A typical night in Las Vegas

Well, okay. A typical night for me is sitting in my teeny, tiny apartment with my cat. But to make it more interesting, I'll tell you about the craziest Vegas night I've had yet. It's the Friday after Thanksgiving, and I meet up with my friend Andrew at the Double Down Saloon, a notorious punk bar in the heart of the Fruit Loop (gay district). We proceed to watch some bands and drink too much Ass Juice (I wasn't brave enough to go for the other house special, a bacon martini). Eventually, Andrew leaves.

I'm too drunk to drive home, so I wobble over to the hot dog stand across the street, which appears to be run by a loose coalition of drag queens and bull dykes. I get a hot dog, eat it, and keep walking down to the Hard Rock Hotel/Casino, home of the best penny slots in town.

Now it's about 3:30 in the a.m., and some tourist from Washington, DC decides he wants to make out with me. He's not bad looking, and I am still kinda drunk, so I consider it for about 15 seconds, then extract myself from his embrace. Making out with random tourists is probably frowned upon by locals. After I park myself in front of the slots for a while, and take a few more laps around the casino, I sober up enough to drive. When I wake up the next morning, I feel like hell, but I'm also pretty excited about my adventure. Now I just need to start having more of them.