Degenerate Diaries

If the best part of a Las Vegas trip is the anticipation and build up before, the worst part is the come down after. The Vegas hangover, as I like to call it.

Or, as my mom always says, “it’s all fun and games until it comes time to pay the fiddler.”

Oh boy have I been paying the fiddler this past week. As if the physical/mental/emotional/financial toll of Las Vegas wasn’t enough, I got all four wisdom teeth extracted two days after returning. So I’ve been recovering in all senses of the word.

While dental work provides a convenient (and almost universally understood) excuse for my radio silence the past few days, it’s not the true reason.

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Excuse the short post, but I’m currently kicking back on the 56th floor of the Cosmpolitan on a private balcony, with a Shock Top in hand, as Costas and Eugene shower and prepare for a night of debauchery on the town!

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When I headed out to Las Vegas the day after turning 21, I had no idea that I was starting a tradition. However, as any Vegas lover knows, once you're…

When you turn 16 you get to drive.

When you turn 21 you get to drink.

And when you turn 18 in Minnesota, you’re legal to gamble at Tribal casinos. So, the day I turned 18, I drove up Grand Casino Hinckley with my dad.

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Degenerate Diaries will be the “Viva Section” of Viva Las Value, where it will serve as my personal blog of sorts.

My friends (only semi) jokingly refer to me as a gambling addict. I prefer the term degenerate.

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