All right, I'm going to cut to the chase here and get to it. I camped in my room at the Imperial Palace for about two hours watching Sportscenter and getting liquored up on some Citrus Vodka and 7-up before venturing onto the strip around 11pm. My destination was the MGM Grand and the club within its bowels--Studio 54.Now, for anybody who has never been to vegas, it's a very curious thing--all the hotels look pretty close together. It looks like you could walk from Treasure Island to Mandalay Bay (South end of the new part of the strip to north end) in like twenty minutes. Well let me tell you, that is sheer fallacy. The MGM Grand looks close to the Imperial Palace much in the same way that it looks like you could reach up and pull the moon from the night sky. It looks close, but it aint.
In vintage non-thinking Solo Clubber fashion, I treked through the freezing cold with drink in hand (great thing about Vegas--public alcohol consumption) from the Imperial Palace to the MGM Grand. It was nearly midnight by the time my frostbitten ass rolled up to the MGM (to be fair, I stopped at O'Shea's for about 15 minutes, just long enough to lose $100). But hell, it's Vegas, people don't even start going to the clubs until 1am, right?
The nice thing about 54 is no massive line to wait in. It's one of the oldest super clubs in vegas--when i say
"oldest" I mean it's been around for like 7 years. Which is an eternity in club years. It's like the Bea Arthur of Vegas Clubs, but it's nice not having to wait. Tao, Jet, LAX, Pure...the newer clubs all have much to recommend them but the lines are insurmountable at times. Tao especially is tough...you are not getting in there without chicks in tow. In this case, I wanted instant gratification, I wanted to get into the club immediately. Studio 54 delivered on that. It was the only gratification -- instant or otherwise -- I would get all night.
A couple of $10 drinks later, I'm scanning the place and it's looking pretty grim. Ratio sucks, and the chicks that are there have already attracted several douchebags like flies to shit. Since it was only like 12:45, I was ready to cut out to Rum Jungle at Mandalay Bay. But I figured, "what the fuck, let's cut through the dancefloor and "troll for call-outs" (i.e. attention, hits, looks, etc.).
A couple of $10 drinks later, I'm scanning the place and it's looking pretty grim. Ratio sucks, and the chicks that are there have already attracted several douchebags like flies to shit. Since it was only like 12:45, I was ready to cut out to Rum Jungle at Mandalay Bay. But I figured, "what the fuck, let's cut through the dancefloor and "troll for call-outs" (i.e. attention, hits, looks, etc.).
Now what happened next was a good thing. But watch how quickly I shitfucked it.
I walk like ten feet onto the dance floor and all of a sudden I get laser locked by a blonde's eyeballs, and since eye contact is the whole point of the thing I approached her as nonchalantly and soberly as possible (I was already a little unsteady from the grog).
Now they say that a girl usually knows within 5 minutes of meeting a dude whether or not she'll fuck him. I actually think that's wrong; they actually decide before they go out that night --maybe even subconciously--whether they'll fuck any guy that night. If she decides yes, then all dudes she meets that night are essentially auditioning for the right to be that guy.
So as you'll see at the end of this, once I invariably fumble the ball like usual, the question will be either whether i failed the audition or there was no role to audition for. You be the judge.
So anyways, Solo Clubber is not a bad dancer--having been to dance clubs 600+ necessitates learning to move somewhat. We dance for maybe 5 minutes before I make voice contact (always a tough move...gotta be something funny). Being the social genius I am, I think I said "Hi." Anyways we dance for awhile and things seem to be going pretty well. She's 23, she's in Vegas for the first time, she's from Kansas, she's with her friends, staying at the Tropicana, blah, blah, blah.
Now even though I didn't realize it, this was the key point of the night. Choose your own adventure; what should I do?
1) Tell her that I'm leaving
2) Dance with her some more
3) Tell her I'll see her later
4) Buy her a drink
Monday Morning QB says go with 3, but numbskull I am, I went with 4. In the history of time, buying a chick a drink after 10 minutes hardly ever closes any deal, unless you look like Tom Selleck circa 1982. It just gives her control and makes me look like a fucking puppy dog. But we went off the dance floor and got a drink.
But hold on, that is only the first of my litany of fuck-ups.
I did ask her if she wanted to go to the casino, which wasn't a horrible move on my part, especially since she said yes. And we sat outside in some casino lounge (can't remember name) and chatted a bit (another gaffe by me). She sat on my lap and we macked a little bit (some tongue) so of course I'm thinking there's something going on here. But you'd think I would've kept going with that. But no, I had this genius idea: "Hey let's go gamble!"
Now, I have pulled this maneuver several times in Vegas in many situations and very seldom does it ever lead to anything positive. Because what happens a lot is that usually the people gambling at 3am are dirtbag dudes that cant get inside the club because either a) they're dressed like shit and wearing sports gear, sandals, etc. or b) feel weird about solo clubbing (heh). So anyways, she's getting hit on by other guys at the table while I'm trying to teach her craps. I'm betting my cash while she watches.
