And By The Way...Happiness is a Monday Five with a Good Close

1. Getting Old: So, this weekend, I was meeting up with some lovely Bachelorettes that Party Planning Girlz had booked a party for, and I see them walk into the casino with their bags. And included with their bags is a full case of bottled water. And I sighed wistfully and said, "I remember when my girls and I used to party so hard that we had to come packing a full case of bottled water with us."

Like, eight months ago.

Ladies, get the acts together and schedule a trip. We can't be trumped by some 22 year olds from Orange County. Yet. We're not that settled in ... yet.

2. Something More Wholesome? I read the chapter of the Charles Schulz biography today that's entirely devoted to the making of A Charlie Brown Christmas. I cried like a baby. Just like I do every time I watch that special ... which is not limited to Christmas time.

3. Of Limo Drivers and Drama: First, this weekend, one of my favorite limo drivers in the world got fired for ... and wait for it because this IS Vegas ... a VIP host put some people in his limo and instead of quoting them a price to go into a strip club, he just said "Just take care of the driver," which is a million kinds of illegal here. In your town, do people lose their jobs over mis-quoting entrance fees to strip clubs?

And then I watched a hooker and a pimp try to steal a limo on Friday night. Actually, they pretty much did steal the limo, but I hear that they were tracked down later. The limo driver opened the doors and turned on the cd and then took ten steps away from the limo to greet his party. And as soon as he did, this pimp and his hooker jumped into the limo and took off. Okay, she didn't so much jump as she kind of tipped over in her hooker shoes and fell in, but you get the point. And everybody just kind of stood there and stared. I felt grateful to be a part of it. And then I shook my head and said, "I really should get out of Vegas."

4. Teaser: Slap sent me this horrifying article about mothers who take their daughters to the spa, and I don't mean for a mani and pedi after they're teenagers. Though, for the record, in my hometown if you were a teenager who wanted a mani and pedi, you were going to "Hair We Are" and you were coming out with some acrylics that had airbrushed shooting stars on them. But anyway, there was this fantastic line in the article about how mothers were making their daughters too pretty, too early and "how, without the ugly years, would girls learn to accept themselves?" I have so many thoughts on that. And soon, I will have time to write about them, because...

5. I Quit My Job Today: It's true, though I'm not really leaving until the end of June, which is about when you should expect the email from me that reads "Hey! I'm going to Mongolia to ride horses across the desert for two weeks, but then I'm really going to be looking for as many freelance gigs as I can find. Know anybody?" Until then, don't stress. Just know that I, for the first time in over a year, woke up without a big stress zit on my chin today because I finally came to a firm decision. BUT IT'S NOT LIKE IT WOULD HURT YOU TO START THINKING ABOUT PEOPLE WHO WOULD HAVE FREELANCE WORK FOR ME AFTER I FINISH MY SOUL SEARCHING ON THE ASIAN SUBCONTINENT.

You love me BECAUSE I do ass-backwards crazy shit like this. Remember that if I start asking for donations in November. No, I'm sure it will be fine. I have offers already, I just don't know if I can make the timing work or not.

As a side note, did you know that "hookers" was a blog tag that I had apparently used before?

 

iPhones, Strippers, Counting Crows and Breakdowns: Friday Five!

1. True Tales of the iPhone & Strippers: How does the iPhone change your life? Like this. So last Sunday night, PPG had a party, and at the party there was supposed to be a stripper. And the specific type of stripper requested was "A Black girl, big on the top and big on the bottom." At 2am, I got a call from the clients that the stripper who had showed up was a small, Asian girl. So I had to get out of bed at 2am and head down to the strip to deal with swapping the girls out.

And when I get down there, I have to sit for half an hour while I'm waiting for my big-bodied Black stripper to arrive. And I'm bored. So I get out my iPhone.

I have this very dear friend Jen whom I love, love, love. Jen and I boxed together. Jen and I traveled to Budapest together and maybe next week I'll scan all of the wonderful photos of us at a fertility festival in Pesc or in a bathhouse in Budapest or recovering from a crazy birthday party we had in a place called Old Man's Pub. I love Jen, but a few years ago she moved to Russia to "do the good work" that she does. We still keep in touch. There are gaps, but then there are a flurry of emails and it's always more like resuming a conversation than starting a conversation.

