Monday, November 05, 2007


I hate Vegas. No, I take it back. I mean to say I hate the last few hours of Vegas.

For me the perfect amount of Vegas time is two nights. Anything longer than that usually results in great pain, and aggravation. The last time I went to Vegas, after three nights I decided I had enough. The fun of Vegas wears off quickly, and soon after all you see and hear are striped shirted douchebags high fiving and yelling. During the third night, after having been on a bender since the minute I arived, I decided that I needed to leave Vegas immediately. Nevermind the fact that I had a flight leaving Vegas at 3pm, I decided that the best time to leave Vegas was right at that moment.

So, I left the club, packed up all my things, and took off for the aiport. I didn't tell anyone I was with that I was leaving. Much of my memory of that night is fuzzy, I pretty much only remember leaving the club. The next thing I remember was being jolted awake as my plane landed in Los Angeles. I had a temporary freak out, not knowing exactly where I was for a few seconds. In my lap rested a half eaten croissant sandwich, and I had about 15 voicemails on my phone from my friends wondering where the hell I went.

I got off the plane at 9am, stumbled to my car and drove home. At 9:35am, after I had just entered my apartment, I realized that I had left all my baggage at the airport, so I had to go back. Luckily my bag was still there, lonely in the baggage carousel. Vegas: 1, Eric: 0

I went to Vegas again, over the weekend for my Cousin's wedding, and this time, I was only staying for two nights. Perfect. This Vegas trip was going to be a success!

Unfortunately, a clean escape from Vegas ended up being a pipe dream when US Airways canceled my 2:30pm flight out on Sunday. Bastards! A customer service representative told me that there were no more flights leaving Vegas, and that I would have to fly a different airline, or stay in Vegas for one more night. I chose to fly another airline. I bought a ticket on Southwest, for an 8pm departure. Ughhhh....Vegas:2, Eric:0

Anyway, here are shitty pics from the weekend, taken from my phone. There are no exciting photos.

I stayed at the Riviera Hotel, which is pretty trashy, but that's what you get when you don't make hotel reservations until the very last minute. How trashy is it? Here is the Riviera's take on wireless internet:

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When I landed, I had to go to the store to buy socks, and shoes. That's what you have to do when you pack at the very last minute. Here are two guys that are totally shopped out.

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My parents came over to check out my hotel situation, and immediately started talking shit. Mom goes "Eric, your hotel room doesn't even offer shower caps". Ah shit Mom! You totally nailed the thing I hated most about this hotel! No fucking shower caps! Yeaarrghhh! I mean, right? Wet hair, the horror.

She started talking some more shit here:
"What are these, your sister's pants?"

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Gotta love the jokes. Go back to your fancy room in New York, New York or whatever the hell that hotel is called.

Here my Dad, wearing Costco's finest goes:
"Hey, I gotta live with this woman"

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The jokes don't stop. I was stuck in the middle of an Asian flavored comedy sandwich.

Here my mom demonstrates the one sip of beer she had in order to get drunk enough to go on her first date with my dad centuries ago.
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I have no other pics other than this one of my Uncle reading an old poem at the wedding dinner

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I told you the pictures weren't exciting. I don't have a fancy digital camera anymore. All these were taken on my phone. All the pictures taken at the bars and clubs are on other people's cameras. Lame. Actually, perhaps its a good thing. I don't need to see myself falling over stuff.

yo that was quick! your job description should be blogger. at least dad would be able to remember that! that airport fiasco sucked more than anything has ever sucked.
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