I Left My Lung In Las Vegas: Prologue

***Warning: by the time of the next sunrise, there will be in all likelihood be a picture of me, in the Mandalay Bay sports book, face down in a turkey and avacado sandwich somewhere on the internets. Proceed with caution...

I am currently sitting at my desk, wearing totally smoked out seersucker pants with orange drank stains on the left leg, an unused lounge lizard shirt {smoke free!}, dirty dress socks, and very scuffed borderline fancy dress shoes {thank you, impromptu after midnight Fremont Street "visit"}: this is the closest I can get to the office dress code given the contents of my 1 checked bag, which is passed out on the cubicle floor to my immediate left. Only a razor's edge separates me from complete immobility as the work piles up around me like a construction project in Fraggle Rock. The last time I went this long without sleep, Ray Goff was the head football coach of The University Of Georgia, and Hines ward was a fresh faced college kid who was not yet the sporting hero of an entire nation in the Pacific Rim.

What circumstance resulted in this current state of affairs? 72 hours in Las Vegas with Orson Swindle, King Of The College Football Blogosphere, and his merry band of assorted friends, foes, and hangers on. I'm not sure exactly how I came to be a part of this whirling dervish of amistad, but once you are in you stop asking questions, hold on, pray to the Gods of multiple religions {just to be safe and cover all the bases}, and enjoy the ride.

The basics:

- hours slept last night: 0
- hours slept Saturday night: 2
- hours slept Friday night: 5

Totals: 7 hours out of 73, which if it was a batting average would be .096.

3 new career bests set in: least amount of sleep in a 24*, 48**, and 72** hour period.
*tied
**annihilated

- packs of cigarettes second-hand smoked: approx. 137

- bottles of orange drank consumed: 3 in Vegas, 4 in last 7 days

Orange Drank: official multi-symptom cold relief
syrup of Dodgy At Best since mid-March 2008

"I be on that orange drank,
straight up on that orange drank,
I be on that, straight up on that,
I be on that orange drank"

- 5.45 a.m. morning of departure wakeup calls missed because I was still out gaming: 1

- number of blackjack hands personally witnessed where drunken and hopelessly clueless Irish girl sitting directly to my left is dealt a pair of aces, chooses not to double down but to hold, and then proceeds to win hand after dealer busts out: 1***
***within 60 seconds of this happening, dealer admits that in 14 years of dealing blackjack this indeed was the first time she has ever been defeated by a hand totaling 2.

That's all the energy I can summon right now. Some of the other details of this epic adventure weekend are beginning to bubble to the surface courtesy of Miss Holly and a still flying back to Eastern Standard Time as we speak Swindle himself. I will likely hibernate for a few days while they provide a solid first 8 innings of revealed incidents, then I'll stumble out of the bullpen for my 1 inning of half-assed mopup work.

I'm off to the house and the prospect of head on soft pillow for the first time since Georgetown were still alive in the 2008 NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament {aside: Princeton offense with talent + 17 point 2nd half lead + #1 field goal % defense in the nation + scrappy yet undersized and far less athletic opponent = 5 point loss is the new gold standard of MASSIVE FAIL}.

I'll be back once my vital signs have returned to even borderline safe levels and I finish trying to wrap my head around the concept that the last 72 hours of my lungs' life = everyday life for people living in Beijing. But trust me, the animated GIF of Swindle in an off white leisure suit, pink shirt, and cream colored low-cut chucks attempting to himself pass out high gloss finish photo index cards for on call whores to Las Vegas Blvd. sidewalk strollers will be worth however long a wait it ends up being: trust me.