After saying goodbye to the Arizona women as they left for the City of Angels, it was time for us to venture down to the Strip for St. Pattys Day Vegas style.
First things first, we were hungry. So what does any self-respecting college student do to suppress their hunger? Go to the Bellagio buffet of course.
Just a disclaimer: If I could die anywhere, it would be in the Bellagio Buffet. Period.
There is a reason the buffet at the Bellagio is named “the Buffet”. There is no other name needed. When you can have calamari, ahi tuna, lamb, fresh sushi, beef sliders, amazing salad and other delicious goodness in one meal, you know you’ve reached buffet heaven. I was shaking from the amount of food consumed. Definitely worth the $21. After giving ourselves time to digest the Ten Commandments of food (no there isn’t a tabernacle, just another metaphor to describe this buffet), we moseyed over to the slots, where the roommate again set out in his quest to make money.
Around 1 pm, we felt it necessary to partake in St. Patty’s Day festivities. In a shopping mall. God bless a lack of open container laws in the Miracle Mile mall, and Vegas in general.
While debating our first beer of the day, we ran into Irish Hooters girls. I thank Europeans for helping to stimulate the Las Vegas economy, since Obama does not want us American citizens to do that. I have nothing more to say on Irish girls, except that they asked us for light beer recommendations. I would’ve thought their livers wanted something more delicious than Bud Light. Those girls were quite funny, and after engaging in some good natured French-bashing (the Irish lost 2-1 to France on a controversial Theirry Henry handball in a World Cup UEFA playoff qualifier) we were on our merry way.
The next stop was Fat Tuesday, a place serving up daiquiris and margaritas in large glasses. Perfect for a nice steady drinking binge.
After consuming multiple 30 oz. margaritas, and visiting my home away from home, the sportsbook inside the New York, New York Hotel, we went to the block party at O’Sheas.
Because of my state of inebriation, and because of the state of the other party goers, O’Shays might have been one of the highlights of the trip. From meeting Englishmen going to Dallas for a roadtrip, to the guy who I thought looked like Kurt Cobain, then Steven Tyler, then a little Alice Cooper, to the midget leprechaun who refused to let me squat down while taking a picture with him, to the excess amount of Jayhawk and K-State Wildcat fans, O’sheas was a lesson in drunken revelry.
About eight or nine pm, I realized I had lost the roommate. Unfortunately, he was asleep back at the hotel. Luckily, my boy Nate came in from LA, and we proceeded to continue the parade of drunkenness. After an exchange of pleasantries, we went on to Margaritaville, the epicenter of alcoholism and random conversation. Nothing more needs to be said, other than some of the most rowdy people reside on the side facing the Strip.
Before I continue, I want to give props to the Iowa (and Northern Iowa) fan I met. This guy knew Hayden Fry coached at North Texas. He happens to be my new best friend now.
As the day turned later, Nate and I ventured to Bill’s Gamblin Hall and Saloon for some more cheap alcohol. The best part about this place? Karaoke. Ah yes, a fitting end to the day. After belting out a duo of “I Want it that Way” and singing every other song imaginable, losing my voice in the process, I called it a night. It was imperative that I wake up the next day, as it was the start of the NCAA Tournament.
The karaoke can be found here