Yesterday was a long day.

First, I got to go file a police report about some crap. Look for the story on Law & Order in the Fall. I will be playing myself, and I think I'd like Patricia Velasquez to play my love interest. Not that the story really has a love interest, but I'm maintaining creative control here, and I say it needs one. A hot one.

Then I went to Buffalo Wild Wings for my customary naked tenders. They were out of Newcastle so I had a heterosexual Blue Moon (555) instead.

Once she finally got off work, I went and hung out with WeirdGirl. Then we ended up sleeping until about 9:30 when she had to fucking go back to work because of some big bartending emergency.

So, I came home and was debating going back out when HatGirl called.

HatGirl?

Yay?

Damn right, yay!

She'd been thinking about going to Rich O's, even though it was pretty late, so of course I broke all sorts of traffic and physics laws getting there. But it was too late. They were already threatening last-call, so HatGirl wasn't coming. Oh yeah, I had a yummy Upland Winter Warmer (220) while I was there.

When they started kicking everyone out of Rich O's, I texted WeirdGirl. She was still working. So I went over to this Mac's place to listen to karaoke. I'd been thinking that maybe NotHideousGirl would be there, but I think she was still watching her nieces or something.

You know what's weird? When a cute young girl, who you never saw before in your life, follows you into the men's restroom at Mac's and talks to you while you valiantly attempt to pee anyway, then she drapes herself all over you so she can get by the doorman without getting carded.

You know what else is weird? When you're just sitting at the bar, kinda listening to karaoke with maybe half a percent of your brain, and you recognize a voice. Then you turn around and it's your uncle Wayne who's running the karaoke at the place.

I ended up having a couple Newcastles (5740) and talking to various people about various crap, like how rap music always gives me the urge to start killing whities. I tried to talk to PeeGirl, but I'd already served my purpose with her. Her friend actually seemed more interested in talking to me, but she was with some dork.

Then I came home at about 3:00. I was going to go to White Castle, but I forgot.

I was pretty fucking tired when I finally got home last night. Way more tired than I should have been, I think. I mean, the switch back to EDT gave me three bonus hours, so it was suddenly like I'd gotten up at 6:00 instead of 3:00. And I'd had at least three hours of sleep the night before, so WTF?

If I could sleep on airplanes it would be different. But I can't. All I can manage is to sort of zone out for a few seconds until my head falls and then I almost break my neck jerking my head back upright.

So, when I finally got home, I was very tired. While waiting for my luggage, I called my sister to let her know I'd arrived safely. I emailed RockGirl and WeirdGirl with the same message. I texted NotHideousGirl a few times. She wanted me to meet her at The Pub in Louisville. I declined. She called me gay.

So I went home and took a nap for a couple of hours.

I ended up going to Rich O's at about 10:00. TremensGirl moved from the throne so I could sit there. It was nice of her, but I didn't ask her to move. People all think I'm an asshole about that chair.

Still feeling pretty tired, all I had to drink was a glass and a half of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1932). I traded a few more text messages with NotHideousGirl. Most of her messages were incomprehensible to me. I asked if anyone around me spoke Woman, and some of the girls tried to translate, but they didn't understand NotHideousGirl's particular dialect of that odd language. I think it's known as the drunk dialect.

Anyway, at one point I misinterpreted one of her messages as saying that she was at Mac's, so I undertook the short drive over there to see her. But the doorman said she hadn't been in. Then I talked to her on the phone and learned that it wasn't Mac's she was at, it was this Third Street Dive place over in Louisville.

So I came home and typed up a couple of blog entries. NotHideousGirl texted me that I suck. I went to sleep.

As I write this, I'm an hour into a three-hour layover in Dallas. I don't really mind it though. Truth be told, I kinda like layovers.

These are the rarest of times for me. These are the times when I get to completely disassociate myself from my life and all its obligations and expectations and assorted bullshit. I get to do nothing, feel nothing, be nothing.

For the next two hours, I get to be LayoverGuy. It's like I just popped into existence for a little while, and I only exist in the here and the now. DFW, 06/15/07, 1300 CDT.

For LayoverGuy, there's no haunting past, and there's no threatening future. I don't affect the world, and the world doesn't affect me. Before I got here, and after I leave here, I'll have a destination. An obligation. But not now. Now I have nothing, and I kinda like it.

For the next two hours, I get to be nobody. Not that nobody is a step up or anything, but it's still a nice change.

I know that the expectations and the other bullshit will be there, waiting to ambush me, in a few more hours. Shit, I've already heard some rustling, betraying bullshit's presence. But, for now at least, I can ignore it all. Because, for now at least, I'm nobody.

The conference ended at 1:00 on Thursday, which was quite cool because it gave me some time to attempt to take a nap. It would have been even cooler if the nap had actually happened, but the construction going on in the room above me prevented any Zs from being caught.

