They gave daddy the rainman suite...again.

They did it again...but this time it was at Mandalay. For some stupid reason, they gave me the hookup at THE Hotel. And a multi-day hangover to go with it. Call it a souvenir. A little something to take home with me. And by little I mean big. Somebody fucking shoot me. If I had any semblance of a training plan, I'd call this one a rest week. Some people sleep during their rest weeks. True amateurs find other things to do with their time. Especially in Vegas. Great news- Belgian beers have officially found their way into town. Perfect. That's just what I needed. Because the other stuff just wasn't getting it done. And I don't get enough Belgian poison in my system at Brickstore. My performance Wednesday night was nothing short of Pro. Not D3, Continental, whatever. Straight up ProTour. Don't worry though- it's now Friday, and I've been promptly downgraded to my previous state of amateurity. My recovery has been like a Cat 5 in a grand tour. Amateur for life.