Mmmm... no adult supervision. No Father, no Stepmother, just a room in Vegas, a pint of Smirnoff, a couple of overpriced energy drinks, and little fucking hotel glasses from which to drink my self-mixed beverages.
I think I found my soul mate in the girl who bell hopped my luggage to my room. I told her that I was in to dive bars as she rolled my luggage to 19-233 at the Monte Carlo and she told me "yeah, I hate paying $18 for vodka/Red Bulls." Vodka... Red Bulls... the staple of my alcoholic diet. Her skin glistened from hauling my baggage. I have a hard time hitting on girls while they're working. I think it's because the environment in which a girl is working is one that they're essentially paid to be nice to me. My degree in communication has served only one purpose: getting me laid... never missing the signs. Well, almost never. When a girl is working it is very hard to tell if they like you or they're acting like they like you for tips. Waitresses, bellhops, strippers, bartenders... all very hard to figure out. Fodder for discussion, indeed. It's odd because every girl I've dated for an extended period of time since 1998 has been a bartender, stripper, waitress, etc. How do I do it?
Alcohol. Lots of it.
I'm buzzed. Need to stop the blogging now. Booze, an ATM, and a single deck blackjack table. Recipe for success, or disaster; but definitely fun.
goochout.
2 comments:
I'm confused....did you switch hotels during your trip? You rock!
THAT's what I need! A communications degree! Of course! How did I miss that one!? Okay...I'm going to go enroll at PSU tomorrow. By next semester, I should be able to get laid. Gooch, you're my hero!
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