Lake Tahoe is probably California’s greatest treasure. And that’s saying something, for a place that people flocked to in the mid-1800's in the hopes of literally digging up treasure.

It’s a premier ski destination in the winter (save for the past two or three years). In the summer, those same trails provide for mountain biking. There’s hiking. There’s swimming. Breathtaking views. It sits right on the border, so it has a perfect combination of that California Class with that Nevada No Class. There’s casinos to gamble in and strippers to order. As a New Year’s destination, it’s perfect for high school and college kids to wander the packed strip with water bottles full of vodka, making out with each other with the amount of caution a baby has when putting something in it’s mouth (shout-out to all those girls from NYE ‘03–04!).

The point is, Tahoe has a 100% approval rating. It’s basically impossible to go up there and not have a good time. Which is why it makes for an ideal destination for the annual trip-with-the-high-school-friends. A good ol’ fashion bro-down that’s been happening for about 5 years now. It’s the perfect opportunity to relentlessly rip on each other all weekend, and also try to set the record for most balls in a hot tub. This year the burns-to-compliments ratio was as high as ever, but we fell short on the latter. Oh well, there’s always next year.

As a result of its general popularity, Tahoe has gained a reputation as somewhat of a party destination, too. Yet the nightlife options are surprisingly limited. Beyond the local dive bars, you’re pretty much limited to the casinos, which will likely provide the most action if you’re looking to get into some trouble with a member of the opposite sex (or same sex; you know what I mean). It’s not like this activity is a must-do for the single members of our group, but of course it’s on our minds. It’s the married/engaged ones who push harder for it, since they all want to prove what great wing-men they are.

Now, for the straight males, you’ve got your local cougars and your bachelorette parties — those are the two demos you’re most likely to run into, if you’re lucky. This year fit that bill pretty perfectly.

After greeting each other at the rented house with the requisite hugs and arm-punches, the seven of us got down to some drinkin’. Headed to the casinos with a solid buzz on. After some light gambling, we decided to try our luck at a bar that’s almost integrated right into the casino floor at Harrah’s. And wouldn’t you know it? It wasn’t too long before we were befriended by a lovely group of women in their mid-40's on a ladies night. They were pretty good-looking for their age, but sorry to disappoint you, folks. These women were happily married with kids, and had no desire to trample on all that. But we had a good time with them anyways. Dancing, chatting away, and explaining why their suggestions of who we should go dance with next were in fact not good suggestions.

Eventually we decided to check out the “club” club next door, because one of us had some connection to get us in free. But that place was full of zombies — people either too cool for school, or just too drunk. The scantily clad go-go dancers were a nice distraction, but it didn’t take too long before we were sick of standing around like idiots. Back to our friends, the old ladies, where we got to hear compliments that may have well been coming straight from friends of my mom. “How are you still single?” and “no way are you even close to 30!” And when you know it’s not going anywhere, it’s still fun to flirt and dance with someone, because you don’t have the added pressure of trying not to screw it up. Pretty sure they didn’t mind having the attention of us young studs, either.

The next morning, upon assessing the ski conditions (bad), and our hangovers (worse), we decided not to hit the mountain. Probably the right choice, because we may not have even made it out at all that night if we exerted our energy on the slopes. Even still, it took some pump-up jams and beer pong to get us motivated (I went undefeated over 4 games. NBD).

The second night followed a similar trajectory as the first, except this time at the craps table, I lost my self-allotted limit of money before I could even get a free drink out of the deal. Devastating. Luckily I was carrying my trusty flask. We decided to check out the same dance floor as before, and wouldn’t you know it? It wasn’t too long before a bachelorette party took notice of the strapping young white boys who could actually dance a little bit. One of them—let’s call her Leslie—picked me out, and after I half-jokingly told her I have a solid and proven track record with Leslies, she was in. You could tell she was cool, because she was laughing at my other jokes, too. What followed was your classic make-out-on-the-dance-floor performance. Good kisser, that Leslie. Those situations are always tough to close, though. She’s with her friends, there’s no privacy back at the place, it’s already 2 AM, and everyone is packing up and leaving tomorrow. It’s a logistical nightmare. We did exchange numbers, though, and those will likely never get used, because she lives in LA. ☹

Although, she moved to LA after living in San Francisco for several years. Kind of a red flag, there, no? So it’s probably for the best.