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.

Not too long ago, it was suggested to me that the universe hated me, because I'm such a horrible excuse for a human being. I disagreed with that assessment then, and I continue to do so now.

Oh, sure, I have my little feuds with the universe, just like everyone. Sometimes it certainly seems like everything is stacked-up against me, but at other times just the opposite seems to be happening.

Like tonight, for example, when the universe actually seemed to be looking out for me.

Tonight, it was my full intention to say two words.

Not three. Certainly not four. But two simple words.

And, as it turned out, I never got that chance.

Maybe even those two simple words would have been too much. Too soon. Too real. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to stop after those two words. Maybe the reaction to those two words would have been too much. Too soon. Too real.

Whatever.

The point I was going to make here is that this was going to happen. Whatever it was, it was going to take place. Even though I knew, deep down, that it was a bad idea, I was still going to say the words.

Unless, somehow, the opportunity to say them never presented itself.

If I never said the words, then things would stay the same for a while longer. The status quo would be allowed to ferment for a while longer. This would probably be a good thing, I knew. But I didn't care anymore. I felt that I'd been silent for far too long already, and I was going to be silent no longer.

Maybe the universe took pity on me tonight. Maybe the universe intervened. Maybe the universe stopped me from saying the words, by denying me the opportunity which I'd craved for weeks.

Maybe.

But, if that was that case, then the universe fucked up. It forgot about my blog. So I'm putting the words here, as the title for this entry.

So there.

I have a goal for the next 24 hours. It is, in concept, a simple goal. In practice, it's not that simple. And it won't be that easy.

Because there's shit that I absolutely don't want to hear about any more. Crap that I don't want to think about any more. Stuff that I don't want to care about any more

In a perfect world, I'd go to the airport right now. I'd shut off my phone. I'd talk to nobody. I'd just wait for my flight to leave, maybe do some writing. But that's not an option. I've got places to go. Shit to do. Doors to watch.

I'm clinging to this tiny ledge, and I don't want to fall.

So, forgive me if I seem like a self-centered prick today. It's really not that I don't care at all. It's just that I don't want to care today. It's just that I'm a little busy. What with the clinging and all.

I got to Rich O's pretty early last night, at a little after 6:00. This was partly because my sister Dina had called earlier and said that she might stop by. Partly.

The place wasn't too crowded when I got there. I sat at the island and had a Schlenkerla Marzen (288) and some potato wedges with beer cheese. I basically just vegged out and emailed RockGirl and watched the door.

Then after a while PlantDude got sick of the weirdoes in the living room area so he came up and joined me. We talked about various crap, like Paris Hilton's breasts, for a while. I had another Marzen (305), and watched the door some more.

Then a bunch of weirdoes came and joined us at the island. I had another Marzen (322) and watched the door.

Then I got sick of the weirdoes at the island so I moved over to the sofa. I had a Diet Coke and paid my tab.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, WeatherGirl came in with some dude. I didn't really talk to her though, as they left for the SportsTime side of things right away. I had a brief moment of hope that perhaps LaptopGirl might be at SportsTime so I ran and/or skipped over there. I didn't see LaptopGirl, but I did see NeighborsDaughter, so I stopped and chatted with her for a minute or two.

Then I came home a little before 10:00.

And now today I have a gazillion little things to take care of to get ready for Las Vegas, and then tonight I'll go back to Rich O's and watch the door some more. It's nice to have a plan, I suppose.

I think I can still remember this well enough to write about it. This was Friday morning.

I was asleep in my bed, and for some reason I woke up and looked out my window. It was pretty dark outside, but I could still kinda see. I could kinda see a large shape running away. Like it had seen me at the window and been spooked. I'm pretty sure that it was a bear, from the size of it. I guess it could have been a deer, but it kind of lumbered, so I pegged it as a bear.

I continued to look out the window, in case the bear came back, I wanted to see it. A bear sighting would be pretty rare for me.

Well, the bear didn't come back, but another pair of animals did. It was, I thought at first, a wolf and a dog. They came to the ground below my window and laid down. I don't think they saw me. I spent some time looking down at them, trying to see if it was a real wolf or just a Husky or something like that. It wasn't really that big, so I figured that it was probably a Husky. Still dangerous-looking though. The other animal was a St. Bernard or a Malamute maybe, and I didn't pay much attention to it.

Then I had to pee, so I did that. Then I was thirsty, so I went out to the kitchen.

On the way, I noticed that my cats were all lined up at the door to the deck, their tails twitching like crazy. They were looking at a racoon that was out there eating something. So I went up to the door to look at it, because I like racoons. They're pretty cool. Much cooler than the opossums I usually get on my deck.

Once I got down on the floor with my cats I saw that it was actually just a racoon skeleton with its pelt draped over it. It was gross. All red and bloody. Every time the racoon would take a bite of what it was eating, the food would just fall through and hit the floor of my deck.

Then I figured out that the racoon was actually eating its own meat and guts, and I became a little scared of the racoon. My main fear was that whatever autocannibalistic zombie disease it had would spread to my three cats. So I turned on my outside lights and the raccoon scampered away.

So I guess it was a sex dream, in a weird way.

I like sex dreams.

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned that StoreGirl and I had been photographed and interviewed by a dude from one of the local free newspapers. Well some of the fruits of that session made it into this week's issue.

Apparently, space was an issue, because none of the stuff about how awesome I am made into the final article. I guess they decided to cut out the obvious stuff first.

But still, pretty cool.

And I've thought about it, and I've decided that I will continue to associate with the little people in my life. I won't let this new fame go to my head.

I will, however, still accept groupies.