Dear Reeses Peanut Butter Bunnies: Let Me Tell You How It Is
Dear Reeses Peanut Butter Bunnies:
Here's how it is.
I am your bitch. You own me. With your creamy faux peanut butter flavor and your extra sugar and your cute bunny shape. Damn you. I can't say no to you. You're like a hot Italian guy in a Vegas club with a bottle of Grey Goose after I've already had a few cocktails. I fall in submission. My will is gone. Just don't ask me to define us as "in a relationship."
Dear George Bush: In case I didn't make this clear for 8 years, MORON
So, for reasons we don't really need to go into, I needed to do an in-and-out, one-day trip to Vegas the week before Christmas. This is more absurd if you know that I actually spent Christmas in Vegas, and therefore essentially flew in for one day in order to fly back to Montreal for one work day and then fly back to Vegas.
I know. But it's a weird year. Things happened in a certain order that then needed to be cleaned up.
And...the day I was flying into Vegas ... it snowed.
I'm not making that up. A lot of you are probably aware of it.
And many of you are probably also aware that the Las Vegas airport subsequently closed down. There wasn't that much snow, but - you know - it's not like Vegas owns a de-icer or a blower to clear the runways.
Let's just diverge for a moment now, if we may, to discuss the implications of enough snow in Las Vegas to actually close down an airport. I know that many people like to claim that my President for the last eight years, Al Gore, and his posse are crack smoking liberalists who like to save owls more than preserve American jobs (which, by the way, is an actual quote from George Bush during the 2000 US Presidential election - way to go, W, I can see that your policy of engergy consumption and non-environmentally friendly industry has gone a long way to ensuring the future of the American economy. Big Three bailout, anybody? Did you know that some places are so desperate to sell SUVs that they're giving away FREE cars with them? But, sadly, I'm sure that speech about how Americans were going to lose jobs because we were so busy preserving the environment got you enough votes to lock down Ohio, or something equally lame and uninformed (sorry to my peeps in Ohio).) Anyway, I think we can stop having the global warming debate. When the Vegas airport closes due to SNOW, we're not in normal-ville anymore.
Anyway, my plane was one of the last to try to land before the airport got closed. I knew that we were in trouble when, as we began our descent, the flight attendant came on the PA system and said the following:
"As we begin our attempted descent into Las Vegas, we'd like to remind you of the locations of the emergency exits on our 747 airplane..."
That actually happened. We tried to land. My life would have been much easier if we had landed. But instead, we tried to make contact with the runway and couldn't. There was too much snow to feel the asphalt. So we went back up.
And onto LA.
LA is not where I needed to be for the night. But I could swing it if I had to. I just needed to be in Vegas by the next day. But still.
The first thing that happens when we get off the plane is that we are told that, because our service interuption is weather related, Air Canada can't really help us. If we'd like to get rebooked on an available seat on an Air Canada partner, they can accomodate us with any open spots, but there are no available flights until the next EVENING. Otherwise, screw you.
What is funnier is that an hour later, they re-announced that they had decided to put our original flight back in the air to Vegas the next morning at 8am. Of course, an hour had passed and almost everybody from the original flight had left the baggage area by then, so nobody knew about it.
I took another tract. Firstly, thank goodness for BFFs. I immediately called my BFF "Magic" Mike Cash and said, "Can you go online and book me on the first Southwest flight out from LA to Vegas tomorrow?" And 10 minutes later my flight arrangements were fixed. Of course, if you are not somebody who has lived in the American west for the last 15 years, you would be screwed because you would have no way of knowing that Southwest operates a flight every half hour out of LA to Vegas every morning and they will be CHEAP. You need to be "in the know" to know that that's your move.
So, I've got the flight taken care of. And so I'm standing there, pondering whether I should get a hotel for the night or call one of my LA friends and hassle them into coming to get me. And as I'm sitting there pondering this, my phone rings, and it's Shadalan asking me a question about a Christmas present wish. To which I reply, "You know what my wish is? My wish is that you pick me up at the airport and I get to see your new oceanside condo before my flight out tomorrow!"
