Atlantic City Times Two

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One of my office’s gamblin’ German interns, Niko, finished up the extreeeeemely important work he was doing for us and moved back home on Monday, so nine of us went to Atlantic City two weekends ago to give him a proper sendoff involving a motel with a pamphlet of instructions on how to store your gun, scuffles over moist towelettes, and the finest rear ends I’ve ever seen on a lady.


Emily, Niko, Beth, and Jeff outside the Trump Taj Mahal

The first time I went to Atlantic City last month, my trip was paid for, and I thought it was maybe only fun because I didn’t spend any of my own money. But no! It turns out that I really do like cheesy theme casinos and their atrocious carpet.


Beth cuts a rug. (Get it?!)

Jeff drove Beth and me to Atlantic City on Saturday afternoon, and it was just as exciting the second time seeing the strip and all of its bright lights come into view. We checked into our cheap (but clean!) motel and then immediately went to the Virginia City Buffet in Bally’s to meet the others. We were already standing in line when everyone walked up, and one of the guys tried to get Niko to notice us by pointing to a sign on the wall that we were standing directly underneath. I started jumping up and down to get his attention, but he evidently had real interest in the sign. When he finally did spot us, hugs and laughs were exchanged, and Niko was genuinely surprised, because he’d been told that everyone already had plans for the weekend and couldn’t come to AC. Delightful!

We went back to our rooms after dinner, cleaned up real pretty, and took a cab from the strip to the Borgata for some dancin’. The casino was a totally different experience from the others I’d been in, as it was full of young sluts in formal wear instead of old people in sweatpants. Although maybe that had something to do with it being midnight instead of 2 p.m. Beth had suavely gotten us on the guestlist at Mixx, which meant we got to skip the line to get in but still had to pay $20. And I should mention that there wasn’t actually a line to get in. But still!

The club was actually really fun, and the DJ played a mixx of hip-hop that I’d of course never heard in my life and 80s alternative that I did a lot of happy screaming about. (Sorry, Beth and Jeff.) Beth and I are pretty much the whitest people you know, but we still thought we were really tearing up the dancefloor after a couple of drinks. Jeff disagreed. Still, we stayed until 3 a.m., and he danced with us the entire time, so I’m going to continue to open up the curtains in Kamran’s apartment and shake it for the neighbors every night.

The next day, we met for a fairly awesome brunch buffet at the Marriott across the street from our cheap (but clean!) motel and then went to the Taj to watch the guys in our group lose all of their money at the poker tables. Beth, Jeff, and I stuck to the slots, and I won $20 on one, while Jeff won . . .


yes, that says one penny.

I talked Beth into trying a machine called Kitty Glitter because of its ridiculous name, and she immediately lost half of the $5 she put in. Then she immediately won back a few dollars, so I started telling her, “Cash out! Cash out!”, because I come from the walk-away-as-soon-as-you’ve-made-any-amount-of-money school of gambling. But she refused and lost all of her winnings again, so I basically washed my hands of her. And that’s when she won $36. I was PUMPED. She of course continued playing until she lost $4 of that, but whatever.


Look at them kitties.

The three of us spent the rest of the afternoon walking along the boardwalk with Emily and Niko, eating Rita’s Italian Ice and Nathan’s hot dogs and caramel-covered marshmallows. It was the first time the sun had shone all winter, and we were so unaccustomed to it that we had to take off our coats and relearn how to sweat.

It was getting late by the time we made it to the opposite end of the Boardwalk, so Jeff stopped this guy who was pushing a cart and asked him to take us back to our hotel. I was under the impression that these guys were food vendors of some sort who just hadn’t stocked up their carts yet, but no, it turns out that their whole function is to push lazy people around. Here’s a video of our ride, though I assure you it’s not worth watching except to hear my extremely sexy, unusually high-pitched voice:

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6 Comments

  1. Yep. You and I come from the same school of gambling.

    See, Shreveport is full-to-bursting with casinos, but I only go to them once a year, for my mentally-handicapped aunt Carol’s birthday. Buffets of fried food and nickel slot machines are her idea of a good time, apparently.

    So we go, and I always put a dollar or two in the slots too, but I stop the minute I win so much as a nickel. I guess I’m not much of a gambler.

    Kenny Rogers would be so disappointed in me.

  2. Julie says:

    I’ve never been to a casino, so I have yet to discover my gambling style.

    • I hope you voted yes when that casino law was up on the ballot last year. You and every other Ohioan really deserve the chance to gamble off your kids’ college savings funds.

  3. Tracey says:

    That guy pushing you guys looked not-so-pleased. I think filming him was a nice touch. He seemed to enjoy that.

    • He was very nice! And I totally asked him if he thought he could really handle all three of our fat asses. Not only did he say yes, but he knocked $10 off the price. Probably because Beth’s so hot.