What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas....

Well, for those cross-checking in, I've spend the last few days in Las Vegas at Carl Galletti's Internet Marketing Superconference 7. As previously mentioned in my other blog, I consistanty give Carl credit for introducing me to the seminar experience. After attending a half dozen seminars, I can say that you can never let inconvenience, scheduling or price to sway you away from attending - the networking and contacts alone are well worth the experiences.

For those who know me, I got divorced in the last year, and have spent a great deal of time focusing my efforts on my multimedia marketing efforts. Of course, all work and no play make Dave a dull boy, so I made an effort to let loose a little on one night while out here in Vegas. That was Friday night (it is now Sunday). Now, mind you, there was no nudity or crime, of course, but let's just say that it was an "all-you-can-drink" buffet, and we'll leave it at that. Well, of course, we won't leave it at that, because something tells me that even though "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas", I have a feeling some of my choice marketing friends will spread the good word about ol' DJ Dave, so I felt a need to chuckle a little at myself, and let you know what happened. Yes, it is that funny, and, yes, it "might" have happened (only I truly know), but I will allow those with no life, and who are truly interested, to live vicariously through my libation enjoyments of the other night.

Now, to preface this story, understand that I am in my late thirties, and don't drink that often. To further enhance the origin of my condition later that night, I had not eaten anything since 5:30pm that evening, and, when I did, it was a low-carb wrap with as much substance as a rice cake. Delicious, but not the type of thing you eat when you're planning on going out later that evening.

We went to a bar named the Rum Jungle inside Mandalay Bay, and, having not been to Vegas in a decade (because when you have two beautiful young girls, you don't take them to Sin City), I was up to seeing one of these beautifully sculptured bars that I had hear so much about. So I loaded up my friends, Jeff Dedrick, Mike Filsaime, Barrington and John (and, yes, they get name dropped, as I'm sure they have dropped my name by now about my experience) in a taxi, and headed down there.

A bar like no other - trapeze-dancing girls, fully clothed (what did you expect in a public bar, ha-ha), bottles piled 20 yards high behind the bsr, and trendy bar patrons easily 15 years younger than myself. After having been married to a very selfish woman for almost a decade, it was nice to go out with a few friends, where we can all be generous, and everyone volunteers to buy rounds. And buy rounds we did. A lot. And these drinks weren't "casino strength" - they came with skulls and crossbones directly on the glass that contained the magic potions. I should have seen the danger that was to come, but I was having a wonderful time with wonderful people.

Needless, to say, by the end of the night, I was feeling quite happy. Everyone else was as well, but I was easily out of my element at this advanced stage of drinking. Maybe Jeff, Mike and everyone else was used to pouring down mixed concoctions like they were Mott's Apple Juice, but not me. As we head out to go to another bar, I was in the back seat of a taxi. Bad mistake. Even without drinking, I notoriously get car sick in the back of any car. After drinking, it was an accident waiting to happen.

Now, understand, I never DID get sick at any time that night, nor the next day. I just can't get sick, even though a little "yakety yak" might have been the best thing for me to do. But no, it was in my system for the long run. I had Mike pull over the car, so I could get out of the back seat. After sitting in the front seat for a few minutes, I had Mike pull over the car once again, this time, to get a breather on the sidewalk. Yes, you heard me correctly - your blog DJ was sitting on a Vegas sidewalk in Dockers and dress shoes, having a late night conversation with God, just hoping to get back to the hotel room with minimal damage. Jeff will swear that I was actually laying on the sidewalk at one point, and it wouldn't surprise me. Of course, at this very moment, Jeff is up in the hotel room, sleeping off his encounters from last night, as I'm reporting from the seminar room, but I digress.

Jeff tells me that taxi drivers were actually going out of their way not to pick us up and take us back to the hotel, fearing that my (our) condition would "complicate" their taxi's interior, if you know what I mean. One finally did, and, from what I was told, Jeff had mentioned that my inability to make it to the room on my own was severe enough to warrant picking up a wheelchair from the concierge, as I was to be wheeled up to my room with loss of mobility a la Stephen Hawking (with no disrespect to Mr. Hawking, of course). Truly, Jeff and Mike should have embellished the fact that I was past the point of no return at this point, by potentially wheeling me at a blackjack table, or perhaps using me to get a better place in line at a show, but they spared me that disrespect and simply enjoyed the state of mind I was in.

The next morning, the necessity of extended sleep was not lost on me, and I took advantage of sleep as a vital form of recovery. Made a joke to Jeff about, God forbid, if they had Mexican food for lunch, I was going to lose my mind. So, I'll give you one guess as to what was on the menu that day. Jeff and I couldn't eat it, of course, and I proceeded to go back to the room for additional recovery. By dinner time that evening, I was back to normal (with the exception of a bad headache), and my misfortune of the night before became fodder for our circle of friends at dinner and in the conference room. If I were a jerk, of course, I wouldn't have flattened a few people, but - hey - if we can't laugh at ourselves, who can we laugh at, right? I did a funny thing, and it was, indeed, funny to talk about. But it, of course, was not par for the course for ol' Dave. It was my Tiger Woods moment. It was sinking every putt, and not remembering where my clubs went.

So, with that in mind, the story of "Lost Vegas" ends. Life goes on, and if the story gets out by words other than my own, and doesnt "stay in Vegas", shame on the messengers, but feel free to laugh with me for a moment. It was a momumental display of excess, unequalled in Internet Marketing circles worldwide. But DJ Dave always gives 110% in whatever he does, and, on this one occasion, he gave a little more. Next time, I'm drinking orange juice... :-)
(P.S. As a postscript, Jeff Dedrick just woke up at 10:30am, still hungover from what HE did last night, which shall remain nameless. I've roomed with Jeff all weekend, and we've been giving each other crap all weekend long. But I couldn't have picked a better temporary roommate - hey, two 30-something Internet geeks like us shouldn't be this freaking cool, right? But, remember, never apologize for your actions at any point, especially in Vegas. Because what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right? :-)