So, as a Christmas bonus, I get to see Shadalan. She takes me to sushi, which is a huge bonus because let me ASSURE you that when you hear people say, "Montreal isn't really a world class sushi city," they are BEING NICE. I've had pieces of sushi here that I've actually slithered back out of my mouth when nobody was looking. However, at least I have yet to be served sushi with gravy on top, which seems to be the Montreal answer to all food. Just put gravy on it. Gravy! Awesome! Anyway, we have a sushi meal where we do the obliagory fill in, and then I crash. And it's delightful though I'm exhausted. And it's so good to get to see my girl.
So the universe looked out for me, and made sure that I got both a pseudo LA Christmas AND sushi and Shadee. And a story about snow in Vegas.
And let's not even talk about LAX at 6am the next morning when everybody who couldn't get into Vegas the day before bumrushed the airport.
All good is all good though.
I'm glad we elected a Democrat. Mabye we can stem the tide of snow in Vegas.
I cannot believe I'm finally I'm finally back in ILovePaulJack space.
It's been a long time. Some of you know the reason. Some of you don't. I could talk about it here, but then I'd have to kill you. Suffice it to say, there were very clear reasons why I was forbidden to blog. But don't you worry. I kept back entries. We'll talk. And publish. And hopefully I'll get my writing mojo back sometime in '09. Maybe to start getting us in the swing of things though, we can do a tried and true top 5.
1. Oh, Canada. As of Friday, I am officially a legal worker in the great northern tundra of Canada. This has been a process, but the biggest process for me has been getting used to snow. Okay, that's not true. It's also been a process getting used to inflated cell phone rates, poor exchange rates, a noticeable absence of Sephora, a refusal to ship anything that doesn't suck over the border, a first-language that isn't mine and that I've never been all that fond of to begin with, and no Target or Wal-Mart. I mean, there's an equivalent, but Canada is 1/10 the market size of the US. It's not as easy to get anything and everything you want easily here.
Snow is hard, too, though. I cried the first day it was cold (and just about every day after). I realized I will not be wearing my cute, strappy, Vegas party shoes any time soon. Is that shallow and pathetic?
Don't answer.
Rooney has also discovered snow for the first time. Adorable? Yes!
2. Humanity at a New Low I know that I frequently say that I think humanity is reaching a new low. However, I'm quite sure I confirmed it forever when I had to visit the Hilton Sportsbook in Vegas on Christmas day. Don't even ask what I was doing there. The story is too long and sorted to even make sense. I think it can be best described by this exchange, which happened later in the day at Kim's house during Christmas dinner.
Me Man, the men in the Hilton sportsbook on Christmas were just creepy.
Kim's Dad Any man in any sportsbook at any time is creepy.
Me Yeah, but the ones in there on Christmas day really take it to a whole new level of special.
Or, perhaps better stated later when I said, "I guess there's a reason those men are alone in a sportsbook on Christmas day." But God bless the NBA and horse tracks across the nation for giving these fine men something to do on the day of Jesus' birth. And when I say "new level of special," what I mean is that I was scared to stand within ten feet of anybody. Then there was one small moment where I was standing in line behind a manly, broad shouldered fellow and thought for a brief moment "He could be attractive." Then he turned around and was actually drooling. I didn't make that up. He was standing there in the middle of the sportsbook and there was drool running down the side of his chin.
I bolted out of there as quickly as possible.
3. Speaking of Christmas at Kim's If you can't be home for Christmas, at least be somewhere where the hostess is going to make you a pink girlie stocking and stuff it with chocolate martini mix and bath loofahs. Spend it with girls who want to watch "The Family Stone" on Christmas eve and who aren't ashamed to EAT on Christmas day. Thank you ladies of Vegas for a delightful "quickie". Wish I could have stayed longer.
4. Speaking of Things You See In Vegas on Christmas I went to Sephora (twice) while in Vegas for 48 hours of Christmas. Because we don't have them here, and it's frustrating. The first day I went in it was Christmas Eve day. I walk in, and the store is humming with women getting their pretty, pretty. And then I look to my left.
And I see it.
The bench of neglected men.
These are the men who stood up and made it happen and accompanied the lady in their life to Sephora on Christmas Eve. It's assumed that most of these men knew that this would be a painful excursion for them, and it's played out on their faces. Heads cupped in hands, eyes being progressively rubbed harder and harder, intense staring at the ceiling while no doubt they pray that their woman will please just find that new Britney scent and Benefit jewelery box eye set. These men are suffering.
These men are soldiers in the battle of pleasing women. It's the little things. Men, take note.