Now, the reason why I really enjoy craps -- and the reason why I know chicks enjoy it -- is that you get to roll the dice. Control your own destiny, so to speak. Chicks love the action of that, they love the power, everybody's watching them, they're the center of attention. So naturally she wanted to roll.
Now as if my ship wasn't already sinking beneath the weigh of all my blunders, the following blunder was the U-Boat that torpedoed by destroyer:
I gave her chips to play with.
Now this is a blunder for several reasons, but the main one is I didn't need to do it. The dealers would have gladly let her roll in my stead even if she herself wasn't betting. So I am a complete and total dumbass for that and pretty much shot myself in the foot there.
And of course she goes on a hot streak and hits the point like 5 times (if you don't understand what the "point" is in craps, google it). Now she's the hit of the table. She hardly remembered I'm there anymore.
I'm getting depressed all over again just thinking about it. Suffice to say, I think she ended up winning close to $100 (off my $10). The only positive for me was that I recouped some of my O'Shea's losses, maybe like $70 of it (now I can get that surgery I always wanted).
The night ended at 5am when she said she had to go back to the room. Seeing my night going down the drain, I asked her if she wanted to come back with me, assuming she'd probably say no. She did. The reasoning made no sense, something about having to pack up even though her flight wasn't until the next evening.
Scoreboard says I'm down by 3 touchdowns and there's :02 on the clock. All I could do at this point was try to be graceful and walk her to the hotel. One thing I've learned about situations like these is that you can't change minds once they're made up. Either I didn't make the cut or she wasn't looking for anything that night.
About the only smart thing I did was all night was hail a cab back to the Imperial Palace. I was too dejected to make that all-too-familiar walk back home in frigid weather. Solo.
Now even though I didn't realize it, this was the key point of the night. Choose your own adventure; what should I do?
1) Tell her that I'm leaving
2) Dance with her some more
3) Tell her I'll see her later
4) Buy her a drink
Monday Morning QB says go with 3, but numbskull I am, I went with 4. In the history of time, buying a chick a drink after 10 minutes hardly ever closes any deal, unless you look like Tom Selleck circa 1982. It just gives her control and makes me look like a fucking puppy dog. But we went off the dance floor and got a drink.
But hold on, that is only the first of my litany of fuck-ups.
I did ask her if she wanted to go to the casino, which wasn't a horrible move on my part, especially since she said yes. And we sat outside in some casino lounge (can't remember name) and chatted a bit (another gaffe by me). She sat on my lap and we macked a little bit (some tongue) so of course I'm thinking there's something going on here. But you'd think I would've kept going with that. But no, I had this genius idea: "Hey let's go gamble!"
Now, I have pulled this maneuver several times in Vegas in many situations and very seldom does it ever lead to anything positive. Because what happens a lot is that usually the people gambling at 3am are dirtbag dudes that cant get inside the club because either a) they're dressed like shit and wearing sports gear, sandals, etc. or b) feel weird about solo clubbing (heh). So anyways, she's getting hit on by other guys at the table while I'm trying to teach her craps. I'm betting my cash while she watches.
Now, the reason why I really enjoy craps -- and the reason why I know chicks enjoy it -- is that you get to roll the dice. Control your own destiny, so to speak. Chicks love the action of that, they love the power, everybody's watching them, they're the center of attention. So naturally she wanted to roll.
Now as if my ship wasn't already sinking beneath the weigh of all my blunders, the following blunder was the U-Boat that torpedoed by destroyer:
I gave her chips to play with.
Now this is a blunder for several reasons, but the main one is I didn't need to do it. The dealers would have gladly let her roll in my stead even if she herself wasn't betting. So I am a complete and total dumbass for that and pretty much shot myself in the foot there.
And of course she goes on a hot streak and hits the point like 5 times (if you don't understand what the "point" is in craps, google it). Now she's the hit of the table. She hardly remembered I'm there anymore.
I'm getting depressed all over again just thinking about it. Suffice to say, I think she ended up winning close to $100 (off my $10). The only positive for me was that I recouped some of my O'Shea's losses, maybe like $70 of it (now I can get that surgery I always wanted).
The night ended at 5am when she said she had to go back to the room. Seeing my night going down the drain, I asked her if she wanted to come back with me, assuming she'd probably say no. She did. The reasoning made no sense, something about having to pack up even though her flight wasn't until the next evening.
Scoreboard says I'm down by 3 touchdowns and there's :02 on the clock. All I could do at this point was try to be graceful and walk her to the hotel. One thing I've learned about situations like these is that you can't change minds once they're made up. Either I didn't make the cut or she wasn't looking for anything that night.
About the only smart thing I did was all night was hail a cab back to the Imperial Palace. I was too dejected to make that all-too-familiar walk back home in frigid weather. Solo.
But such is the legacy of Solo Clubber. Nights alone with just a bucket of lube and my online porn collection.