I managed to snap a picture of the construction equipment as it was heading to the room above me. How they fit all that shit into one room I'll never know:

After I gave up on sleep, I took my last bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter down to the race and sports book place. They were perfectly willing to let me use one of their glasses, but they said that some red tape bullshit rule prevented them from opening the bottle. Then this one dude took pity on me and showed me how to open a beer bottle using a lighter. I've already mentioned learning this valuable skill. The Alaskan Smoked Porter (589) was yummy, by the way.

Then I had a Fat Tire (587) and played video poker and glared at my phone for an hour or so. See, I maybe had a date. I wasn't even going to mention it here, in case it didn't pan out. But I had a maybe date with StupidGirl, because my new best friend had told his girlfriend that I was in town, and then his girlfriend had told StupidGirl. She finally called me at 6:00 or so with the excuse that she just got off work.

For those joining me late, I realize that StupidGirl is a terrible nickname. I would change it to SweetGirl, but StupidGirl actually likes her nickname. She says that it gives her a story to tell. So the nickname stays.

Anyway.

StupidGirl and went up to Fremont Street and dicked around there for a while. We were going to have dinner at Main Street Station's brewpub, but they were out of their Triple 7 Porter, and all of their other beers suck. So, in protest, we ate at this Grill Bar Saloon place. I drank Diet Coke, and StupidGirl had some foo-foo thing.

After dinner, we went back to The Strip and took in the volcano at the Mirage and the fountains at Bellagio. Walking down The Strip holding hands with a pretty girl is still one of life's perfect moments for me. I wish I could do it every night. In front of the Bellagio fountains there was much slaking. I think it was all the gushing of the water that gave us the idea. Some lady took our picture slaking in front of the fountains. I gave her my email address so she can send me a copy.

This part is probably going to seem pretty lame, but nothing reportable happened beyond that. I really like StupidGirl, and I'm going to leave it there. Maybe next time I'm in Las Vegas...

First, a public service announcement:

The hosting company that hosts the barenada.com domain has apparently chosen this week to practice sucking dead donkey cocks. Most notably, this has affected all email addressed to or coming from that domain. I estimate that I have three day's worth of incoming and outgoing email jammed-up on the hosting company's servers. Until my hosting company stops practicing sucking dead donkey cocks, email contact with me will be sporadic at best, and nonexistent at worst.

First, I learned that cellphones are banned in the race and sports book areas of casinos not, as I'd thought, because of some tape-delay thing, but because casinos don't want people using the casino's calculated odds and then calling their bookies and placing personal bets.

Second, I learned how to open a beer bottle with a lighter. This is a valuable skill, and quite frankly I'm not sure how I survived to such an advanced age without that skill.

Here's some crap I wrote Wednesday night.

Another Las Vegas Wednesday. Another night when I get to realize that it's the last full night I'll have here for months. Another night when I get to wonder if I could have done more with my week. Well, this time it's more like a certainty than a wondering, and it's more like a lifetime than a week. But, that's just my mood right now. It fluctuates, in case you haven't noticed.

I'm sitting at the Tilted Kilt, drinking a yummy Tilted Kilt (656) and just kind of soaking in the place for the last time. See, it's going away. Probably late this Summer. And I won't be back until November, so tonight is the last time I'll sit at this bar. This sucks. This place has been my main escape and distraction during an awful lot of troubled times. Las Vegas just won't be the same for me without it.

Also, I really like the free shows here at The Rio. Here's a crappy picture:

See, that kind of thing almost never happens back at Rich O's. Not even for DaveFest. Plus, it's kinda funny to see five of the gayest guys on Earth, trying to feign interest as they dance/grope five of the hottest girls on Earth.

Much time passes...

I've stayed here at the Tilted Kilt longer than I'd planned, and I've had more glasses of Tilted Kilt (720) than I'd planned, because I've realized that when this bar goes away, it takes this beer with it. This makes me even more sad, hence the staying and the drinking.

Okay fine, I'll write something. I don't feel like it though, so I'm pretty sure that the quality will suffer greatly.

Yesterday, after the conference sessions mercifully ended, I walked down to New York New York. It's a long walk, but it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. I stuck my head in ESPN Zone to see if this one chick was working. She wasn't. I stuck my head in Nine Fine Irishmen to see if this one Hawaiian bartender was working. He wasn't. So I had a slice of pizza for dinner and watched people idiots for a while.

Then I went to Coyote Ugly to shirt-shop for WeirdGirl and BikerGirl. Coincidentally, they're the same size.

Then I walked over to The MGM Grand and dicked around there for a while. I ended up at this little bar where I had a couple draft glasses of Fat Tire (479). Before my second glass of Fat Tire, I had a small sample of something new.

Peroni (5)

(draft) Good head. The color of very pale piss. Aroma is very slight, and of hops. Probably the palest, definitely the most watery, beer I've ever had. I'm rating this as swill only because it's so inoffensive. Otherwise it would get a rating of piss.

Speakeasy Imperial Wheat (4)

(draft) Clear light amber. Good mound of foam. Smells and tastes like hops and alcohol. Kinda gross, but some people will probably like it.

