12:20am- Determined to be the good girlfriend who indulges boyfriend with view of breasts-not-my-own, arrive at the Forty Deuce in Mandalay Bay. What is billed as Burlesque turns out to be warmed over drill team dancing with tops on, thank you. Mid-performance, dancer smashes lightbulb with 5-inch heel sending shrapnel flying into crowd. Seriously regret front row seat.
1:13am- Sitting at the video poker arena/bar inside the Luxor, boyfriend and I meet up with Steve the Conference-goer Guy. He’s from Long Island. He’s out on business. He’s got a loving family. And, as it turns out, a penchant for opportunistic, gore-filled murder sprees.
2:02am- Some douchebag named Artie Lange of Howard Stern fame is performing at Luxor. It’s an All-Douchebag bill apparently, seeing as how Carrot Top is squatting here as well. After his performance, Mr. Lange comes sauntering out of show with bimbo women draped upon his doughy frame. People pull out camera phones while he preens and poses in smugness. Appalled by this awkward dance of minor celebrity worship, I take off running towards his beer belly target. Hitting him square, we both knock to the ground where overreactive groupies descend, tearing me limb from limb.
11:46am- Adorable boyfriend wants to enjoy birthday lunch at Del Taco. Who am I to deny such a simple request? Order Nacho Supreme. Contract supreme case of E. Coli.
12:33pm- Riding “The Deuce” down the Las Vegas Strip. (No, not a euphemism, it is simply the new double-decker bus that drives so slowly, you’d think time has stood still.) Sit next to hugely irritating Southern girl who complains every split second, “We’re not even moving! Why aren’t we moving? *Sigh* *Sigh* God DAYY-MN it!” Unable to deal any longer, do Nestea plunge off doubled-deck.
1:32pm- Take elevator up to top of Stratosphere where I receive phone call from boyfriend’s birthday surprise. Excuse self to bathroom to return call and make secret plans to meet up in hour. To cover up for extended stay in bathroom while boyfriend waited impatiently, lie about sudden bought of intestinal distress. As punishment for dishonesty, fates sock me with fatal dose of irony.
1:42pm- Taking in awesome view of city while idiots put selves in peril on various “thrill-rides” atop Stratosphere. Shake head in self-righteousness. Causes unexpected dizziness. Lose footing and plummet over 100 stories.
3:02pm- Arrive at Hilton so boyfriend can go hog-wild at Star Trek experience. Little does he know, best friend has flown in from Seattle to surprise him at Quark’s Bar. Get to bar, no sign of best friend. Awkwardly excuse self. Make frantic call. Go back to bar. Wait. Still no friend. Aneurysm.
3:14pm- Best friend and friend of best friend finally appear. Boyfriend’s face is total confusion. Suddenly, he makes connection. Face lights up like spotlight atop Luxor. Die happy.
3:33pm- Attacked by Borg.
4:19pm- Friend of best friend wins $1000 at video poker. Green with what I think is envy. Turns out to be meningitis.
5:01pm- Ready to party, order dry-ice-and-rum-filled Warp Core Breach at Quark's Bar. After three sips, am beamed to a planet far, far away where I am tasered for mixing sci-fi metaphors.
5:45pm- Get picture taken on deck of Enterprise. Boyfriend sits in Captain’s Chair with me and best friend flanking him for good measure. Attempting realism, play-act pressing buttons on control panel. Does not turn out well for anyone involved.
7:55pm- Attend Tournament of Kings dinner show at Excalibur (where signage proclaims, “I Rule!). Me + Mead + Jousting = Impalement
9:41pm- Am seduced into signing up for Casino Player’s Club Card. Kick self over and over causing massive blood clot.
11:02pm- Blurry-eyed and overly-intoxicated, run into Steve the Conference-goer Guy again. Damn, that is one business professional with an appetite for carnage.
Other than that, pretty good day.