An on-going series here on Puke on Your Birthday, during which Joe writes about the nights that were special to him for some significant reason. They are the nights that made him who he was, either because of what happened that night, or after years of reflection. Not saying that they are good nights or bad nights, they're just important for some reason, which will be explained here. Got it? Okay.
PART XIII
A Very Vegas Adventure
April 2, 2012
This is will be about the fourth time I rewrite Part XIII. It started as a completely different night, a similar one, but the message was the opposite of the one below. It was too pessimistic, too "woe is me," it was way too much of Emo Joe. I am trying to make a concentrated effort to reflect on nights in a positive way. I don't want the entire "importance" of a particular night to be "that was how it used to be, and now it's not like that," because that's a disservice to all the great things in my life right now. It's one thing to be nostalgic, it's another thing to be so nostalgic for the past that your present becomes depressing. I know this is an issue for me. I'm working on it. I'm appreciative of my present, and my future. Things are good. ANYWAYS...
For the first half of 2012, Pam and I lived in Las Vegas. Yes, it was a grand experience, but probably not for the reasons you are expecting. We didn't live on the Strip. We weren't clubbing every night. It wasn't a "Vegas Vacation" stretched out over six months. That's not really our style. Instead, we lived the domestic life, just on the other side of the country. We both were employed. We went food shopping. It wasn't batshit crazy every night. The only difference was that when we did want to go out on the town (a couple times a week, still!), we had the city of fucking Las Vegas at our disposal.
It was a great experience, and I felt it really brought me and my then-girlfriend Pam together closer (it was while we were living out here that I confirmed in my mind that, yes, I want to marry this girl). And we had some great times. But if there was one thing missing in our adventures out west, it was... well, it was just us out there. All our friends and family were still back in Philly.
But even with that, we made the best of it, for sure. The few friends and family who could afford the trip did come out to visit, and we had a couple great extended weekends with familiar faces. And there were a few other folks around Vegas that we spent some time with. I met some random dude at a Reddit meet-up (I know! lame!), and we drank with him and his friends a few times. And Pam had a couple coworkers that lived in the same building as us, an engaged couple from Louisiana, whom we went out with a few times.
With the folks from Louisiana is where we found ourselves on a random fucking Monday night in April 2012. We hadn't made plans, but they said they were going to a bar called Frankie's Tiki Lounge, and that sounded fun, so a bus ride later (I had finally conquered the Vegas Bus System map) and we were there, sucking Mai Tais out of fancy glasses.
Along with the Ronnie and Kayla from down south, we had Chris, who was yet another traveling nurse, and also Ronnie's two cousins, who were in town for a classic car convention, and were dressed like Greasers. A motley crew, to say the least. But we were in Vegas, drinks in hand. That's when the fucking magic happens in this town, my friends.
From the dark, eclectic tiki dive bar of Frankie's which journeyed to Fremont Street, where the first thing we saw was a big glowing sign advertising KARAOKE and DOLLAR BEERS, probably the two things that could attract my attention the most on a bar sign. So we hung at Beauty Bar and got pretty loaded on those $1 Sierra Nevadas. Pam sang an incredible rendition of "Just a Girl" by No Doubt. And we made fast friends with nurses and classic car aficionados and strangers alike.
We ended the night at a famous diner along the strip, the Peppermill, and though I don't remember too much about the end of that night, I do recall our new friend Chris ordering "fruit dip" and the six of us just thought that was the funniest goddamn thing in the world, and we laughed over grilled cheeses and more beer and the neon lights of Las Vegas. (All great nights end in this way. From Dazed and Confused, the "epic night" bible: "Nothing like piling on old pancakes and syrup after a night of beer-drinking!")
Writing it all out now, I'm failing to capture how EPIC the night felt at the time. It was one of those can't-miss nights when everything goes right, when you share beers with people you just met but right away get along with, when you stumble upon a cheap karaoke joint and tear the place apart, when you end your night over greasy food and with (now) good friends.
And what makes this night most important, I think, five and a half years later, is that we had a great night with strangers and one-off friends. I spent a lot of time in Vegas missing my friends back home, but here I was, finding a way to still have the type of night I would have in NEast Philly, an EPIC night, just with new friends instead of old.
I'm not saying that our Vegas crew, like, replaced our crews from Philly. That didn't happen and it's not my point. My point is that we had a great time despite the circumstances of appearing to be out here, just me and Pam, out here in Vegas. DESPITE being 2000 miles from the people we care about most, we found a fucking fantastic, memorable night anyway. Me and Pam are still laughing about that damn fruit dip.
I think it's a lesson I can apply to my life right now, especially in the context of all that stuff that I avoided here but expounded upon in earlier drafts—feelings of despair that I'm growing apart from my friends, feelings of brokenness because of my self-imposed sobriety, feelings of regret that I'm evolving and growing and my priorities are changing, etc. If I feel like maybe I'm not seeing my friends as much these days, for instance, well then, what about when we were in Vegas, and I wasn't seeing any of my friends at all? That was the case, but we made the best of it, and found a few great fucking nights anyway.
I think maybe life itself is all just making the best of the circumstances you are given. That might sound pessimistic, but it's not. Okay, so we're all growing up and hanging out less and less, and okay, I'm not even drinking when we do. But does that mean I should wallow in pity and give up and just miss the "good ol' days"?? Shouldn't I instead be working harder to create new memories? To find a way, despite the circumstances, to find those EPIC nights? If it was possible in Vegas, it's certainly possible now.
Yeah, the EPIC NIGHTS are going to occur less frequently. That's a given. It happens to everyone as they grow older, not just assholes like me who flamed out from partying too hard to begin with. But I want to cherish those nights to come, the nights that haven't happened yet, but are just around the corner, waiting, for someone who is open and accepting and lives those nights the best they can. I'll be ready for them. I will.
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