5. And Speaking of Girlie Things... I didn't get to do a top ten list of gifts for women this year, but most men that I know buy late anyway. So heres a quickie top five of awesomeness for girls.
a. The Urban Decay Urban Ammo Eye Pallette As all of the girls at girlie Christmas will tell you, I was in love with mine instantly. There are dozens of smokey eye combinations that you can do with this, and the colors are dark enough to make a contrast but bright enough to make some fun. And it's under $30. And it's in pretty packaging. And it's slim enough to travel well. And UD makes awesome, no-fade eyeshadow.
BFF Huh. Usually when a star has a product, it's not that good.
Me Yeah, but this really does smell good. I think she cares a little more than the average star endorser. Plus, I'd buy anything with her name on it.
BFF Me, too.
That's really all you need to know. There's your perfume purchase for the year. Especially if you are a pathetic celebrity driven consumerist like myself and my BFF.
c. Flowering Tea Kettle It's so Oprah, I know, but when you brew the teas in this charming little tea pot, they turn into flowers. It's flowers and tea. I sent one to many people.
d. The Everyman's Library Pocket Poets: Chinese Erotic Love Poems I first got turned onto this publication during Knopff's annual poetry month email program when one of the included poems was sent as the daily email. The book will appeal to the sensitive yet erotic side of most women, as the poems really cross between love poems and erotic poems. Here's a sample:
At Night I Hear My Neighbor Singing I cannot fall asleep at midnight, overhearing my neighbor singing. I imagine her red lips moving till dust falls from the beams. I don't laugh when she misses a beat, just pull my clothes on to steal her song, but when I put on clothes, the song ends. Only the moon in the window still shines.
It's a lovely book, even if you're not romantically involved.
e. Sephora Smokey Eye Brush Kit Better when given in combination with the UD eye shadow pallete, but just as good on its own. The nicest set for quickly creating awesome smokey eye looks. Plus mascara! And easy to travel with! And shiney!
Anyway, I'm glad to be back. I'll write again later this week and we can hear about my big L.A. adventure, and possibly also New Year's Eve if all goes well!
Firstly, do you know what I love about this blog right now? The complete contrast between good and evil. "Hey, I hiked God's mountain, but I did it while swearing up a storm." "Hey! I went to see the innocence of a newborn, but first I had a really dirty one-night-stand."
Secondly, I would love to tell EVERY portion of Friday night, but I am going to have to limit it to just three snippets because the rest would be TMI even by my standards and will be reserved only for an email to my closest friends. I will tell you that Friday night resulted in my sending this text to Shim Shimmy on Saturday morning:
"Nothing says taking it to a new low like getting off a plane to meet a newborn for the first time while wearing a shirt you had to steal from your Vegas one-night-stand because you couldn't find your clothes by the light of your cell phone in the morning."
Thirdly, if you read this and think that I have behaved badly, well, a)you clearly don't know me and b)just take faith in the fact that God has punished me. I was such a wreck getting from one night stand to the airport on Saturday AM that I forgot to turn my car lights off. My battery died, and jumping the battery blew out the fuse for my power steering, resulting in hundreds of dollars of car repair. See? Sex really is the devil's work and God will always remind you.
That said, here is the Reader's Digest version of Friday night, in three short chapters.
Chapter One: You Never Know Who the "Nice" Boy Is So, my Asian Party Posse was in town on Friday night. Yeah. This is how we roll in Blush at the Wynn. And also, you can see all of the pictures here.
So, there's some set up here. We walk in, and there's a table full of guys with bottle service, and I immediately think that the one is hot. Like, so hot. Shim Shimmy disagrees and wants to give him a haircut. I like it messy, though. But I am not feeling the game. I'm really not. I think I just hadn't been out in too long. Because by today, having been back in the game, I am, for sure, feeling the game. But whatever. Because I am not feeling the game at that time, I avoid the boy I think is so hot and hang out with my girlies and also this boy we meet upon entering the club named ... Slick.
Slick seems like everything a girl should want. I cannot deny that he was freaking adorably attractive. He's in town for a debate tournament, so he's smart and just a little bit dorky. He installs high end home theaters. He's from LA, which is almost like being local! He can carry on a funny conversation. AND I COULD NOT CARE LESS. I really couldn't feel it. And I think it was because he seemed too nice.
