Can I take a second to talk about drinks in Las Vegas? I mean, I don’t mind an alcoholic beverage or seven, but I was floored by what passes for responsible service of alcohol in the City of Sin. In Australia, the bar tenders carefully measure out each 30mL shot, charge you ten bucks and send your drunk arse home if you get overly jolly. In Vegas, they will pour alcohol down your throat until you’re a lifeless, nacho-crusted corpse lying on the floor of Margaritaville. I mean they will literally pour alcohol into you – random women will come up to you, put a tea towel under your chin and upend a bottle of syrupy, fluorescent liquor into your face. And this is at lunch time! A gin and tonic consists of half a litre of gin and a slice of lime. If you ask for a cocktail, they’ll pull out every bottle from behind the counter and pour it all into a cup, and then plant another concoction in front of you before you’re even halfway through the first one. And then the tea towel lady comes back for another round.
Allow me to illustrate this with a badly edited home video – I should point out that this event was completely unsolicited, and there was a large quantity of alcohol in that cup (along with a lethal quantity of hydrogenated palm oil):
I had to dub over the sound with fun music, because my on site narration was completely unladylike.
Note: While I’m being light hearted about the following anecdote, I’m well aware that the situation we found ourselves in could have ended quite differently. We’re not normally this stupid, I promise.
One Sunday, we went to see Steve Aoki perform at a pool party at MGM Wet Republic (incidentally, this is where we found all the Flo-Rida bikini models). This place is Snob Central. Nikki concluded they must pay everyone to be stuck up arseholes, and I had to agree. After paying $40 for a locker, we went to the bar and ordered two vodka oranges from an unsmiling barman for an extortionate SEVENTY ONE DOLLARS. I almost sprouted an aneurysm, especially considering all the freebies we were becoming accustomed to, but it turned out the price was entirely justified.
We bought three drinks for the entire day – one each at 12.04pm, 2.54pm and 4.50pm (I know this, because even drunk Inga keeps her receipts). We didn’t consciously leave that long between bar trips, but it took us two hours to finish each drink because they emptied half a bottle of Skyy vodka into each of those bitches. By the time 6.00pm rolled around and they herded us all out of the pool, we were two bedraggled, sunburned, inebriated little women. In my entire drinking career, I have never had an alcohol blackout….until Vegas. Neither of us remember getting back to the hotel; one minute we were clambering out of the pool and Nikki was gathering up various pieces of leftover clothing she fancied, and the next thing we knew, forty-five minutes had passed and Nik was sprawled prostrate on the bed while I shovelled chips into her mouth like she was a baby bird. I do remember lurching downstairs to the food court to buy sandwiches, and handing my purse over to the shop assistant to take out the right amount of money because all the bills look the same* after a bottle and a half of vodka. Several days later we found a video in our camera that we’d filmed in the intervening period, which filled in seven blank minutes but not much else. We still wonder what kind of spectacle we made, staggering wet, barefoot, and wasted into the hotel foyer at 6.30pm on a Sunday evening.
What we do remember:
- There were Aussies everywhere. Nik got motorboated by one and another tried to hump me like a dog. You can always spot the Aussies overseas, because they’re fucking idiots.
- Nikki got asked to join in a threesome with an Italian guy and a French guy. Neither of them spoke English, so you can imagine how that conversation went.
- I slipped on some cake on the concrete and busted open the sole of my foot. It only healed last week, after I went to the doctor to get it dressed properly.
- The merchandise stand sold out of shirts, so Nikki bought one that a staff member was wearing for $45. Here is how the conversation went:
Nikki: YOU! Can I have your shirt?
Nikki: I’ll give you twenty bucks for it!
Nikki: I’ll give you….Inga, how much do we have?
Me: Forty five dollars.
Nikki: I’ll give you forty five bucks for it!
Him: Ok, sure. [takes off shirt]
Me: Oh wait, we have sixty dollars!
Nikki: We’ll give you SIXTY dollars!
Anyway, the point I was trying to bring home here was that VEGAS DRINKS BE CRAZY, but now I just look like an alcoholic.
PS. If you go here , you can see us very briefly at 1.10 at the bottom right. With the infamous vodka orange.