The Vegas Journals: October 25, 2000

Thoughts from the present day will be in red as I try to decode and explain some of my experiences. Parts are also redacted as I try not to name too many people.

Written during a Quarter-Life Crisis, reviewed during a Mid-Life Crisis

Part of the reason that I have decided to share this is because of my niece Emma who is currently at the age I was when I lived this chapter of my life. She is writing her own blog that can get deeply personal. I wanted to share some of my own experiences so that she sees that she’s not alone in what she’s going through.

Intro:

This is a journal written to hopefully chronicle my rise from nobody to somebody here is Las Vegas. Maybe in time I will reveal what lies in my heart but for now it will remain on these pages.

If you love you will be loved.

If you give you will receive.

Smiles will be reflected.

Laughter will be echoed.

If you let them in they just might stay.

October 25, 2000

“When you close your eyes do you like what you see, inside your mind?”

Once In A While by Dishwalla(1998)

(A running feature of this journal was starting off each date with a lyric to a song that seemed to fit my mood at the time.)

    My birthday is coming up. #23. But I feel no reason to celebrate. Really, what have I done since I got here? Joined a gym that is more expensive than the last (Q The Sports Club), gone back to school but since I’m not a state resident that’s expensive too (Community College of Southern Nevada), and taken a job for about ½ of what I made at the Marshside (the restaurant where I worked on Cape Cod) and less than ½ the hours (Target).

    If good things happen to good people does that mean I’m not a good person? I feel like I left one rut and have landed in another. What do I do now? I want to make it here but it seems like things get worse every day. Maybe I’m just starting slowly. I keep saying in a few weeks things will settle down, but I’m losing faith fast.

    I hate my job. They give me no hours. They won’t pay me because I don’t have a social security card. I didn’t even go today because I feel it’s pointless. I miss everyone so bad, but I get confused. It’s like part of me would like nothing better than to go back home ASAP, but then I remember why I left and I get torn up.

    Some days I feel like this is all a dream and I’m gonna wake up back on the Cape. I can only imagine what would happen if I went back home as a failure. Nobody would believe in me ever again and I wouldn’t blame them.

    Before I left I said to myself I’d give myself until the summer to do something, to better my situation, before I even considered leaving. But my god I never thought after 6 weeks I’d be out of money, working 15 hours, and just about as sad as I’ve ever been in my life.

    This week sucks because Dad is now finally bettering himself and I just have no drive. Did I come out here just to reassure myself that I’ll never be anything more than I was on the Cape?

    It’s weird writing this in a journal. This is stuff I would tell Kate (my sister) or Barry (my best friend) but I have nobody really. Sure I can call or write but it’s like why burden them with my problems when I only hear from them once a week or so?

    I feel like I’m worthless and invisible. Maybe I’m just conditioned this way? Uncle Eric is looking for a job for me with one of his clients. He really wants me to make it. I’ll take whatever he can find. I just want to have enough money to get my own life started, I’m not greedy. He, Emma (my aunt), and Patrick (my cousin) it looks like are going to visit the Cape in the summer. I might go too. I might be there already.

(My family I just mentioned had been living in Las Vegas for years and their lives were well established. This made visiting with them difficult as they were busy.)

    I want to do all I can to succeed, but I don’t want to stay so long that I wish I’d never come. Bear with me this first entry will be weeks rolled into one day.

    I guess I’ve put my quest for love on hold until I find peace inside. I gave that note to Erin before I left but she hasn’t even mentioned it. I really wish she cared. Of all the girls I’ve ‘had it’ for she’s the one that remained for more than a week. Hell, since Angela I’ve seriously thought about Erin, Sue, Ally, Colleen, Amy, and Kara. Jeez, and here I am still single after 2 years. Sad as it is I still haven’t fully recovered from being dumped. Part of me still believes she wants me back but is afraid to act. My ego? Maybe.

(As I stated at the top, I am redacting specific names, especially of girls I was interested in at the time. I don’t want to cause any problems all these years later.)

    I miss Barry. I wish he would stop wasting his time in that printing company. Look who’s talking. Seriously though, he can do anything. I want to help him get discovered. Maybe helping him will help me. My real goal is to join him in some kind of venture. We could really make it I think, but he has to get that desire again. So do I.

(Barry was/is a great singer/songwriter. I wanted to have a go at some sort of music venture. I could sing and write but had no musical talent. I think part of me wanted to live vicariously through him.)

