A Last-Minute Trip
It’s Thursday night. I’m checking out my Twitter feed and see that a few other bloggers I follow (Gmac, Jack Frost, The Rookie, and VK) are all heading to Vegas for the weekend. I’ve been meaning to get back there, so I figure what the hell, I’ll go meet some other guys in the community and see what happens. Plus I know VK, Rookie, and now Gmac are Roosh’s wings, so I want to see what the DC guys can do.
I drive out Saturday morning (after banging Aggressive Asian on Friday night). I’ve been texting with Gmac and don’t really know what to expect when I show up. I’m hoping they don’t end up flaking on me once I drive out there, although I’m prepared to just roll solo for the day if necessary. I’ve never met up with any other Game guys from online before, so I’m somewhat skeptical about whether it’s going to work out.
It’s 2 PM. As I’m approaching the Strip in my car, I call Gmac. He says things got wild last night, and they are all picking up the pieces. I tell him to give me a call when he and Rookie are ready to grab something to eat.
I park at the Bellagio and get a lay of the land. I go hang by the sports book because there’s a bar right there and people have gathered around to watch the Preakness. I lean against a rail that a lot of people have to pass by and hang out near (a “vortex zone”), and then I just chill.
There’s a group of 5 hot girls taking a picture with an NBA player nearby, and then 2 of them come lean on the rail next to me and start gossiping loudly. I finally interrupt them. “I don’t mean to pry… but it sounds like there is a lot of drama going on right here (circles hands around them).”
They laugh, we talk for a few minutes and then they ask me to take a picture of them. I do my normal move where I turn the camera and take a picture of myself making a funny face at the last second. Only after that do I take a picture for a group of girls.
Regardless, a bunch of bros they are with come back from the betting windows and whisk them away. I can tell they’re not interested enough for it to go anywhere, so I just say bye. It still helps to talk to groups like this in case you run into them later. If you build up enough “friends” like this, you’ll increase your odds of running into girls you know and also build social proof as time goes by.
Then, a couple more girls lean on the rail near me and I start talking to them about the horse race. I tease them, tell some stories I know about horse racing, and get to know them. It turns out they both have kids… They are older than I thought. Luckily, the better-looking one, a curvy, slightly Indian or Latin (I think) chick, is single.
I get a call from Gmac that they had eaten but are chilling at a bar outside the Flamingo. I get the curvy MILF’s number before I leave. Then, as I’m walking out, I realize I should grab some food from the Bellagio before I go. I know a secret spot where you can score a free meal there, and as I’m walking back to it, I run into Curvy Milf again. She’s lost her friend, so I tell her to come grab a bite with me. She is talking to her son on the phone and tells him to hold on while I talk to her (haha).
I show her my secret spot and she’s greatly impressed. Eventually she finds her friend so she can join us. I talk to them confidently, playing it cool and cocky and building her interest. Then, I find out they’re in town for Curvy Milf’s 40TH BIRTHDAY. She honestly looks 28-ish. Her voice sounds youthful. She says she always gets hit on by 25-year-olds and her last boyfriend was 24 (like me).
I bounce out of there to go meet up with the guys. I figure I’ll text Curvy Milf later if I don’t have anything else going on.
It’s now 4 PM.
I’m on the lookout for a black dude and a white dude hanging out at the Flamingo bar. Originally I thought Gmac was black, but he had tweeted that he looked like Jason Statham that week, so I had come to the scientific conclusion now that he was white.
As I’m crossing the bridge over the Strip, I look down and see them at the bar. It has to be them. Those are the guys.
I walk up to the bar. “Gmac?” He looks up. “Yeah.”
“I’m Dagonet.” [We used our real names at this point]
“What’s up man?”
I shake their hands and tell them it’s cool to meet them. I take a seat and we start talking about their trip. My first impression is that they’re both good-looking and well put together. They have a solid vibe. They both keep very still. They’re well-trained soldiers.
I feel a little awkward at first. I joke around and tell Gmac that I used to think he was black. I explain how every time I look at his blog, Gmac’s Black Book, my brain must subconsciously just see the message “Gmac’s Black” over and over. It was kind of a stupid joke.
But we are cut from the same cloth, and I also feel really comfortable around these guys… like I’m with people who get it. We understand each other intuitively because of our shared knowledge. It’s a hard feeling to describe but it feels good. Empowering.