Wanna know what we learned later?
Slick had done porn in Korea.
Wanna know what happened as soon as I found that out?
I was a lot more interested.
However, it was too late by that point, because cute and messy boy had made his move and I was defenseless. Well, that's not true. I was so not feeling the game that I actually physically tried to hide behind Shim Shimmy when we saw him get up to make his move. Right? I know. Something's been off with me since that whole "Nice to have met you" thing in Madrid. But don't you worry! I think we righted the ship.
Anyway, my point is, that's screwed up, right? That quasi-perfect boy couldn't hold my attention until I found out he'd done Asian porn? I HAVE TO GET OUT OF VEGAS.
Chapter Two: Do You Have Anything Thinner? If you have an IQ above 2, then you have figured out by now that at the end of the evening, or the beginning of the morning (either works), I decided to go back to the Hard Rock with this boy to do inappropriate things. On our way to the room, we do what romantic couples in Vegas have been doing for decades. We stop at the apothecary in the Hard Rock lobby to buy Gatorade and condoms.
You really have to feel something for the girl who works at the apothecary in the Hard Rock. She probably sells a hundred combo packs of Gatorade and condoms a night to drunken, horny fools wondering through there who later may or may not remember their room number. And in that process, there are probably two questions that she has been asked so many times that the mere sound of them will want to make her spontaneously combust in anger. The first, of course, would be "Ha, ha, do you have anything bigger?" Fortunately, we were not the people who asked that question, because based on her response to the question we did ask, she may just have come over the counter at us with a baseball bat if we'd asked "Ha, ha, do you have anything bigger?"
What we did ask, though, was what I am sure the second most popular question that gets laid on her when she hands over a pack of condoms is. "Do you have anything thinner?" Yes. Yes he did ask that. And before I could even roll my eyes, the apothecary girl looks at me. And her look speaks volumes, and those volumes read "I hate men and their infinite stupidity."
And then she looks at him. And I fear for him, literally. And she picks the condoms back up off the counter, and the she slams them back down in front of him again, and she says:
"Listen, I sell a lot of these and I know what I'm talking about. YOU WILL NOT FIND ANYTHING THINNER THAN THIS."
Then, literally, she slams them down AGAIN (for emphasis, I suppose), and rings up our Gatorade and condoms. We just stood there, staring. At her, at each other, at the condoms on the counter. It was like she had told us how it was, and now we understood. And again, I am just thankful that he didn't ask if she had anything bigger, because, you know, what would THAT scene have looked like?
Chapter Three: This is My Life Lesson to You - How to Avoid the Walk of Shame Okay, listen, there is no real way to avoid the walk of shame. There are going to be times in your life when you straight have to roll out of a casino at 5:00am to get to the airport and you're going to be wearing some slutty heels, some tiny black party shorts, a shirt that was obviously stolen from the boy you hooked up with because you couldn't find your own clothes in the morning and later realized that that was probably because he was sleeping on top of them and a big old mascara stain underneath your right eye.
Or, maybe you'll never have to do that, but I'd argue that you may be missing out if you don't experience that at least once. Sure, you don't have to have done it so many times that you have a life lesson to share on it, like I do, but once is good.
Anyway, in that situation, you cannot avoid the walk of shame out of the casino, but you can MAKE IT YOUR OWN. Don't avoid the eye contact of the people playing blackjack at 5am as you walk out. You know who those people are? The people who didn't get laid the night before. You have WON in this circumstance, and don't let them make you feel any differently just because they're down $500 and you may or may not have an std and be missing your panties. You win here. It's not even a debate. Potential STD and missing panties trumps lost gambling cash and drunken red-eye any time.
Then, you own it as you walk out to the taxi line. I mean, maybe you're lucky and you have a vehicle with you, but chances are, you're going to have to face the taxi line attendant in the bright light of morning. In the shirt that is obviously not the shirt you wore out with your sexy heels and tiny black party shorts the night before. You know what you do in that situation? You look the taxi line attendant dead in the face and say, "This is a nice shirt, isn't it?" He'll say some variation of yes, and then you say, "Yeah. New rule. If you're too drunk and tired to get up and help me find my clothes in the morning, then I take yours." And suddenly, with that one sentence, you will go from being just another tramped out girl trying to get out of sight before her one night stand wakes up to THE COOLEST GIRL EVER TRYING TO GET OUT OF SIGHT BEFORE HER ONE NIGHT STAND WAKES UP.