    I just hope I make it. I’m tired of being nothing. I hate feeling like I’m just not good enough. But I can only take it one day at a time. So tomorrow we’ll see…

Summary In 2025: I had not had immediate success upon arriving in Las Vegas. The job I took paid far less with far fewer hours. At 22 going on 23 I had believed that I could just show up and succeed without really trying. Unfortunately, that was not the case. My age and inexperience led me to have little patience. This can be seen with me already wishing to go back to my situation on Cape Cod that I had left behind. Being young, impatient, and inexperienced will influence a lot of my thoughts in the coming weeks and months of my life in Las Vegas.

The remaining entries from The Vegas Journals will be found on the free tier of my page at Patreon.com.

The Vegas Journals: The Arrival

This might end up being the hardest part of my Las Vegas life to share. Not because of anything I did or that happened, but mainly because the memories are hazy. We are looking back to the year 2000 from the end of 2024. A lot of time has passed.

The time leading up to the move is fairly clear in my mind. Much of my time in Vegas is clear, obviously, because I kept a journal. Then there is the in-between. The period from maybe the last week of August through late October when I began the journal is a bit muddled.

My memory seems to show me that my father was a bit hesitant to have me come and stay with him in Las Vegas. I think part of him relented because of a chance to try to show my mother that he could actually be a supportive parent. I think another part was guilt over being a terrible parent and likely a bit of pressure from family members. The bottom line is I was more of a tenant than a son when I moved out there.

There were scores of sad but hopeful goodbyes as I left. I remember my greatest sadness being toward my niece Kaleigh. She was about 15 months old and I had been a big part of her life throughout it. I hated the idea of her growing up and not remembering me.

I packed up everything I had. At that point there was no laptop, no smartphone, my biggest piece of technology was probably my Sony Discman. Speaking of Discman, I packed all of my CDs to bring with me on the plane. Yes, nothing was mailed ahead of time.

How did I pull off bringing my CDs? It was simple. A few years earlier I had been given a large hockey duffel bag by my friend John. Or he just ‘forgot’ it at my house, I don’t remember. The bag was large enough to fit our friend Barry inside of it. I loaded that thing up with as many CDs as I could fit. In the end that bag weighed a ton and was hell to move. I can remember upon my arrival at my father’s apartment having burn marks on my shoulder from trying to carry the duffel over my shoulder through the airport.

Oh yes, the flight out. I was terrified of flying. My initial trip to Vegas in January 2000 was complete with me leaving a sweaty palm print on my Discman as I clutched it for dear life as the plane took off.

On this second flight, I was a bit calmer. Plus I was filled with optimism about this new life I was embarking on. I was 22 years old and had spent my entire life living in the relatively rural area of Cape Cod surrounded by the vast majority of my family and friends. Here I was now venturing thousands of miles away to a city where I’d be able to count on one hand the number of people I knew and still have fingers left.

Hope. That was the biggest thing I remembered about the time leading up to the move as well as the first few weeks. There was this feeling of anything being possible. Cape Cod felt restrictive. In my early 20’s I believed the only way to fulfill my potential was to move away. As much as I love Cape Cod to this day I still believe that the opportunities are fewer there. In Las Vegas, there was a seemingly endless landscape of opportunity.

My arrival was the first week of September. I believe it was right after Labor Day. Despite fall being on the horizon the heat was palpable. There was a string of 110+ degree days when I first got there. Sure it was a dry heat which made it tolerable. Still, when I’d open the door to the 2^nd floor apartment to step outside it felt like someone blowing a hair dryer in my face.

Over the ensuing weeks, I would use that dry heat to my advantage when it came to laundry. I’d hang my clothes on the balcony before going off to school or work and come home to dry clothes that smelled like the outdoors.

Of course, there was one time that it was windy and when I came home from school I noticed much of my laundry had blown off of the balcony and was strewn all over the grass and parking lot. That was not a good time. There was also a time that I tried to do laundry a bit late and while my clothes were in the washer in the apartment complex’s laundry room the attendant locked the door. I was able to call and get them to unlock it so I could get my clothes though.

So I had arrived. My father worked as a cook and was gone the vast majority of the week. He was either working or drinking and gambling at one of the smaller ‘locals’ casinos. His favorite was a place called Arizona Charlie’s. In a weird bit of trivia, the restaurant where he worked called Lakes Lounge was located in the same strip mall where Diff’rent Strokes actress Dana Plato had robbed a video store in 1991. It was a place called Lakes Video.

