Most of us had just turned 21 and decided to go to Vegas during Winter Break, our junior year of college, 2005. On a side note: We had early birthdays. There are two instances in life when having an early birthday pays off -- 1) When you turn 16, 2) When you turn 21. Every other birthday you just become older. Our age and the time of year alone should be enough to give an indication of the debauchery that occurred.
Iíll deal with the non-interesting particulars: we stayed at Paris, ate so many meals at Caesars Palace food court that people probably thought we worked there and stayed for four nights -- the duration long enough for almost everyone on the trip.
We were fortunate enough to have a connection in Vegas that got us right into all the clubs. Two of the four nights we got bottle service which made for interesting post-club adventures.
I had one friend, for example, who somehow lost $800 in one night -- going from up on the trip to seriously down. It probably had to do with the fact that he fell asleep at the blackjack table. Literally. I was sitting there next to him when he conked out.
We were gambling at Paris and itís a shock to me that the casino manager didnít walk up to my friend and offer him a suite for life -- all for the purpose of procreating as many degenerates as possible. To no surprise, he managed to be the big loser that weekend, becoming acutely aware of why casinos serve alcohol for free.
While the aforementioned friend always went down to the casino floor earlier than the rest of us and gambled away the GDP of a small country, the rest of us spent time in our rooms getting dressed.
I love gambling. I find it fun, entertaining and even like the strategy of many of the games. But, I love the Vegas nightlife as much. So most of my friends and I found it important to get ready and look our best.
It was on this trip I learned that wearing a sport coat isnít necessary, in fact in can be detrimental. It seems like every guy brings two things to Vegas, money and a sport coat. As if wearing one is some sort of fashion necessity.
Yes, I understand that Vegas is a big deal and you want to dress the part. But, when I see half the guys in a club wearing one, I feel it necessary to let them know they didnít win the Masters. Wearing a sport coat doesnít make you stand out. In fact, you blend in.
Being a Vegas Virgin, the wardrobe I packed required I wear a sport coat at least one of the nights which contributed to the awkward look of my group of seven friends sitting at table in Tangerine (yeah, remember Tangerine?) at Treasure Island looking as if we just left a dental convention at MGM Grand.
Our uniform-like wardrobe did nothing to damper our nights out, though.
The bottle service certainly helped, allowing us to mingle in the crowd and bring people -- ok, girls -- back to the table. But, it also provided us with no lines for the bathroom and free reign to go in and out of the club.
At one point at Tangerine, another friend and I (not the degenerate) went outside for a 20-minute blackjack session, went back inside and the girls we were talking to on the dance floor had thought we just went to the bathroom.
Ultimately, though, we all survived, came home and are thriving. In fact, that same group of people has gone back to Vegas again. With new stories and memories. What was the most important thing I discovered on my first trip to Sin City? Some guys just canít handle Vegas. But, we can.