 5 minutes and leaves too. He realizes when he gets out that his phone is missing. He returns to the chandelier bar, where — what he thought was LVMPD but actually ended up being Cosmo security guards — waited for him. They handcuff him, bring him to a weird downstairs basement area, threaten him with legal action, and accuse him of various offenses. He tells them he’s missing his phone, they say they don’t care and to get the **** off their property. He sobers up in that room for an hour or so, then goes RIGHT BACK to the chandelier bar to look for his phone lol. The guards are waiting there again and snap re-cuff him, bring him back to the same room, and tell him in no uncertain terms that they will call the real police if he doesn’t leave. He takes the L and walks toward the cab line to go home. He opens his wallet to see how he’s going to pay and finds the news went from bad to worse. Credit cards and cash gone too. Fishnets must have been a real pro. So he walks to my room.
I have no words. I bring him to the forum shoppes and front him the cash for a new iPhone. On the way out, I pause by the hindu statute outside Hell’s Kitchen and enjoy the daytime air and a moment to reflect. What a ****ing story. We get back to the flamingo by 1:30pm and go straight to bed, planning to do it all again Sunday night.
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