I was on my own basically from the jump in Vegas. My father was always out. My family, Uncle Eric, Aunt Emma, and Patrick lived in Vegas but it was about 15 minutes to drive from West Charleston Boulevard to their house on Pioneer Avenue. I didn’t have a car, plus they had established lives so it wasn’t like I could just hop on the bus and go visit.

My first major orders of business in my Las Vegas life were to get a job and to enroll in classes at the nearby Community College of Southern Nevada. The college courses were an easier task.

On the grounds at CCSN

I had been taking classes in Communication at Cape Cod Community College. So when I enrolled in Vegas I looked for classes along those same lines. A major one I remember is Broadcast Writing. I learned how to write scripts for television news which was fun. The college was a 5 minute walk away and had a neat layout. There were all sorts of colorful and unique structures all over the campus. One time I bought a disposable camera at the nearby Walgreens and took a bunch of photos of these structures.

The job was a different story. I did not have boatloads of money stashed away for when I got to Vegas. Being 22 and having never been away from home my preparation consisted more on packing my CDs in a duffel bag than socking away money. This proved to be a major problem and maybe the ultimate predictor of my failure there.

My father wanted money for me to stay at his apartment. I don’t know why I thought he might see this as a chance to help his son out for a bit until I got on my feet. I should have known better. He was always incredibly selfish. He routinely refused to pay child support and then once I was working he would be constantly in my ear begging for money. The fact that he immediately saw me as an ATM machine again should not have been a surprise.

My funds were steadily leaking once I got to Vegas. I had to be a bit rude to my former job on Cape Cod to get them to send me the last of my paychecks so that I could stay afloat a little longer. Desperation was setting in quickly which was not a good sign. I needed something fast.

What I ended up doing was applying for and getting a job in the back stockroom of a Target a few miles away. I felt it was just a stopover as I went to school and until a better job came along. I’ll never forget sitting in a conference room with a handful of other new arrivals to Target. The person in management running the orientation told us to write down in the ‘pay’ area $6 per hour.

It was a big-time gut punch. Sure it was 2000 but $6/hr was half of what I was making on Cape Cod. I felt terrible. I moved across the country to get a job making half of what I was making? I kept reminding myself that it was just the beginning and that something better would come along. Still, my pay was definitely a motivator for how hard I worked.

The Target where I worked in Las Vegas

My time working at Target was an adventure. The rest of the ‘Backstock Boys,’ as we called ourselves, were still in high school. I was the old man. They didn’t work hard, just like me, but they were all harmless and fun to be around. The irony is that today I only can remember one of them.

The one Backstock Boy I remember is a part of one of my favorite Las Vegas stories. He had a crush on a girl who worked there. She was dating another employee. My fellow Backstock Boy, seeing that I was in relatively good shape, had a proposition for me. I still don’t know if he was serious or not but he offered me $100 to beat the hell out of this girl’s boyfriend.

Now I don’t know what my beating this guy would have done to make the girl want to date someone else. I doubt the $100 would have even paid for my bail money when I inevitably got arrested for assault. Nonetheless, this kid would nickname me The Assassin. He would either flash the money fingers sign to me or just shout out ‘a hundred bucks,’ several times a day when we were working.

I said above that I was feeling the pinch for money but it was never bad enough that I wanted to beat people up for money. The actual work was easy. We boys would put a lot of stuff away in the back. We’d get calls over the radio to retrieve an item for a ‘guest.’ A lot of the time we were just messing around listening to the day's hits on 98.5 KLUC.

A few things that I remember about my Target backstock days.

One, my boss was an addict. I forget his name, which is good, but he was the backstock boss. He was always on something when he came back to give us our marching orders. This was evident because he’d tell us something, then leave, then come back a little while later and say the exact same thing like it had never happened. The story was he had been injured on the job and rather than take time off he had started taking pain meds. Now he was hooked.

Two, there was one kid I worked with who would routinely make himself pass out as a joke. He would take a really deep breath and then bend over and breathe in and out in short quick breaths. Then he’d fall over. We’d have to make sure there was something soft to break his fall so he didn’t crack his head open on the concrete floor.

Three, a favorite pastime of the Backstock Boys was as follows. At the end of one of the aisles in the stockroom, we would pile large pillows against the wall. Then one of us would get a running start with a scooter or a bicycle and crash headlong into the pillows. I told you, for $6/hr I wasn’t going to be killing myself stocking shelves. Target did have a Pizza Hut cafeteria so there was that.

