ONLINE GAMBLING AND CASINO GUIDE

As NV Energy continues to raise electric rates, I have come to the realization that the best way to lower my air conditioning bill is to use someone elses.

Over the years, I’ve staked out certain spots where I get a good CDMA signal and decent cellphone coverage, and I can go about many of my normal routines using the casino as my second home.  Even though I no longer own a TV, I know full well the myriad of places that I can go to watch one.

Anyone with a decidedly average IQ could actually live quite comfortably in this town being damn near homeless.  As long as you tip the waitresses, play a little, and don’t cause any problems, you can more or less use the monstrous casinos as your own personal living room.

For better or worse, I have learned to use the resources of the casino to my advantage.  I don’t need a widescreen TV.  I can walk two blocks and watch any major event I want to on a 150” LCD.  Almost any Poker Room will give you CNBC, CNN, or any channel you request as long as there is no mass-objection.

One of these days, I’m going to walk into a poker room, loudly insist that they put “The View” on the plasma, and gauge the reaction.  I’m pretty sure there is a limit to what will be tolerated.

Since I also play games, I like to think that my usage of casinos is a mutually beneficial relationship.  I concede that the house doesn’t squeeze quite as much out of me as they do an inebriated tourist, but I’m not walking around with a fist full of coupons while demanding comps either.

For the past two days, I have been beating the heat (notice I said heat, with an “h”) at the Stratosphere pool and the casino area itself.

Why The Strat?

Because I use the tower as one of my alternate “offices” at least a few times a year.  There is nothing quite like setting up shop for two hours on a couch near the Starbucks in the Stratosphere Tower, and conducting your online business 1,000 feet in the air with a 360 degree view of the city.  It’s pretty F’ing cool, and it’s one of my favorite homes away from home.  I’ve rendered many a video, edited many a photo, and participated in many a conference calls sitting on a couch while watching the city go by beneath me and watching helicopters fly by at eye level.  You also feel isolated and untouchable, and it feels like you have gotten away from the madness below.

The caveat is that this  particular “satellite office” sets me back a few bucks, but the more time I spend in the tower, the more money I save on electricity during the  triple digits, so I look at it as a wash.

I’ve been pestering the property for a yearly or monthly pass, but to date, they have shown no interest in such an offering.  As strikingly gorgeous as I am, they probably don’t want me up there every day.

The other nice thing about The Strat is that they actually have a decent pool which is underrated and rarely crowded.  It’s not on-par with Mandalay Bay, but it’s a solid mid-level offering somewhere along the lines of TI.  They also boast one of the best adult pools in Vegas.

Club 25, unlike some of its better known counterparts, actually attracts a fair number of topless women on a reasonably consistent basis.  This is due to its being small, private, and on the 25th floor of the hotel.  Since there are fewer gawkers and pervs (present company excluded) due to the almost complete absence of marketing hype, this is the pool of choice for some local dancers who aren’t interested in putting on a show, but really just want to get rid of tan lines.

After soaking up some rays to add to my impervious summer “burn-shield”, I headed down to the casino to soak up some second-hand freon.  As I emerged from the elevator (the pool is on the 8th floor) and walked toward the bar, I noticed a dealer that I had not seen before.  She was hot, she was Asian, and she was … virtual.

That’s right, I actually stopped and ogled a female made solely of pixels.  What can I tell you, I’m not picky.

As I stared at the screen, I could not help but wonder what kind of complete moron would be enticed to play a game because a fake dealer was hot?

After contemplating this for a bit, I went ahead and took a seat at the table.

So much for my “Poker Only” rule this week.

To be fair, the game has reasonable rules.  Not perfect by any means, but okay for a $3 limit game.  There were two guys sitting at the machine, and I asked them what Blackjack paid.  Of course they didn’t know (nobody knows what they are playing anymore), but I quickly spotted a pay table that spelled it all out for me.

In addition to standard Blackjack, there are also proposition bets called “Royal Match”.  Since I hadn’t explored the house advantage of these props, I steered clear, but I did get get to work on 21.

After a mere half hour, it was clear to me that smoking hot electronic women like me, because for the first time in what seems like forever, I had a winning BJ session.  It was bound to happen sooner or later.  Not only did I have a winning session, but I went on a monster run, and quadrupled my initial stake in very little time.

I also spoke to my electro-dealer throughout the game and at one point, a gentleman wearing a trucker cap admonished me, “You know she’s not real don’t you?”.

I turned to him and said “Keep your voice down, she can hear us.”

“What?”, he said.

“Look, I’m trying to get laid tonight and you’re not helping matters”, I said.

Nobody at the game spoke to me for the rest of the session.  As a matter of fact, the trucker guy left shortly after this exchange.  I make friends everywhere I go.

Anyway, I made a decent percentage more at this table than I would have at a felt table, because considering the run, I probably would have tipped a good percentage of my winnings to an actual dealer.  Electronic tables are the only places where you can keep 100% of your winnings to yourself and not feel guilty.

Satisfied with my return, I cashed out, thanked my electro-dealer, pushed the front door open, and was greeted with a “whooosh” of air that felt like the world’s largest blow dryer had been turned toward me.

As I was walking past the cab stand, I passed an older couple.  The were both fanning themselves with paper, and the man said “It’s so hot”.

I slowed down for a moment.

“But it’s a dryyyyy heat”, I chimed in sarcastically.

The gentleman looked at me with an unamused expression — as if he was restraining himself from kicking me in the twins.

After all these years, I finally know exactly how I look when people say this to me.

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