new years eve, 2000
So yeah, I’m back from Vegas. While I had the time of my life, if I see another bright neon light or cheap buffet I’m gonna scream like a little bitch. Let me tell you, though, that New Years Eve in Las Vegas is the place to be, no joke.
The Stratosphere, however, is not the place to be if it’s after New Years Eve and taxis refuse to pick up your party because one girl is too drunk to stand straight and another guy is so drunk that he thinks he’s Ryu from Street Fighter and is throwing invisible fireballs at porn flier dispensers. The Stratosphere is especially not the place to be if you are at the New York New York and you have to walk 4.72 miles back to your hotel room with said drunk people.
But Vegas on New Years. Man, oh man. Only here can everyone get so drunk that it’s perfectly acceptable to get a group of 10 people singing “Oops! I Did It Again” at the top of your lungs and people actually cheer you on. (Of course, I was sober, and I did the dance moves with it, so in reality, I’m not necessarily fun — just a freak of nature.)
And in another interesting news… uhmm… do I look hard to approach or something? Tim claims he spotted me in Vegas, but didn’t say hi. Tammy was probably less than 50 feet away from me the whole night, and she didn’t come up to me and say hi. At least somehow, in the sea of drunkards on the Las Vegas strip, I bumped into Ryan, holding up a giant sign that says “I masturbate a lot.” No pictures though, as he probably confused my Chinese ass with the thousands of other ghetto Asian ruffnecks from Southern California in his drunken haze. Ahwell.
