Marcus
Boyd’s Excellent Adventure: West Coast Edition
The
third installment features a bachelor party in Las Vegas and a wedding in San
Diego. Let’s skip the dinner and hop right into the shower, Sandusky style
(Heads up, if you don’t want to read Jerry Sandusky/Penn State jokes today,
stop reading immediately.)
First
off, fuck you Southwest Airlines. As awesome as waiving the checking fee for
your first bag is, your open seating policy blows. People need structure when
it comes to airline seating, not the freedom to choose based on your boarding
position. Perhaps I could have enjoyed my five hour flight if I could get my
drink on with Hennessy and Stains, instead of being isolated by a very drunk
and very ugly trio of Maryland ladies. Even Hennessy wouldn’t put it in their
Sanduskys, and that says a lot.
I
needed this Vegas trip like Penn State needs a good PR firm: pretty fucking
badly. Vegas is unlike any other city I have been to. It has enough activity
for the family man, the drunkard, and the degenerate gambler. Luckily I am two
of the three, so I was stoked. My first contact with a table game led me to the
28th all-time leading scorer in NBA history, Tim Duncan. It was
pretty surreal. Not because he is a celebrity (Not that I’m a Hollywood player,
but I’ve seen a decent amount in my lifetime), but because he was appearing
like I would: t-shirt, backpack, hanging out with his douchebag white friend,
and playing on a $10 craps table. Sure, he was betting beyond $10 per play, but
not by much. Either way, we all walked away up a good amount of money.
Unfortunately, this would be the only time during the two day stay I’d be in
the black. The one thing I hate about these trips is my unbelievable luck early
in multiple day gambling excursions. Some of you are reading this and saying
“Why don’t you just walk away when you are up?” These are the same people who
only play slots if they go to a casino. I will not go into detail of my actual
lost wagers, but I can be referred to as Victim #10.
Vegas
isn’t just about gambling. It’s about hanging out with your friends (14 made
the trip overall.) Two of the group outings that stand out are the group dinner
and the Club Haze bottle service night. We went to a very nice dinner at Tender
Steakhouse at the Luxor. We had a great time. Unfortunately, no one in the
surrounding area did. We ruined the dinner of at least ten tables. Not everyone
is a huge fan of 14 guys screaming the same four stories over and over again,
throwing things at one another, and quoting TV shows and movies repeatedly
(This trip was sponsored by “South Park” and “MacGruber”.) Then again, if you
ain’t running with it, run from it, motherfucker. If the PSU scandal would have
occurred at this point in our trip, we would have been asked to leave after
some of the jokes we broke out on Saturday. Also, if you go to a steakhouse,
unless you are a vegetarian, order a steak. Don’t order ravioli to prove how
Italian you are. We already figured that out with the blowout and the flashy
t-shirts. As for the bottle service, nothing is greater than buying a bottle
for 10 times worth its value to show off to a bunch of people. We figured Club
Haze would work since we had already donated a substantial amount of money at
their casino, so why not continue with the charity. Luckily, our friend Sasha
had worked in Vegas previously and knew what he was doing. It was my first
actual experience with a person Reaganing as he was in the zone, getting us in,
getting us a good rate, even getting us a new bottle on the house when two
Asian ladies Hiroshimaed into our table. True to the real Reagan, he even
became a drooling, incoherent corpse near the end of the night. When it was all
said and done, we spent a lot of money to treat that city however we felt like.
For me, it concluded with seeing the sun rise at Denny’s and a total of about
four hours of sleep in Sin City.
With
Vegas in our rear view mirror, we headed into sunny San Diego. I should say it’s
normally sunny as it was 55 degrees and raining all day Friday. We traveled
over 3,000 miles to get the same weather as they do in Pittsburgh. However, it
was perfect weather to catch up on sleep and to continue abusing my liver with
booze. Friday night involved the rehearsal dinner and the Gaslamp District,
where we continued to be loud and obnoxious. Saturday, it involved all of us to
dress nicely and try to shut the hell up for the ceremony. We did a good job
with that, but continued with our debauchery afterwards. I am not going to go
over all the wedding details as it went just like every wedding you have been
to. However, I am going to offer the wedding photographer two tips of advice.
First, don’t tell our group to take a gay picture with the groom if your
definition of gay is silly. Instead, you got about eight pictures so gay, it
would make Jerry Sandusky blush. Second, don’t tell us to circle around you as
you lay down in the middle of the circle, as if you were a cookie or cracker.
That’s pretty much a batting practice fastball and we don’t miss batting
practice fastballs, we knock them out of the park.
Considering
I’ve been drinking for ten years, I cannot recall another as destructive four
day period as this trip out west. I am still not 100% recovered from it,
realized how old as fuck I am becoming, and now have some friends who will
probably never be the same. It could have been worse; I could have been facing
40 counts of molesting minors or been fired from my job.
-Written by Marcus Boyd
Next
week: The Notre Dame vs. Maryland experience, featuring Tank Bus
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