Boys and Vegas

Apparently Vegas makes boys stupid. I know this isn't a profound idea, but let me elaborate anyway. I called the boy earlier this afternoon, making sure it was late enough that I could be pretty sure he'd be awake. Of course, in Vegas, one never knows if any time is a good time. The boy didn't answer. Ach, maybe he was busy (e.g. strippers). Like the thoughtful boy that he is, he didn't call me back. When I got out of class, I tried again. Once again, he was too busy (strippers?!) to answer the phone. I called repeatedly. Not because I'm psycho, but because sometimes he doesn't notice right away. Nothing. Then I leave a message. Nothing. Like the caring fiance that I am, I begin to worry. I call the wife of one of the guys he's with, thinking it would be nice to know they are just busy (STRIPPERS??!!) and not the latest CSI plot. Strangely enough, the number I have is their cell phone number. Guess who answers--the boy. He says "Hello [Casey]?" Then he hangs up. I think perhaps their cell phone charges outrageous fees in Vegas and figure he will just call back on his phone. I wait. Nothing. I call his cell phone. Nothing. I call the wife's cell phone again. Nothing. I call his phone several more times like a crazy psycho girlfriend. Nothing. I leave an angry message with several explitives expressing my dissatisfaction with his hanging up on me and non-answering of his own cell phone. I threaten him with bodily harm. I wait. Nothing. I wish to go to bed but know the second I am pleasantly dreaming about a man with a nice ass who returns my phone calls, he will wake me up. He's just thoughtful like that.