6:15 p.m. We show up to a well-behaved crowd at Hennessey's Tavern, and promoter "Poizen" Ivy Hover, organizer of our ambitious pub crawl, hands out itineraries and buttons. I clip mine on, now officially branded with "Happy Holidaze, The 12 Bars of Christmas." Liver, prepare to be punished.
The 30-person carousal wrecking crew is diverse. From a 22-year-old UNLVer to a 64-year-old retired Summerlin resident, nobody is daunted by the theological issue of bending a Christmas song into a night of binge drinking. I finally get my first drink. What the hell does theological mean? On to the next bar.
Hover cracks the whip like a dominatrix. "Beauty Bar, let's move, people!"
Things start shaky, with locked doors at Stops 2 and 3 (Beauty Bar and Take 1). The crowd grows restless. "I'm going to become undrunk soon," says a blonde in the back. Our group of boozehounds sniffs further east on Fremont Street, and crack dealers and hookers distract us from the cold. An older gentleman asks, "Are those real prostitutes?"
"Absolutely," I respond with authority. My girlfriend/designated driver shoots me a puzzled look, apparently suspicious of my confidence on the subject.
6:45: Hover thinks fast and dives into the Western hotel-casino. The only thing that stands out more than we do is the funk of decades' worth of Marlboro Lights permeating the space. A pair of non-English-speaking patrons with a table covered in Tecate cans coaxes us into a toast. This is my new favorite place.
The sudden influx of a hoard of still relatively sober people seems to alarm the Western. Beverly of Western Security is over in a flash. It isn't until Hover hands Beverly an itinerary with song lyrics on it ("Let's Have a Patrick Swayze Christmas" and "White Trash Christmas," among others) that she is convinced we are merely clinically insane rather than a threat to the $2 blackjack tables. The group singing begins, and I start to take the 12 Bars of Christmas seriously. This is no ordinary bar hop.
7:30: We arrive at the Bunkhouse after a scary trip through a back alley. Our numbers are dropping; we're down to 22. A nice man at the bar has a plastic county bag containing his personal belongings, apparently having just concluded a nice state-sponsored overnight stay. What does our jocular crew do? Challenges him to a game of pool. I love these people.
8 o'clock: Atomic Liquors. Our numbers are back up; it seems they escaped from the alley. We have also added four more, our entourage now at 34. I run into Al Schaefer, an engineer who has rallied about 16 of his employees into the 12 Bars after reading the blurb in last week's Weekly. Admitting he has never been remotely close to this part of the city, he also says he is going to come back to the Atomic. Before we fall too far in love with our fifth cocktail, Hover is making up time: "Five minutes and we're out!"
8:27: El Cortez. It is hard to figure out how many are still with us—I can only see out of one eye.
8:54: Jillian's. We have 48 caroling fun addicts now, and the lubrication is in full swing. The gal-pal and I get into a game-room Olympics of air hockey, skeeball and basketball with Melissa Sweitzer and Tony Grant, a professional duo searching for a nocturnal reprieve from the yuppie bar circuit. The 12 Bars delivers.
10:11: Hogs & Heifers. Apparently we get too competitive in our gaming and we miss the Four Queens. By drunken luck we run into our crew at H&H, where I think we hit our climax. Three drinks are spilled, anyone that is allowed on the bar is on it and all 48 of us are best friends.
11-ish: Sidebar. What in our brains tells us it's okay to keep consuming alcohol after we trip over the same chair twice?
11:30? Binion's. There is a mechanical bull.
Close to midnight (according to the ATM receipt): Golden Nugget. My girlfriend has stopped speaking to me. Not sure why. I am also wearing a Santa cap.
Saturday morning: I wake up naked on the couch, no idea how I got home and with 12 drummers drumming in my head. Pretty sure it wasn't the 12 bars, but I can't wait until next year. Downtown is grand, Happy Holidaze indeed ...