Vegas, baby, Vegas
August 8, 2002, 9:05 p.m.

Vegas, baby, Vegas.

That's all my sister and I have said to one another for the past 4 days. I thought my 23rd birthday was pretty smooth because I spent it in Atlantic City and I won $50 on a slot machine at Caesar's. My 24th birthday was far and above much better because I spent it in Vegas winning $85 at Blackjack.

Vegas, baby, Vegas.

This is what I saw in Vegas: a woman win $1,000 on the Wheel of Fortune slots, a super hot blackjack dealer quote "Meet the Parents" incessantly, an Elvis phone that I bought for Christina, the best man at "Tony and Tina's Wedding" shamelessly hit on my sister, Caesar's, the Venetian, Paris, New York New York, Bally's, Harrah's, Rio et. al.

The light on top of the Luxor is the brightest light in the world, and is visible from space to the naked eye.

Nicki and I bet $5 for Grandpa on the Roulette wheel and won $185.

My fingers are flying as I type this because I'm still reeling from the sensory overload that is Las Vegas, Nevada. Everywhere smells like the promise of money and looks like a mad carnival.

I drank 15 Miller Lites while sitting in the Party Pit playing $5 blackjack.

I ended up $50 down, which, considering everything I bought in Vegas, isn't bad at all. (I estimate I probably won about $300 that sustained me through the week.)

Nicki won $400. She had the touch.

Vegas, baby, Vegas.