Getting beyond college and work there was a lot of freedom in Las Vegas. It was option overload when it came to food. This is probably my most cherished memory from this time. Within a mile walk of where I live,d there was probably every fast food spot imaginable. It included McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, Carl’s Jr., Wienerschnitzel, Del Taco, and more. My two favorites were Jack In the Box and Panda Express.

Jack In the Box was in between where I lived and my school so I paid them a visit constantly. Burgers and chili cheese curly fries for dinner before watching WWF Monday Night Raw which came on at 5pm since I was out west. I had a few Jack antenna balls I wish I could find. They were the head of the mascot.

Panda Express was and still is my favorite of any fast-food place. The closest one to where I live is over an hour away. When I was in Las Vegas it was about 1 ¼ miles each way to walk to it. I gladly did this a few times a week in the 100-degree heat for some of that orange chicken.

If I needed groceries, with whatever meager funds I had from my high-paying Target job, I visited Albertson’s. The main memory I have of that store is the alcove of slot machines that were beside the entrance. Many a time I was called by those belles and chimes.

I would blow through some, or maybe all, of my money at the slot machines in Albertson’s or the nearby 7-Eleven. I stated in the last blog that winning on my first try at slots when I arrived for my visit to Las Vegas was the worst thing that could have happened.

That became a reality when left to my own devices. Within weeks of moving out there, I was in debt due to a gambling addiction that only stopped when the money ran out, and sometimes not even then. I routinely overdrew my checking account blowing money on slots. It was a regular issue that I mentioned a lot in my journal.

Fast food and slim money combine in the story of the gym I signed up at. Q The Sports Club was a short walk from the apartment. It was a massive 24-hour gym with part of the building being a glass, or plexiglass, pyramid.

 

It had all of the cutting-edge equipment. This included cardio equipment where you could access the internet. Of course that was only while you were moving. So if you were peddling the bike you were online, once you stopped the screen would go black. It was a brilliant way to get people to keep working out. There were many times I would be writing an email while peddling only for me to slow down and have the screen go black.

I can remember often walking to the gym late at night, sometimes after 10pm, and never feeling concerned about my surroundings. Perhaps it was just my age. I do know that the apartment complex where I lived a few years later appeared on the television show COPS. I guess I left at the right time.

When I look back on Q The Sports Club a few things pop into my head. One was the smell of chlorine that hit you when you walked in the front door. This was due to the pool just to the right of the entrance. The other was when I was being shown around the premises by an employee when I signed up. When we walked past the hot tub he made sure to tell me that since they were open 24 hours I could theoretically come in with someone at 3am and go into the hot tub and...you know. Honestly, that’s the first story I tell people about that gym.

I am sure that there are more of the nuts and bolts of my initial arrival in Las Vegas that I am forgetting. Being 25 years ago makes details a bit hazy while the major talking points remain clear.

This brings us up to date as to when the actual Las Vegas journal begins. I was somewhere between six and seven weeks into my time there. Things had not been progressing the way I had hoped and I felt alone and hopeless with nobody to confide in. I ended up confiding in a little black spiral notebook instead.

In less than two months I went from believing that all I had to do was get to Vegas and my life would immediately be better, to feeling like I had escaped one rut only to fall into another. My Quarter-Life Crisis did not end just because I moved away from Cape Cod. I naively thought it was that easy.

Next, we will get into the actual journal from the time. It starts on October 25, 2000, and things were looking bleak.

Previous: The Vegas Journals - Prologue

The Vegas Journals: Prologue

 

The genesis of my time living in Las Vegas has roots that stretch back to the summer of 1998. As summer dawned, I was 20 years old and my life had been a river where the waters grew increasingly choppy. The wheels had been set in motion long before though.

Flashback to June 1996, my high school graduation. While all my friends had planned to head off to college, my road was going a different way. I had started a relationship with a girl a few years younger. This meant that she was still going to be in high school. I was 18 and my perspective on life was far different than it is today in my late 40s.

I had liked girls, and had a couple that were considered the middle-school version of ‘girlfriends.’ I had never had what I considered a real relationship. This changed my worldview. I enjoyed the feeling of having her in my life, it made me reevaluate my plans. Before her, my plan was to go off to college. I had been a very good student throughout my school life so college was a natural next step. Falling in love, or at least what I thought was love, that presented a problem.

As I said she was going to still be in high school. Having never felt such strong emotions I was hesitant to let that go. In hindsight, I wish I had realized that my odds of ending up living happily ever after with this girl were extremely thin. In doing research I have found a few studies stating that roughly 2% of high school relationships end up in marriage. 2%. That means in contrast that 98% do not make it, at least to marriage.

