poaching the monkey

I was really hoping that I could call work on Monday morning and say, "Oh, I won't be in today. Actually, I won't be in ever again because I won millions of dollars in Vegas. I'll send my helper monkey to pick up my things. Toodles!"

Le sigh.

Oh well, despite the lack of filthy lucre and the very short duration of our trip, I still had a blast. In handy-dandy bulleted form, here are some of the highlights.

• If Jetblue flew more places, they would definitely be my carrier of choice. TVs in the seatbacks with access to Sirius XM and DirecTV, full cans of soda, lots of leg room, and snacks. They also boarded from both ends of the plane, which was a boon since we were way in the back.
  
  
• Mandalay Bay? Fucking AWESOME, and I practically had to be shoved out of the room when it was time to leave. Really cool contemporary artwork and furnishings, an iPod dock, a bed that was like sleeping on a marshmallow wrapped in angel kisses and unicorn tears, and a beautiful view of the swimming pools. On the downside: there was a tray of snacks and souvenirs on the dresser, and when C picked up a martini shaker, I yelped, "No! I think that's one of those minibars that charges you if you even pick anything up!" So G called down, and sure enough, it was. They took the charge off, though. (Oh, and that $30 martini shaker? $12 in the gift shop.)
  
  
• The Golden Monkey slot machine, which even G became obsessed with. We discovered a trick that we called "poaching the monkey", and it paid off more often than not. Plus, y'know, MONKEYS.
  
  
• Speaking of monkeys: G2's "drunken monkey" dance.
  
  
• The Mr. Lucky's Fortune Cookie slot machine, which was one of the most politically incorrect things I've ever seen. If you got three takeout cartons on a payline, Mr. Lucky would pop up on the screen and say "Meestah Lucky's, what is your ordah?" Then you'd get a menu and he'd say "Pick-u won beef-u dish", "Pick-u won cheeckahn dish", and so on, commenting on your decisions the whole way. ("Beef-u with broccoli! Very lucky for you, not so lucky for cow! Oh ho ho ho ho!") Then the items would disappear, revealing how many credits each dish was worth. It was insane. Here's a picture of me mugging with Mr. Lucky:
  

Notice my "Zombie Suppression Task Force" shirt? Earlier, G and I were in the elevator when a man asked me about it. I assured him that when the inevitable zombie apocalypse comes, I will squash it because I got da skillz to pay da billz. I may have been a bit drunk.

• Unfortunately, Fiamma no longer serves the Caramello di Noce, so I burned that fucking place to the ground and pissed on the ashes while screaming, "How you like me now, bitch?" Instead, I consoled myself with the following (fapworthy food porn alert!): wagyu beef, elk jerky, dollar margaritas, coconut pancakes with mango butter, Wink of the Rabbit caramels drenched in chocolate and pecans, sweet curry and coconut ice cream, Aztec hot chocolate, applewood bacon, and a Belgian waffle with vanilla anglaise sauce that had me rolling around like a cat in heat. Quick, somebody fetch me a Q-tip! Oh, and C gave me two heavenly slices of kobe beef from his sampler at Tender because he's basically the nicest person on earth.
  
  
• And, best of all, seeing Spock again. I got to introduce him to G and C, and we ate dinner, had insanely overpriced drinks at the Jpop lounge, and laughed our asses off. Of course, I made Spock tell the story about his ex-boyfriend's horror at a Sears bathroom, the story of our skinnydipping adventures at Hippie Hollow, and a story I can't mention here. I love my Spock!
  

Damn it, that trip was way too short. I think I need to go back later this year. Vegas is like the slutty older cousin that everybody publicly decries but secretly adores.