Finally I find the time. I’ve been postponing for so long that I’m ashamed of myself. But in between one thing and another I barely have the time to breathe. Before even starting I’d like to say sorry to all those people who wrote me personal e-mails waiting for an answer. I promise I won’t forget; just give me a few days more to get organized.
When I was thinking about writing this article, I felt like I had to say something more than “I went to Vegas for my 21st, dude. I got wasted, I did stuff I cannot even try to describe because it was so crazy, you wouldn’t believe it.” Well, I want to reveal why people call me Pinky. Why? Because it’s somehow related to the day I was born and I feel like that many of you call me so, but have no clue about the meaning behind it.
On the 17th of September, 1989, there was born a purple baby: Francesco. Purple? Oh yeah, indeed. When he was still inside his mother’s belly, the umbilical cord nearly killed him by causing an absence of oxygen. His parents and his siblings were worried about it, but a few days after this weirdo was born, the color became lighter and lighter, almost normal. Just one part remained purple: one big spot right on the bottom of his back. His big brother then somehow, suddenly came up with the ridiculous nickname: Pinky. After 21 years this nickname is still alive. Fortunately here in California none of his friends know about this silly nickname but once he is back to Italy he is sure to find people who are still calling him Pinky – his father included.
Well, after this short story about this unfortunate baby, what about going back to My 21st birthday?
After renting a KIA Spectra, at 10 AM Miss T. and I left San Diego headed to Las Vegas Nevada. Miss T.? Didn’t she go back to Brazil? Yes, she did. She also came back to California just for me, willing to celebrate my birthday together. Over there, my actual roommate Pin – went there by plane – was impatiently waiting for us. So what we were waiting for? Let’s hit the road dammit!
A marvelous view accomapanied us for the duration of the journey.
After 500 miles or so, at around 3 PM we arrived feeling better than what we could imagine.
Once we checked in at the Golden Nugget, we changed and we went to the swimming pool downstairs. The sun hit so badly that we had to hurry because the air was close to be unbreathable. The first thing came up in mind was to get a drink as the mature boy I turned to be, so I got my wallet and my passport and with a puffed chest I asked for 2 Vodka Redbulls, waiting for him to carefully check my id.
Zero. None. Nada. I paid and I went away with my drinks and a sad espression on my face. How was that he didn’t card me at all for such an alcoholic beverage like a Vodka Redbull? I remembered how they used to asked me the id for a freakin’ water and now that I ordered a drink for men, nothing, nada. It sucked!
After a couple hours spent in this awesome swimming pool we went in the room upstairs enjoying the comfort of one of the best king bed I’ve ever ██████ in. (Thanks for the censorship Gonzo.)
At night, we ended up being so tired that we really couldn’t do anything more than taking a walk on The Strip, the main street in Vegas and enjoy the night lights, which was not little anyways. Miss T. thinking that it was funny, bought one of those alcoholic slurpy kind of things served in a stripteaser glass that tasted delicious and looked ridiculous at the same time. And, by the way yes, Miss T. got jealous that I was touching the glass’ butt!
The day after, feeling much better, we decided to hit the road as early as we could to go to the Stratosphere, the highest hotel in Vegas which is equipped with roller coasters right at the top of it. On our way to the car, we passed across the swimming pool. Why should we have been in a hurry? A couple hours in the swimming pool just to start the day in the right way wasn’t going to hurt anyone.
around 12 AM we left the swimming pool headed to the sky.
After riding the X-scream we decided to leave the Stratosphere to go where Pin was waiting us. On our way down, I saw a young girl that was taking caricatures and I really couldn’t resist. I’ve always liked caricatures; they exaggerate the unique features of someone in a funny way. I just love them and I love this one in particular.
After almost one hour of walking up and down to Vegas, we found Pin (it is still hard to… I’d rather say it is still an impossible mission to comunicate with him on the phone). I still remember that episode where I was trying to teach him how to say “buddy”. Instead of saying “buddy” he would say “party”. And I was like, “no dude, not party, buddy! Check this out. You are saying P not B. Do what I do: B-B-B…BbBbBb”, and he went like “P-P-P…Pp Pp”.
Well Miss T. had the clever idea to frame this moment.
Pin and I love to take retarded pictures together. Our favorite pose is the one where we need to stay as serious as we can. Some people think we are just stupid, others think we are hilarious. Obviously, we are hilarious.
After a couple pictures, we went shopping at one of those big malls. I got a nice pair of shiny black shoes for the night: when you want to party in Vegas you better look fine because they let you enter in the club just if you are perfectly matching with all those other rich figli di papá in there. Got the shoes. Got the energy. Got the age. What the hell? What can stop me now?
Thanks God, the party is around the corner. The adrenaline is coming up. Vegas, the night, oh my God I still feel it inside me!
We got dressed and around 9.30 PM we were already in line to get in. I had to sell one of my lungs to enter but Jesus Christ it was worth it!
Well XS is the only club I’ve ever been so far here in America so I don’t really have much to compare it with, but I can guarantee you that we don’t have anything like it in Italia!
Every time I go to Vegas I feel like I go the City of Sin and the whole idea is very exciting… Hundreds of buildings designed to entertain people (and get their money) but, at the same time, give them the highest level of excitement that can’t be found anywhere else. Vegas makes you feel important. Then, once you get home with minus $200,000 in the bank account you also feel miserable, but damn, it is worth it!
Thanks Miss T. Thanks Pin. I love you!
P.S. In this article I said everything and nothing of what happened over there.
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” No doubt about it!