That's my lesson. Take it. Use it. I promise you it is better than trying to hide behind bangs of shame on your way out in the morning. Own it, ladies, own it.
Emma and I have been tight since she was in high school, and last weekend was her 25th birthday which, yes, made me feel incredibly old. But I'm feeling old lately anyway. For Emma's 25th birthday, and and her friends came to Vegas, and if you want to see all of the pictures, just click here. It was a fun night. There was some crazy running around, and finally we ended up in Rum Jungle (don't ask).
Emma made friends with a grandpa who was tearing up the dance floor.
Emma put on a little show.
Toni & Steph were ... classy.
And then there was Jan.
Let's not, to begin with, talk about how we know Jan. It's embarassing. But here's how the story goes. So, Emma and I head out of the club to smoke. Rum Jungle is located in such a way that it's also right next to the doors that lead out of the Mandalay Bay, so you can see the taxi area. We look out of the doors, and there is Jan, seemingly drunk beyond all human control, to the point where security has been called and are trying to manage him in.
Emma and I sigh.
Emma and I head outside.
Emma and I sit down on a bench and Emma hollers, "Jan, over here."
Jan stumbles over to us and immediately plants his six foot four Nordic (he's Swedish, hence the name) frame on my lap. I'm like, "Excellent. Comfortable. "
Security comes over to ask Emma and I if we want them to remove Jan. Emma's like "No, we're straight." Emma, of course, does not have a six foot four Swedish dude on her lap.
And then Emma turns to say something to Jan, and then she immediately starts tugging on my arm until I turn to her, and then she says:
"LOOK HOW MUCH POWDER IS UP HIS NOSE!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Dude, not just up his nose, really all over his face. It must have been the line to end all lines. It's like it's Halloween and he's going as a druggie ghost.
Then, valet pulls up with Jan's car. WTF? Who gives somebody who's so intoxicated that you had to call security on them a car to drive, even in Vegas? Emma is not having this. "Oh HELL no," she tells valet, "You straight can't give him a CAR. What are you THINKING? You put him in a cab."
Like, the 25-year-old party girl should not have to be telling this to the Mandalay Bay valets, seriously.
So they get him a cab. Jan offers me money for sex, because that's what he does. I consider it for a moment because there are these hot Jimmy Choos I want, but there was no way that wasn't going to be a mess (you can decide for yourself how much of that last train of thought was true). I kiss Jan on the cheek to say goodbye and it's like licking a table that people just did blow off of for an entire night. Emma walks over the cab.
"I'm sorry about your passenger. He stays at the MGM. I'm really sorry about your passenger."
And the look that the cab driver gives her is so "Oh Jesus. Another? I wish I were a cab driver anywhere except Vegas."
Except that given how Jan was throwing money around (literally), that cab driver probably made out.
And Emma and I? We go back inside to get our dance on. Because, sadly, Jan is a normalcy in the Rum Jungle.
Oh, no. Oh, yes I am. I'm about to straight up tell you about how I went to the Menudo show at the House of Blues and it was the most fucked up thing ever.
Firstly, you are wondering how I ended up at the Menudo show at the House of Blues, and I am simply going to answer that sometimes strange things happen and on a Thursday night you suddenly find yourself with you gay neighbor, 300 12 year old girls, their parents and Johnny Wright.
So, this is not so much a Menudo show as it as a Bandamonium show, which is like an explosion of b-level boy-bands. HEAVEN. No, seriously, even by my standards of cheesiness this is a stretch. But then something happens that is so awesome, so blog-worthy, so worth having hauled my migraine ridden ass out of bed on a Thursday for, that it all becomes worthwhile.
I suffer through the first two bands. The first is two yahoos named James and Mark who sing sensitive teenage acoustic rock. Next is BEAT FACTORY, who don't so much sing as they do dance, but they dance like there's no tomorrow (tm Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson). It's a little bit painful, but nothing this girl can't handle.
And then ... Menudo. The lights dim, the music starts, the pre-pubescent girls begin to go crazy and Menudo comes out to do their very first number of the night wearing ...
Leather zip-up S&M gimp masks.
I did not just make that up.
