Notes From A Vegas Bachelor Party

Wow, what a boring weekend. Stayed home, vacuumed under the entertainment center, thought about adopting a dog from the pound, and made my signature sweet potato pancakes. SO domestic.

I had coffee with a buddy this morning though and he just got back from a bachelor party in Vegas. WILD!

These are the highlights, as he told them to me at the Coffee Bean this morning. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

• Hey, if you have taxes to do (and who doesn't?) you know when is a good time to do them? At 1am the night before you leave for Vegas.
• At least that's why my friend tells me. I wouldn't know, I did my taxes back in October.
• Wait, what? You have to do them EVERY year? Well, good thing October's a good six months away.
• My friend finished his taxes at 5 a.m., plenty of time for sleep, and a shower, and packing before his buddy came to pick him up at 9.
• Here's the thing: it's important to know how much you're getting back so you know how much you can gamble.
• Next October, I am going to make a KILLING at the tables in Vegas.
• You can make a killing on 40 bucks, right? That's what all the billboards say.
• My friend -- and really, you know what, I am going to publicly out him here -- my friend Mel Momlot got up, showered and started packing. When his buddy (THE BACHELOR!) showed up 45 minutes later, Mel was still packing.
• Turns out Vegas has a dress code. You can choose either douchey or slutty.
• Most guys go with douchey, but there are exceptions.
• I personally avoid those clubs.
• Not that I went to Vegas, I was home making gluten-free cookies, and reading Architectural Digest, and knitting a tea cozy. (Purple or fuchsia? SUCH HARD CHOICES!)
• Meanwhile, Mel Momlot, that decadent heathen, was in the back seat of an Acura TDX, speeding headlong toward the most godless city in North America.
• If God has it in for Vegas, he could've made it tougher. Total trip time: 4 hours!
• Mel Momlot was punished for his blatant disregard of an official Holy Day by getting his room upgraded to a suite at the Hard Rock Hotel. He then proceeded to flaunt the Lord's wrath even further by getting drunk at City Center and ordering a huge slab of roast beef and a side of mini-corn dogs. Good Friday INDEED!
• I don't know about you guys, but I don't think Mel Momlot is Catholic.
• The rest of the evening (or, more accurately, MORNING) was spent at the craps table.
• The Complete And Official Rules of Craps:
  1. A large lavish table shall be constructed of exquisite hardwoods and adorned with green felt.
  2. Said table shall be attended by no less than three, but no more than five, casino employees.
  3. One employee shall have a wooden crook. They shall be known by the wholly-unimaginative title of "Stickman."
  4. Note that the Stickman does not actually have to be a man. In fact, if they are a woman who is wearing a ridiculously-constrictive bustier which spills a little cleavage while herding the dice, so much the better.
  5. One gambling contestant (known in casino parlance as "the patsy") rolls the dice while the others (collectively referred to as "the bachelor party") furiously place shitloads of chips on various betting markers.
  6. The patsy and bachelor party will continue to put shitloads of chips on the table until a randomly-appointed time at which the Stickman and his two to five helpers will collect everything on the table.
  7. A new shooter is appointed and the process begins again at Step 5, interrupted only occasionally by the arrival of free drinks.
  8. The game ends when the bachelor party has run out of chips and/or the ATM is temporarily out of service for restocking.
• This craps game sounds complicated and I am personally very grateful that I myself enjoyed a quiet night at home after mass, playing Boggle and watching my VHS copy of Beaches. (I should really get the DVD, I can never get over the part when Hillary dies.)
• When Mel Momlot woke up Saturday morning, the boys in the bachelor party wanted to go to the pool.
• The pool has RULES and SECURITY. And the rules are:
  1. BEACHWEAR ONLY. Unless you are going to the car show.
  2. If you are going to the car show, YOU MUST PURCHASE A WRISTBAND.
  3. ABSOLUTELY NO OUTSIDE DRINKS. Even if it's a Starbucks you got 45 feet down the hall.
• It seems a little draconian to Mel Momlot and his two hungover compatriots. According to the somewhat-apologetic security guy at the pool door, "It's a money thing."
• IN VEGAS?
• I'd be shocked too, but I was volunteering at the North Hollywood High School "I HEART ART" Arts Outreach program, helping underprivileged youth discover the subtle intricacies of Harold Pinter.
• When the security guy says "It's a money thing" what he means is: Bloody Mary's are $18 each. And fuck you if you want a pickle or celery.
• That didn't stop Mel Momlot from drinking one. ON HOLY SATURDAY. This dude is going to hell.