On the monorail back to The Venetian, there was a hot girl wearing what may be the greatest t-shirt in history:

How dare I wear this fucking shirt in front of your fucking kids?

Back at The Venetian, I tried to take a nap. I was not successful, though, because they're doing some kind of construction in the room directly above me. I hate them, whoever they are.

So I took the free shuttle over to The Rio, and to The Tilted Kilt therein. I sat at the bar and waited for the bartender to recognize me. He did, so that was a bit of validation for me. On tap, they had one of my all-time favorites, Pyramid Tilted Kilt. So yay for that.

I spent the next few hours drinking five Tilted Kilts (640). It's so easy to forget just how good that beer is. I feel a little ashamed for doubting its supremacy.

Besides drinking, I spent time talking with the bartender and a few of the waitresses. It was a fun evening. At 11:00 or so I took a cab back to The Venetian and went to sleep.

Monday morning, circadian rhythms forced me awake a little before 4:00, so I played some video poker and drank diet cokes for a few hours. Yes, I rock.

Then I remembered a couple of cool things. First, there's a free shuttle running between The Rio and Harrah's. Second, there's a monorail servicing the strip.

So, guess what I did.

Guess where I am now? I mean now as I write this, not now as you read it.

I'm at The Rio. Yay! One thousand DavePoints for anyone who guessed correctly.

I love The Rio. It's a much better place for someone like me. The Venetian is for millionaires. So I went to The Rio, and I immediately felt better. Just being in the place did me worlds of good. And then, and then I saw something that lifted my spirits to new heights.

The Tilted Kilt is still there! Yay! I'd heard that it might be gone.

They weren't open yet though, so I couldn't go in, and I couldn't quite read the taps to see what was available. I'll be going there Tuesday night though.

---

I wrote the above stuff sitting at The Rio. Now I'm back in my hotel room and it's pretty damn late and I'm wide awake but little hung-over.

I'm hung-over because, when I left The Rio, I went to The Freakin' Frog. First, I took the free shuttle back to Harrah's. Then I bought a three-day pass for the monorail. Then I took said monorail to The MGM Grand. Then I took a cab to The Freakin' Frog.

Their draft list didn't impress me too much today, but I got over it quickly enough, as soon as I confirmed that they had Alaskan Smoked Porter in bottles. They had four bottles left, and I bought all four, and I drank three of them (567).

And that's why I'm a little hung-over.

The fourth bottle is here in my hotel room. I haven't decided if I'm going to drink it this week or if I want to try to figure out a way to get it home.

First of all, if wanting to have sex with Ashley Judd is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

I don't suppose there's much to say about the trip here. Had a layover in Dallas. I think the humidity there was forty-six million percent. I arrived in Las Vegas at 3:00. This is much later than I usually get here, much later then I prefer to get here. I felt like I'd wasted the entire day before I had even started.

After the usual long wait for my luggage, and the very long line for a taxi, I got to The Venetian and checked in.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: This pen really sucks. I need to get a new one.

For the next several hours I searched The Venetian and some of the surrounding establishments for a decent beer place. All I found was a bar at TI with Newcastle on tap. This was not ideal because (a) it wasn't where I was staying, (b) it was served at 32.00001 degrees, and (c) Nevada's new anti-smoking laws made it impossible for me to enjoy two of my favorite vices at the same time. So I ended up leaving after two of the slushy Newcastles (5673), and I went back to The Venetian to sulk for a while.

After a dinner consisting of two giant pretzels with cheese (Nutrition First, I always say) I sat at this little bar on the casino floor, where I could smoke, and asked the bartender what bottled beers he had.

"Everything," he replied.

"Oh really?" I said. "I'd like a bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter, please."

Hey, it was worth a shot.

"Never heard of it," the guy said.

Figures.

So I ended up having a couple bottles of Fat Tire (447). It's a pretty good beer, and I began to feel a little less sorry for myself, and a little more optimistic that I might be able to enjoy myself this week.

At about 10:00, jet-lag kicked in so I retired for the night.

I leave in four hours. I guess it's fairly safe to say that the goal I set for myself yesterday will be accomplished. I'm still in a pretty decent mood and, barring any out-of-the-blue occurences, I'll probably stay that way for a while.

I'm looking forward to the trip, but there is a bit of weirdness rattling around in my head about it. I think that these thoughts are similar to the ones I had back in April when I cancelled Drivel Tour '07. But there's more to it than that. This time, I think that I just don't really see the point of going anywhere. Especially not when I have to come back.

See, I'm not even in Las Vegas yet, and I'm already dreading Friday, when I'll have to come back. That dread will probably end up tainting my entire trip.

I don't really have any firm plans for while I'm there. So any stalkers will just have find me. I'm staying at The Venetian. I'll spend some time at The Rio, at The Tilted Kilt if it's still there. I'll definitely go to The Freakin' Frog, and to ESPN Zone at New York New York. Oh, and the Triple 7 Brewpub up at Main Street Station.

Well, I suppose that I'd better get started with my packing.