So, I'm sitting there, miserable, waiting for the big-bodied Black stripper to arrive and I decide to check my email on my iPhone. Jen has emailed me a link to this - an article in the New York Times about her husband, who is also doing "the good work" as a lawyer in Russia. And because I am on my iPhone, I open the link and read the article in full glory-sized screen with amazing graphic resolution. And then because I am on my iPhone and it is the middle of the night here so the middle of the day in the Motherland, I can text and email with Jen real time for a little while, which we rarely get to do.

The iPhone. It brings me and my dear, dear friend in the Motherland closer.

2. Another Story of Vegas Party Planning: On Saturday, I also have to hustle my booty out of bed in order to deal with a limo "situation." The situation is as such: It's all very complicated. Because of the complicated system of "tips," kickbacks, payoffs, under the table money and such, what typically happens is that we meet up with the limo driver about 20 minutes before the client does to make sure that everybody was, is about to, or will be taken care of. Yes. This is my life.

Anyway, the limo driver that we're using on this particular night is not a limo driver that we've ever used before. He's in his fifties, originally from New York, a fun guy. We have a good time hanging out while waiting for the client and talking. We talk about the limo driver's daughters - who are, and this is important, MY AGE.

As the clients are coming out, I say to him, "Can we call you sometime if we need an extra driver?"

And he looks at me and says, "As pretty as you are, you can call me any time. How about dinner next week?"

Now, when you are female and you touch the "entertainment" industry in Vegas in any way, there is only one response you can give to this. It's to smile nicely and dodge the situation. Which I do.

And then...driving home. I have a breakdown. I call RJ and launch into the following:

"OH MY GOD - A FIFTY YEAR OLD JUST HIT ON ME. I DON'T MEAN HIT ON ME IN THE INAPPROPRIATE SMARMY WAY, I MEAN IN THE LEGITIMATE, HE THOUGHT IT WAS APPROPRIATE TO HIT ON ME KIND OF WAY. IS THIS MY FUTURE? AM I THIS OLD? ARE FIFTY YEAR OLDS GOING TO HIT ON ME? OH MY GAWD. MY YOUTH IS OVER."

I mean, ignoring the fact that I'm going out with a 27 year old who JUST TURNED 27 THIS WEEK. That was my reaction to that. I haven't been right since.

3. Speaking of Dating People Who Are Too Young for Me: You know you're going out with somebody too young for you when you say the following at their birthday dinner. "I know that you're too young to remember this, but Counting Crows was actually a pivotal band for me."



4. And...Go! Starts Now. I sadly watched last night as $1200 exited my checking accounts for air tickets to San Francisco, Austin and Pittsburgh. I had a twinge, but then I remembered how much fun I'm going to have on all of those trips. So, basically, I alternated between stress and excitement. That's pretty much my life right now.

5. Something Else to Look Forward to: Apparently, Captain Morgan and I are going to dress like slutty elves for Pookie's annual Christmas party. I'm going to see if I can convince Dana to join us. We'll see.

I have a lot to do. You all have a great weekend.

 

A Monday Five In Which Sometimes Even I Am Like "This is my life.Seriously."

1. British Nick the Lawyer: On Friday, my weekend horoscope said the following:

"Sometimes, we work too hard and put up barriers that prevent us from sharing innocent emotion. Love and support is on offer this weekend. You deserve it. Accept it."

And I read it, and I was like, "That's a bold prediction." And then on Friday night I was out with KALM and her new, fantastic, sweet, funny boyfriend, and we're at (where else?) Caramel. And this man comes up to offer to buy me a drink. Now, quite honestly, I was about to give my standard reply of, "That's really sweet, but honestly tonight I just feel like hanging out with my friends," because that's where my head was at. But then I remembered my horoscope, so I said sure. And do you know what? That man, whom we'll call British Nick the Lawyer (because he was British, his name was Nick, and he was a lawyer), ended up being the sweetest, most honest, kind, darling man ever. And we ended up spending almost the entire weekend together having expensive cocktails and fine meals and talking about the UK and places in the world we'd been (because, honestly, on Friday night the moment in which he "had" me was when I made a joke about things British people are good at, and he said "We're also very good at invasion and occupation."). He was so sweet that we're trying to work out a way for him to come over to Amsterdam during my layover to Entebbe and have dinner. So go on, Johnathan Cainer. You're a badass. You got that one right. Viva SMOS.