• But he will be entering the molten bowels of Satan's ever-flaming sanctum with a snazzy pink collectible tiki cup.
• Hard Rock Hotel: ALL. CLASS.
• If you're going to "bach it up" (as in "bachelor party" and not, as some of my more cultivated readers will understandably assume, "six-part pianoforte fugue it up") you follow an $18 Bloody with a shot of Patron and a trip to the gun range.
• You'd think, on this Holiest of Holy weekends, there'd be nobody AT the gun range, but it turns out there's quite a line of non-believers who want to shoot fully automatic machine pistols at paper targets of Osama Bin Laden.
• To be fair, if you ask yourself What Would Jesus Do, it's probably #2 right behind "lift this g-d rock off my chest."
• Mel Momlot was disappointed. But two things cheered him up.
• One was a stop at Arby's. (Can't get enough of that Horsey Sauce! SO delicious!)
• The other was the discovery, while riding curled inside the cramped hatchback area of the Acura TDX, of a fully-functional industrial megaphone.
• HEY GIRLS! I'LL BE BACK TO PICK YOU UP LATER!!!
• Did you know that you can actually deafen yourself if you scream through an industrial megaphone while riding inside a relatively enclosed space (say, the cramped hatchback area of an Acura TDX)? It's true.
• I wouldn't know, I was over at the San Fernando Valley Halfway House, helping load Cadbury eggs into the orphans' Easter baskets.
• That Chicken Bacon 'N' Swiss must have sobered Mel up a little bit, back at the pool he just WATCHED the craps game. And by "watching" I mean "drank next to."
• While Mel was watching his way through his second shot of Patron, the "It's a money thing" security guy came by.
• "Heyyyy, lemme ask you somethin'" said Mel Momlot, "Are those girls PAID to dance in the middle of the pool, or are they independent freelancers??"
• The security guy broke out in a broad shit-eating grin, cocked his head to one side and said "All I can tell you is that it's my job to watch that four hours a day."
• Sounds like a money thing.
• Mel Momlot watched two more vodka cranberries and then it was nap time.
• I considered taking a nap back in LA, but those widows' roofs don't re-shingle themselves you know.
• When Mel's roommate shook him awake at 7:30, Mel did not know if it was am or pm, but he did know he was still drunk.
• A Very Short List of Things Not To Do When Drunk:
  1. Shave.
  2. Try to run the clock/radio/iPod dock.
  3. Tell your roommate "I gotta shower, so I'm gonna have some Naked Time here. You can stick around and enjoy it if you want, but I gotta get cleaned up."
• Sixty minutes later, Mel Momlot was standing in the lobby of TAO, nattily dressed and poorly-shaved. In short, exactly what six ladies from Calgary are looking for while they're waiting on a table.
• Correction: It's exactly what TWO ladies from Calgary are looking for. The other four, it turns out, are actually really, really interested in the lobby decor.
• Probably the bad shave. Mel Momlot looked like he'd been trying on a barbed-wire scarf.
• Magically, the bachelor party arrived at their table (it's an Asian place, they can do that). The waiter Mike (these are very progressive Asians) passed out food and wine menus, and then basically offered to order for everyone.
• You have never seen a table of more grateful men in your entire life.
• ...unless you stopped by the Sepulveda/Wilshire overpass where I was busy handing out toothpaste and Kindle eBook readers to those less fortunate on this hallowed eve before the Easter holiday.
• Dinner passed by like a freight train made of red meat and YUM. Then it was Club Time.
• Club Time is also known as "We Might Dance With You If You Let Us Drink Your Overpriced Vodka" Time.
• Mel Momlot informs me that the key word in that phrase is "might."
• The Intransitive Property of Nightclubbing: One girl dancing by herself is kinda hot. One guy dancing by himself is kinda creepy.
• You can mitigate the Intransitive Property of Nightclubbing by having the bachelor party moved into the main room, next to a bachelorette party.
• Those Asians at TAO need to work on their math a little, because that seems like a no-brainer.
• It was 2:30am, but Mel Momlot was finally on a roll. Katie lived in Washington DC where she taught 10th and 11th grade English and was about to tell Mel something really interesting and/or sweet when Mel's buddy tugged on his arm and shouted "DUDE, WE ARE OUT OF HERE, LET'S GO."
• This is the part where God starts taking it out on Mel Momlot for his unrepentant heathen ways.
• Let's hope it's the New Testament God and not that guy who slaughtered off a significant portion of the Egyptian First Sons Club.
• Katie wants Mel to stay, but he knows it's a bachelor party: These aren't guys he randomly met at some dark, booming nightclub. These are guys he deafened in an Acura TDX on the way home from Arby's. Mel gives Katie a parting hug and steps into the night.
