Every man in Las Vegas loves me!

Ever since I left for Las Vegas, men have been VERY nice to me. Like the man on the airplane who let me disembark in front of him saying, “This way I get to walk behind you! To uh, bug.. you..” Then he punched my back a few times. Later when I met up with Mike and Steve at the LAS airport and hopped in a cab for the sweet Mandalay Bay hotel, I noticed that every time I looked up the driver was making weird googly eyes at me in the rearview mirror. Literally every time I looked up. Did he not have to drive the car?! Even Carrot Top did right by me, smearing his greasy cologned grease all over my hand to the delight of my starstruck BF.
The ladies were not as nice. While Mike and Steve enjoyed the oxygen bar, I positioned myself less than 10 feet from those snooty timeshare broads, who WOULD NOT give me the time of day. Where’s my 2 for 1 coupon for Nathan’s hotdogs? Huh? Where my 10% off spa treatment? Nowhere, that’s where. Okay, that’s a lie. After about 12 minutes of being ignored I approached the least snooty lady and innocently asked about timeshares. She gave me some coupons. Score!
We wrapped up a sweet night of arcades, drinking, sports betting and food courts with a trip to the New Orleans hotel and casino. It’s off the strip. “The Nice Merrill” Curt bought me a Pepsi. Then Mike, Curt and I played roulette. The dealer was Armanian, and at first he seemed gruff, but once I started winning big he warmed up. That’s right. I won a cool 40 smackers playing the numbers. Then he was all kinds of cute and coy, pretending to take my chips, announcing that I’d won again, even when I hadn’t. At one point he accidently forgot to pay out one of my wins, and I said, “I’m sorry! But I won on Odds here.” And he said, “You must speak up! I am the sorry one!” I tipped him $5 and took $35. You gotta know when to walk away, right? Right. Guess who’s buying breakfast today? Me.
The only men who aren’t being bend-over-backwards nice to me are my own lousy friends, Mike and Steve. No, that’s a lie too. Second lie of this post. Mike and Steve are prefect angels. As I type this, I also sip the coffee that those fellas brought me from the lobby. Mike doctored it just right. The moral is, if you want to be treated like gold by gross guys (and also nice guys) come to Las Vegas!
See you by the sluts, I mean slots!