In my mind though we would buck the trend. So I made the choice to not head immediately off to college. I had worked hard throughout school so my mother understood and said she understood me wanting to take a break. Don’t get me wrong, I did want to go to college and make something of myself, but the idea of losing my relationship scared me. I honestly felt I’d never find anyone else so I had to stick around.

At first, things went smoothly. I took a semester off and started going to school at the local community college. Plus I had a good relationship so life was good. I love our community college. In fact, I’m writing this currently sitting on the 2^nd floor of the college library. However, up to and including my senior year of high school my plans were to go off to college, as in away from home. I had big aspirations of going to the University of North Carolina, or the University of Nevada Las Vegas(UNLV). My plans didn’t involve a ten-minute commute to the community college.

I didn’t see it at the time but I had sealed my own fate. I made the mistake of taking my foot off the gas. What I mean is I had spent years studying and working hard at school. Once I lost that structure and routine, by my own choice, it was never the same. Being a boyfriend was more important than building my own life.

I think part of the issue stemmed from an unstable childhood that was rife with emotional and sometimes physical trauma. I had a father who couldn’t have cared less if I had food, clothing, or medical care. This was evident by his refusing to pay even less than the minimum for child support. You know, the money you give to ‘support’ your child?

The male that I grew up with, my mother’s second husband, was abusive and demeaning not just to me but to my mother as well. I was often told that my feelings and problems were ‘petty’ and didn’t matter. When you are 11, or 12 years old the problems you face might be small in the grand scheme but to you, they matter. So being told my feelings didn’t matter scarred me in a way I still feel to this day.

The bottom line is that I was in search of love. When I found what I believed to be love I pushed everything else off of the table and focused solely on that. The problem there is the fact that when you build your entire identity around a person they will inevitably let you down. Not because they don’t care but because they are human, as we all are. I wanted this girl to justify my choice to not go off to college by being beyond perfect. That is not reality.

Let’s come back around to the summer of 1998. My mother’s second husband was out of the picture thankfully. A new man had come along who was the stepfather and male role model I had needed. One storm was gone but several more were on the horizon.

The house my family had been living in for 9 years was being sold and we couldn’t afford to buy it. In all, I had lived on the same street in the same neighborhood for 14 years. Now as June ended we were leaving. The worst part was that my family didn’t have a place lined up. This meant that we all had to go our separate ways at least for the time being.

I ended up spending the summer living at my Nana’s house. When I look back now I am so grateful that I had that time with her. I also thought it might be a way to develop a bond with my father as he still lived with his mother in his early 40s. What ended up happening was he decided he needed a change and moved out to Las Vegas within a few days of my arrival.

To clear that up, my father didn’t move because I was staying there. He was in the midst of his mid-life crisis, much like I feel I am today. He felt he needed a change and moving out to Vegas where my Uncle Eric, Aunt Emma, and Cousin Patrick lived made sense.

I still remember waking up in the morning when he left. He hadn’t bothered to say goodbye. Instead, he left a note taped to the television in his bedroom. I don’t remember all of it but I do remember him saying ‘things were going to be getting better for all of us.’ It gave me hope but that was fleeting.

That relationship I had made the centerpiece of my life? It had been steadily going downhill. My own frustration with not having gone off to college like my friends combined with the shock that she wasn’t perfect was a ticking time bomb. In a bit of sweet irony, and probably karma for myself, my girlfriend chose the week after I moved from my childhood home, had the family dog put down, and had my father move across the country to tell me she thought we should break up.

Looking back now it’s like my raft was bouncing off of rocks and rumbling over waves but I was too busy looking up at the clouds. Then when the raft flipped over I was surprised. I hate change. I somewhat fear change due to the unknown. It is a problem when change is coming and you choose to wear blinders. So how did I react to all of this change?

I got my eyebrow pierced. I dyed my hair what I thought was blond but was closer to orange. I began wearing hemp necklaces. Once I turned 21 a few months later I began to find alcohol as a new girlfriend. I changed myself so radically and thoroughly as a coping mechanism. The biggest change was still to come.

Things felt out of control and yet constricting all at once. I drifted aimlessly. I worked doing food prep and cooking while still going to college. I ‘fell in love’ with any pretty face that came close. I was angry at the world because I had chosen the wrong path and was now in a dark alleyway when what I wanted was to be on a hillside overlooking a beautiful valley.

