Flashback - Why Tequila is a No-No

As I've gotten older, I've done a much better job at learning my limits especially when it comes to alcohol. After living and drinking in New Orleans, Los Angeles and Las Vegas, I've learned the following:

1. When you weigh 115 lbs soaking wet, an extra large Hurricane on Bourbon Street is a really bad idea.

2. More than one tall can of Steel Reserve can drive anyone with good sense to streak through the corridors of a Beverly Hills rock star's mansion.

3. Multiple rounds of tequila should NEVER be consumed while sitting in the hot desert sun.

There are interesting stories to go with each of these lessons, but I'll share the third.....

Quite a while ago, while living in Las Vegas, I used to work as a salesperson for an electronic media group. During each week, this group would have remote broadcasts or satellite radio shows to promote local businesses. On occasion, these remote broadcasts would be held at a really cool location such as Blue Martini, The Palms, or Hawaiian Tropic Zone. When such an event was held at a bar, it was a pretty sure bet that there was either a drink special going on or the organizing sales associate would receive comps from the menu. Thus, I was happy to accept the invitation when a good sales associate friend invited me to one such event on The Strip. Let's call her "Rosa."

I arrived at about 3:00pm. After hugs and "how are you's" we settled in on the top balcony of the establishment and got ourselves comfortable at the bar. The poison would be margaritas. Now, I don't tend to do tequila in any way shape or form. For me, it produces rather bad decision-making and a terrible hangover. But being around Rosa did always bring out the worst in me. She's just that kind of a friend and we don't hang that often. About three hours later, the sun was still burning a hole in my back and we were still drinking because neither of us knew that we were tipsy. Another hour goes by and everything gets ridiculously funny. Another hour goes by and we start harassing some of the men nearby. Another fifteen minutes passes and I come to my senses a tad. I noticed I'm not maintaining good posture on my stool and the bartenders are giving me and Rosa dirty looks. I start tapping Rosa on the shoulder but she's in rare form now. She wants another drink but we've both been cut off. We go downstairs to another bar to score and then head back upstairs. At this point, Rosa falls backwards off of her stool.

I'm thinking Oh Christ! This has gone too far. I have to get my act together. No more margaritas and I should be fine and then I can help my friend not make a total ass of herself. I call some guys that we know and start drinking water. By this time, it is way to late. There is no way that we'll be able to drive either of our cars to escape. The managers of the joint were probably in their office making banned signs for each of our sloshed faces. The guys arrived and offered not to take us home but instead to take us to the Hard Rock. Great idea. We headed over to the Hard Rock. After getting out of the car, I found a trash can and got rid of some of the alcohol sifting around in my belly. This was so not a pretty moment for me.

We got into the club at the Hard Rock, found the VIP section and then just stood there in a circle facing each other. I was downing as much water as possible. I looked at Rosa, now cross-eyed, smiling like an idiot, pinching the rears of passersby. I decided that the best place for me would be the cool confines of a restroom stall. After what seemed like three and a half years, I secured a stall, sat down and immediately fell into a deep coma. While I was dreaming of ice packs and soft pillows, Rosa was making an odd circuit throughout the dance club. According to her report, she managed to dance on a few tables, nearly get into a fight and explore the unknown lesbian side of herself by making out with a blond girl. About an hour and a half later, I woke up feeling pretty refreshed and made my way out to the festivities. The rest of my party rushed towards me asking where I'd been. In the bathroom! I guess it was time to go home before Rosa did a striptease or something.

All in all, I don't think I behaved too badly that night. However, not being able to control one's liquor intake is never a good look at any age. I guess I share this story to further promote the idea of being safe and making wiser decisions. I have so much to live for and I am definitely far from being indestructible. To tequila, as to many other ridiculous things, I just say no. Call it maturity.

February 13th - Jet

If you're ever in Las Vegas, whether an apathetic native or a wide-eyed visitor, do yourself a favor and approach The Strip the way it was originally intended to be approached. Drive north on Las Vegas Boulevard from the 215 beltway at night when The Strip is in full swing. Behold the "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign in all of its classic glory and then let yourself be dazzled by the pulsating, undulating glow of the properties. It's like an adult-sized arcade. Dazzling, scintillating, wondrous, glowing with the promise of energy, motion and people. All of God's children just trying to escape the drain of the real world by escaping into their wildest grown-up fantasy. It's beautiful. It really is. In an electrically tempting sort of way. It's so different from my Bay Area hometown and I try never to forget that. I want to stay as curious about this great desert wonder as I can. Keeps me coming out every night...

Listening to James Browns' Funky Good Time, I was on my way to Mirage Hotel and Casino to party at Jet. I arrived wayyyyy too early. There was no line for me to cut and since that's part of the fun of going to these various places, I decided to walk about the casino. I'd just been there the night before but I hadn't given myself the opportunity to take in the vibe. It's cool. Mirage is a bit smaller than other properties like Ceasar's Palace and The Venetian, but it has its own distinctive amenities such as the gorgeously huge aquarium in the main lobby and free wine tasting on Fridays from 5pm- 7pm.

I circled back around to Jet, informing security that I was indeed there to attend the private open bar business event before the actual club opened. When he asked if I had a business card (and then informed me it was okay if I didn't), I regarded him momentarily before giving him a forgiving smile. Foolish mortal. I was pleased when he back-pedalled after seeing my card holder. I'll assume that he believed I was too devastatingly young and beautiful to have a business card. Easy mistake.

I checked my coat and made small talk with the checker. She was expecting and confirmed that her baby would probably be some kind of dancer because the little one was always dancing around in utero on account of his mom's surroundings. I scooped up my free screwdriver cocktail from the bar and regarded the crowd. Pretty thin. I drank alone for a moment, jotting down notes on a napkin as if I'm some kind of writer when I met Gilbert.

Gilbert was a very stylish 40-year old local who had recently become his own boss after working for a cosmetic retailer. He loved experiencing the nightlife but was having difficulty convincing his agemates to brave Friday's events after a long week of working. We discussed how we make time for the things we want to do and we don't allow age to be an excuse. I shared the finer points of marketing via social networking with him and gave him my word that I would invite him out with me on my next date with the city.

I'm inclined to believe that Jet suffers a bit during the winter months. The last time I was here had been on a very crowded summer night. There was no open bar and no free anything. On this night however, one of the lovely hostesses came around regularly with free lemon drop shots. My new friend, Gilbert and I partook in a couple and then hit the dance floor where I skated about in typical OutPast30 fashion for two hours. I'm proud to say that even without stretching, I experienced no soreness this morning. :)

I like that Jet offers their female guests a chance to swing around on poles in the middle of dance floor. Took me back to my high school days of cage dancing at City Nights. Don't even dare try to blackmail me, Li'l Bobby. I just ratted myself out. I fought the urge to swing around those poles for about half hour before giving in. Another lady took my hand and climbed up on the platform with me where I immediately slipped and fell on an abandoned drink. I played it off, twirled around the pole a couple of times and then left both the platform and the dance floor as if I had just given a show-stopping performance. Inside my head, I couldn't stop laughing. I think I'd been about the fifteenth falling casualty of the night. Time to go home.

I grabbed my coat, snapped a shot with some random lady waiting at the exit and made my way to the escalators. Crossing the catwalk to the parking garage, I again regarded The Strip. Gorgeous. Seemingly painted across the night sky. I can't believe I live here.