They tell me about their trip so far. Gmac has been there two nights and banged two girls. Rookie has been having all sorts of trouble starting from the beginning when he missed his original flight. He’s still finding his groove on the trip.
They close their bar tab and tell me they’re heading to Wet Republic at MGM. At this point I start wondering if they’re going to ditch me, if maybe they think I’m a loser. But they invite me to come along, so I head off with them.
I didn’t bring a bathing suit, so they go on ahead and I stop at one of those shitty discount stores on the east side of the strip… like between Planet Hollywood and MGM… Imagine the shittiest mall in the world and then fill it with drunk people. That makes it sound too nice, actually.
I see a bathing suit for $50. At this point, the guys don’t even know for sure they’re getting into Wet Republic without a cover, plus it closes in 90 minutes. Fuck. This.
I call Gmac and let him know I’m going to skip Wet Republic and chill in the casino at MGM. “Hit me up when you guys are done.” “Okay.”
I have about $60 in my pocket. I didn’t go to an ATM and I have no desire to gamble this trip. Although I’m a skilled poker player and blackjack card counter, my drive to gamble dropped significantly once I learned Game. It makes me realize that gambling is something sexually frustrated guys do as fantasy fulfillment. They want to feel like “winners” and like they’ve mastered something. But mastering women is much more satisfying than mastering cards or winning trivial amounts of money in a casino.
Nonetheless, I see a really cute blonde girl playing blackjack by herself. It’s a perfect in. I walk up and say “Is this your private table or something?” (Note: What you say as an opener is not NEARLY as important as how you say it– your tone, look, and body language. More on this later.)
She smiles. Her friend walks up at the same time. Her friend is loud and obnoxious, but I still don’t mind her because she’s wearing a bikini top and has huge tits on display. “She’s at this table because she’s a WINNER! This table is only for WINNERS! You’re not a loser are you?? Winnnnning!” (ugh)
The original blonde girl is still a lot hotter. She also has this cute smart-girl attitude that makes her even sexier to me. She was being super-obvious about the fact that she was counting cards, which I found adorable. I could tell she didn’t really know what she was doing, though:
1) She was sitting at a single-deck table that paid 6:5 on blackjack (which takes away all of your counting edge; no true card counter would ever play a 6:5 table)
2) She didn’t even know all of basic strategy. For instance, she said she “never splits 2s” even when I told her she should be splitting them (you should do it any time the dealer shows a 2 through 7, regardless of the count).
I didn’t say anything about card counting at the table, I just spoke like an expert on basic strategy. She laughed at me when I took insurance on the first hand of a shoe, but the count was +3 and that was the exact time to take it.
I did make one big mistake. I was in the middle of talking to her, more concerned with that than the game, and I hit my 12 against the dealer’s 6. The count was -3 at the time, so actually it was probably a toss-up move, but I busted. Everyone at the table laughed at me, and I could only shake my head. “If my family saw me do that, I would be disowned.” My uncle was one of the pioneers of blackjack team play in the 70s.
Eventually Gmac texts me that he and Rookie are at a bar in MGM. I tell the girls I’m going to go meet up with them. I’m up $10 and I color out my chips. The Card Counter (blondie) says she’s done too, and gets up at the same time as me.
As we walk away from the table, I grab her arm and pull her in close to speak in a low voice: “You… are the worst card counter I’ve ever seen.”
Her eyes light up. “What do you mean?!”
“You kept whispering to your friend, ‘Don’t bet big now, it’s not a good time.’ If the casino guys were half as good as me, they would have kicked your ass out by now!”
“Yeah, okay Mr. hit-on-a-12.”
I just smile and laugh. She tells me she has to put $50 on a roulette spin for her dead grandfather, so I stop at a table with her to watch her throw his money down the toilet on a retarded game. She loses, by the way.
I ask what she’s doing tonight. She says they’re going to XS at Wynn. I tell her I’m not sure of our plans but I’ll take her number and keep in touch. She gives it to me.
Later on that night I decide not to even text her at all. I have other things going on… plus she lives in the same city as me. That’s one nice prospect I’ll save for home.
It’s around 6 PM now. I meet up with Gmac and Rookie. Turns out they didn’t end up getting into Wet Republic (they wanted a $60 cover to go in for the last hour they were open).
The three of us decide to get shit started, and head out into the night.
The adventure had barely begun…
To Be Continued…