A Quarter-Life Crisis is defined as a period of uncertainty, anxiety, and self-reflection often experienced by people in their early to mid-20s to early 30s. It typically arises as individuals navigate major life transitions and grapple with questions about their identity, purpose, career, relationships, and overall direction in life. I met mine starting in July 1998.

After drifting for well over a year I decided to do my first bit of real traveling. I bought a ticket and hopped on a flight out to Las Vegas in January 2000 to visit my father and the rest of my family. Unbeknownst to all of them I saw this ‘visit’ as a dry run for a move out there. In fact, Las Vegas would have had to kick me in the nuts as soon as I landed for me to have changed my mind.

What the trip ended up being was a sensory overload. Coming from a relatively quiet area like Cape Cod, Massachusetts nothing can prepare you for the sights and sounds as you step foot in Las Vegas. From the moment I got off the plane and walked into the airport, it was a feast for the senses.

A harbinger of things to come happened within minutes of my arrival. The sounds of slot machines were everywhere. It was like a video game menagerie of bells and whistles. Naturally, I had a ‘when in Rome’ mindset. I had to play at least one slot machine, right?

On my first play, the first coin I dropped in, I won $100. In my 22-year-old mind gambling was easy, after all, I just won $100 on a quarter. This was a bad sign that will become a running storyline throughout my Vegas Journal.

My trip was filled with fun. I stayed with my father at his apartment on West Charleston Boulevard. The area where he lived was far from The Strip that most people picture when thinking of Las Vegas. It actually looked closer to the town of Hyannis, Massachusetts which was the next town over from me. Well, Hyannis on steroids.

I was overwhelmed by all of the stores and restaurants. I loved the warm and dry weather in the winter there. I also had not missed the community college mere steps from my father’s apartment. I also had my Uncle Eric, Aunt Emma, and cousin Patrick not far away. It felt like a no-brainer.

I don’t remember if I stayed for 3 or 4 days but the bottom line was that when I was packing to go back to Cape Cod I knew that was only going to be temporary. Las Vegas was to be my new home. There was so much potential. There were so many new sights and new opportunities. I had to get away from the choking Quarter-Life Crisis I was living in back home. What better way to shake things up than by creating the ultimate change in my life?

When I returned to Cape Cod I let everybody know that my plan was to make a permanent move to Las Vegas. To better prepare I decided to wait until Labor Day to actually leave. That would give my job plenty of notice to find someone to replace me. It was also a bit of a safety net in case I changed my mind. Honestly, I had no plans to stay on Cape Cod but part of me was hesitant.

For all of the changes I had gone through in the preceding year and a half none of them had been as drastic as moving 2,700 miles away across the country. I think in the back of my mind I knew I could always come back. I think I also knew that I could change my mind and people wouldn’t think less of me. However, where I was in life at that time I was hyping this move up as success or bust.

That’s where we’ll leave it. Heading toward the end of the summer in 2000. My move to Las Vegas was solidified and impending. I had a roof over my head at my father’s apartment. I had opportunities for work, school, and an overall better chance for success. What success meant to me I had no idea. In the immortal words of my father upon his own move to Las Vegas 2 years earlier, things were going to be getting better for all of us.

The view of Las Vegas from the airport in 2000.

Las Vegas Gambling Disasters: In My Footsteps Podcast Episode 133

Casinos on The Strip. The airport. The 7-Eleven. A grocery store. Las Vegas and gambling. They go together like peanut butter and jelly. A trip to Sin City typically includes some sort of gambling on The Strip. However, it is a different experience when one is a resident of the city and not a visitor. In this segment from Episode 133 of the podcast, I share some gambling stories from my time living in Las Vegas. These are 100% true and will have you laughing and shaking your head in disbelief. Visual Aides with the help of: Bing AI, Canva Pro, Google Maps Music includes: Local Elevator by Kevin MacLeod To listen to episodes of the In My Footsteps Podcast click here: https://inmyfootstepspodcast.buzzsprout.com/ Become A Subscriber to the Podcast on Patreon: patreon.com/InMyFootstepsPodcast Purchase a DVD copy of the Lady of the Dunes documentary here: https://www.oldies.com/product-view/1176D.html Purchase the new book Searching for the Lady of the Dunes written by 12th Generation Cape Codder Christopher Setterlund at https://theladyofthedunes.com/

In My Footsteps Podcast: Episode 6 - Koach KO New Year's Fitness, Betty & Barney Hill's UFO Abduction, Las Vegas Living, and more.