2. Speaking of the Bellagio: On Saturday, British Nick the Lawyer and I had half an hour to kill, so we sat down at a table to play some blackjack. The table had a $15 minimum bet and I cashed in $100 for chips. At one point, I was up to $165. Then I lost eleven straight hands and went entirely broke. So I pulled out another $100. And I looked at British Nick the Lawyer, and I looked at the young gun who was playing at the same table with us, and I looked at our dealer Sara, and I pushed all $100 in on one bet.

"What are you doing?" said British Nick the Lawyer.

"Breaking even or going home!"I said.

And I hit a 19, and the dealer busted. And I was breaking even for the night.

"Lucky," said British Nick the Lawyer. "I guess this when we cash out and go, now that you're back to break even."

And he cashes out.

But I have gambler's face on at this point.

And I put all $200 in on one bet.

And I pull a 15. And the dealer is showing ten. And I believe Marchione once told me that you should hold in that moment and hope the dealer busts.

But I hit. And I get a four (which takes me to 19). And the dealer busts. And I have now doubled up and made a $200 profit.

"And this," I say, "Is when we walk away."

(Except you all know how I love to gamble. I mean, I did walk away, but I really didn't want to.)

3. Speaking Again of British Nick the Lawyer: And so, in the awesomeness that is "Things men say", this happened.

British Nick the Lawyer
I'm going to be honest, and then you're probably never going to speak to me again, but there was a moment last night when I had pause to wonder if you were a hooker.

Me
Oh, come now. I'm way not pretty enough to be a hooker in this town.

British Nick the Lawyer
No, that was the problem. You're so stunningly beautiful. I thought you would have to have been a hooker to still be hanging out with me.

And really, what do you do with that? Well, if you're me and you're slightly schizo anyway, you do this.

Me
My GOD. In what moment did you think I might be a hooker? Was it the moment where we determined that I make more money than you do? Or was it when I begged you to let me pay for a round of drinks? Or was it after I gave you my theories on American political structure in the context of world government? My GOD.

Oh, but you think I'm pretty! That's so sweet!

Listen, it's possible to be simultaneously flattered and offended. It is.

4. But speaking of being mistaken as a hooker: This story happened while I was waiting for KALM and crew to show at the Venetian. It is best told by simply retyping a series of Twitters I sent out while waiting for them.

12:09am: Standing unattended at the circle bar in the venetian counting the minutes until i am mistaken for a hooker

12:17am: Meanwhile-i watch the actual hooker next to me test the waters for possible business

12:19am: The hooker sitting next to me is what in vegas we call a 4am girl

12:23am: First confusion about my hooker status-21 minutes

12:28am: Apparently, if i were really a hooker, the type of clientèle that i would attract all wear golf shirts

12:30am: And as if on cue, "sweet child o mine" starts playing

12:48am: And we are on hooker mistake number 2

And, finally, those kids showed up and my hooker game fun was done.

5. And speaking, finally, of something totally unrelated: I have this friend who shall remain nameless in the context of this story but who has no shortage of bad ass on his resume. And on Sunday I was hanging out watching football and eating with him at Nikki Lee's, this exchange happened.

Anonymous Badass Friend
I have a number for you to take to Uganda with you.

Me
Huh?

Anonymous Badass Friend
This guy. He works for (insert name of a corporation that pretty much everyone in Africa will fear. A corporation loosely referenced in an award-nominated Leonardo DiCaprio film about the ruthlessness of a certain industry in Africa).

Me
Oh, that would be helpful if anything goes wrong.

Anonymous Badass Friend
No, you don't understand. If anything goes wrong, this is the call you make BEFORE the embassy. You make this call and then within an hour there are four land cruisers and twenty white men whose passports don't match their accents. This is the call you make.

It's only funny people, because it's a true story.

And this, this is my life.