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Apparently what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas because I forgot to bring it home with me. I blame the shots of Hpnotiq. Tastes like grapefruit. Feels like early-onset senility.

Recovered Memory #1: Kim had an extra ticket to the show that she sold on Ebay. Since it was a last-minute deal, we had to meet the guy at the MGM to complete the transaction. We had a terrible time arranging a meeting place, and he was all kinds of snotty about it. And I'm thinking, "Dude, you're getting a good ticket to a show that's been sold out for nearly six months, and you're getting it at a discount. Get over yourself." While Kim navigated the parking garage, I manned the phone. In between getting pissy because we kept losing the cell phone signal, he did manage to say, "Well, you could just come up to my room and give it to me..."

Yeah. Right. I've been in Vegas a whopping 20 minutes at this point, and the first thing I'm going to do is traipse up to some stranger's hotel room. I mean, I'm sure it was all on the up-and-up, and there really aren't many good meeting places in the major hotel/casino/entertainment megaplexes. I'll be right there, Toots!

We finally met him in the lobby. He told us to look for a guy in sunglasses with a VIP lanyard. That should narrow it down to at least 50 other guys in the lobby. But really, he was easy to spot. Dorkitude of that caliber just stands out, even in a mob.

While Kim was completing the transaction, the guy looked at Kat, Anne and me. "I was at The Party last night," he said, showing the pass from The Party that hung around his neck. He flipped that pass to show another pass, from U2's 2001 tour marked with "Band Guest". "I was their special guest last time."

And here I missed my chance to go to his hotel room and demonstrate just how impressed I was.

Recovered Memory #2: The piercings! How could I forget the piercings?

No, there wasn't a point yesterday afternoon where I examined a part of my body and gasped, "Well, that didn't used to be bejeweled!" But that would have been pretty funny, wouldn't it?

Anne has always wanted a nose ring and decided that our trip to Vegas would be the perfect time to do it. Since I don't have a real job, there's nothing stopping me from piercing or inking any publically-displayed parts of my body so I thought, what the hell, I'll get mine pierced, too. If I don't like it, I can always take it out. At worst, it'll be a memorable experience that antibiotics should clear up in ten days. In true mob mentality, Kat decided that she'd finally get that belly button ring she's been coveting. Kim got piercer info from the concierge at Ceasars, but alas, our timing didn't work out.

Instead, in the wee hours of the morning after the show, Anne and I sat in our hotel room, contemplating a trip to a little place called Dead Presidents, open 24 hours on Industrial Drive. Sounds safe and clean, no? Maybe next time.

Recovered Memory #3: I almost fell 20 rows to my certain demise at the concert. Towards the end of the show I was standing there, engrossed, when I felt a massive cramp in my lower back, bad enough to buckle my knees. Luckily I was able to catch myself without hitting the floor (or the guy in front of me).

Wait ... that's not a cramp ... that's as human being. The woman behind me had rocketed over the back of my seat and plowed into me. Why? Because the guy behind her had done the same, creating a little bit of Arena Human Dominoes.

I don't think Bobby Flay instigated this, but it wouldn't surprise me if he did, smarmy little smug mealy-tomato-serving jerk.