• The night, in turn, serves up an intimidating security guard, replete with curly wire and headset. "WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! SIR! SIR, YOU CAN NOT LEAVE WITH THAT," bellows the guard as he lunges for Mel's drink. In one fluid motion, he flicks the contents of the glass into a plastic to-go cup and hands it to Mel. "There you go sir," he says with a satisfied nod.
• Our little band of travelers reassembles outside on the pavement. 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5.
• There's a problem. 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5.
• We've lost the groom.
• Mel Momlot shakes his fist into the sky and waits for the rain of frogs to start.
• Is it still a bachelor party if you cannot locate the bachelor? At that point, isn't it really a search party?
• Given the collective blood alcohol level, "search party" is not really accurate. "INEFFECTUAL search party" is more like it.
• Hey, not that I'm an expert or anything, but you could be more proactive at locating your beloved, drunken friend than just sending him a series of text messages that are minor variations of "DUDE WHERE R U??"
• "Let's go back to the hotel," says the Best Man. Now THAT'S proactive.
• Mel Momlot is pretty sure the parking lot is going to be filled with locusts and dead livestock.
• The Best Man scampers up to the room. Not there.
• Ummmmmm...
• The group is sober enough to be irritated, but too drunk to actually be concerned.
• Ummmm....
• MORE texting!
• Ummmmmmm....
• Hey, that girl playing craps looks like my ex-girlfriend!
• Ummmmm....
• Nope, it's not her.
• Umm... let's go have a nightcap.
• Drunk logic is irrefutable.
• On the way to the bar, Mel Momlot stumbles into another knot of bachelorettes. (I know, RIGHT? What are the odds?) Mel confronts them with the bravado of a bull with a barbed-wire scarf tied around his balls.
• "Ladies, ladies... you gotta help us out! Please! Hey, here, here. Here... Take this can of Red Bull from me."
• Mel Momlot seems to think the Best Man is doing a bang-up job with the Case of the Missing Groom And The Wedding That Almost Never Happened. Ditching that unopened can of Red Bull is his most immediate and pressing concern.
• The trio of bachelorettes exhibits the kind of strained patience normally reserved for an overmedicated nine year-old.
• Their mistake. Mel Momlot sees this as an opening. "Hey, hey, hey... Do me a favor, one favor, just one thing," he blurts out. The brown-haired woman before him folds her arms and raises a quizzical eyebrow. "What's that?" she says. "Tell me your name..." Mel says.
• There is a long pause and then, finally: "Josephine."
• Now, if I was there, I would have said "Funny, I want to name my daughter Josephine..." or something suave like that, but I wasn't there, I was just getting out of bed to make that last batch of unleavened communion wafers for the dawn service at St. Dominic's.
• But Mel Momlot is drunk and he isn't letting that shit go past. "You TOTALLY MADE THAT UP!" he barks indignantly.
• It's almost like people have their REAL name, and their Vegas name. Pitiful.
• "Josephine" toys with Mel. "You smell like a strip club," she sniffs. Mel feels genuinely hurt by this accusation. He has spent all night in a loud, dark room where he couldn't get more than three girls to dance with him, even with copious offerings of free top-shelf liquor.
• "Wha- no. No, I have not been in a strip club," Mel protests, "I would TOTALLY cop to it if we had, but we didn't go anywhere near one." Josephine's look softens. "You have lipstick on your right cheek," she says.
• Mel is completely confused at this point. LIPSTICK? Maybe it's just blood from his horrible shave job, he doesn't know. His brain is too burdened with the task of processing Grey Goose to work through the unlikely possibility he would have lipstick on his face.
• "We lost our groom," he stammers as he wipes at his face with a sweaty shirtsleeve. "I feel like we have betrayed him. Is that bad?"
• Josephine doesn't get a chance to respond, as her two exhausted friends hook her by the arm and drag her off toward the slots. Mel's head swivels after her as his eyes spin like dinner plates.
• "C'mon bro," says the possibly-not-future-brother-in-law, "Let's get that nightcap."
• Down in the lounge, with a vodka-cran in hand, Mel is waxing on in semi-coherent admiration about what a good guy the groom is when the Best Man sends out a text. HE IS HERE. "Fugger mussa benn DRUNK" says Mel Mompot to the kettle black.
• The next morning, Mel Momlot is bright-eyed and all-too-happy to tell people how NOT hungover he is. "I didn't set the record for height, but I sure did for DISTANCE!" he brags. He is proud his flagrant defiance of Our Lord And Savior has left him with nothing but an exorbitant bar tab and self-inflicted scratches on his neck. "We should do this EVERY Easter!" he says as they climb in the car and head home.
• Later, God would make an earthquake.

-Tom, who has to go mail off his application to do missionary work in Ghana.