It's SO FUCKED UP. These twelve year old girls are going CRAZY over these teenage Mexican boys who are basically dressed up like they're about to kidnap a bunch of the girls in a creepy cargo van and then nail them inside wooden boxes and keep them in the basement for the next five years. I only wish that in that moment I had had the presence of mind to look around at the girls' parents and see if any of them were as horrified at this inappropriateness as I was, or if they just thought that this was par for the course. But I didn't look around to see that, because I was too busy being struck down by the vision in front of me of young girls rushing after Latino dominator gimps.
Oh.My.God.
Sadly, though, I am so numb to this type of insanity that I eventually eased up and started to enjoy the Menudo show. I actually enjoy the song "Save the Night," which you can buy in iTunes. At one point, I actually find myself thinking, "Hey, that sixteen year old Latino kid is going to grow up to be quite the heart breaker..."
And then the unfortunate happens. My mind wanders or whatever and I lose track of what's going on, and when I look back up, a boy who looks like he may generously be around eleven years old is singing to me about what goes on "In the middle of the night."
Oh, NO NO NO NO NO NO. Inappropriateness alert! NO NO NO NO NO! Oh, no. Now I just feel dirty. Ew. I mean, at that age, what's supposed to be going on in the middle of the night for that boy is "I wonder what this sticky stuff in my bed is and where it came from." What should NOT be happening at his age is pelvic thrusting on stage as he describes a more vivid vision of "in the middle of the night."
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."
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.
Though, you know, I do have the next four Africa entries ready to go over the next four days.
It was a stressful week. I mean, one could certainly say that it was a stressful week because I'm impacting positive change in my life. That didn't remove the stress. And then the weekend, wow. I hurt today. Physically hurt. Yes, it was that bad. It can really be told in three chapters.
Chapter One: Fortunately, I am not pregnant. Friday, I was approaching two weeks late. (Yes, I know, you will read this when you get back and say, "You totally told me before I left that we didn't need to worry." It's true. I said that. I just wanted you to have a clear mind while you were on your trip.). Anyway, normally in that situation, I would have just said, "Travel. Super high levels of stress. Late is normal." But there was a small margin of error going on, and so I was worried. And so, on Friday, I wanted to know if I could drink over the weekend with a clear conscious or not. Later, we will realize that I should have just stayed worried and not been drinking, but who knew. So I picked up an EPT test on the way home from work. The very act of buying that test seemed to spur my body into action a couple of hours later, but before that, I did take the test.
I am thirty-three years old.
When I took the test, my two nieces were at my place. One of them is twenty-one years old. One of them is twenty-four years old.
Me (reading directions that make the act of peeing on a stick seem like brain science level challenge) This is a lot more confusing than I though. I've never taken one of these tests before.
BOTH Nieces Oh! I have! Let me explain it to you.
There's so much wrong with what I just described.
I still love them even if they're apparently, ahem, more active than I would like.
Chapter Two: Hott Scott Joins an Exclusive Club This was the conversation on Friday.
Hott Scott I kind of want to keep it mellow tonight. How about we call K-rock and have A-train and Latchkey hang out around nine and we just open a couple of bottles of wine and then call it a night around midnight?
Me That sounds perfect. I had a week from hell, and I have to go out on a rager on Saturday night, so I'd super like to keep it mellow tonight.
And see, that's how the plans laid out. A mellow night of just drinking some wine with some friends and being home around midnight for a full night of sleep and a productive day the next day.
And four hours later, Hott Scott joined a very special club. It's a club with a small membership, but unfortunately not as exclusive as it should be. It's the official "I Have Put Jocelyn to Sleep on my Bathroom Floor" club.
Here's how this played out: After holding my hair for an hour while I threw up, Hott Scott let me lay down against the cool tile of the bathroom floor and pass out for a while. Then he came back.
Hott Scott Jocelyn, will you get up off the floor and go to bed on the couch or one of the extra beds?
Me (Insert about a full minute of moaning.) Nooooooooo. (Insert more moaning)
Hot Scott Do you want to just sleep here on the bathroom floor?
Me (Insert about a full minute of moaning.) Yeeeesssss. (Insert more moaning)
And in the morning, I woke up with a blanket and a pillow and a neck ache from sleeping on the bathroom floor. You know what Hott Scott is? He's awesome for taking care of my drunk ass.
To be honest, I'm not even sure how it happened. I had four, maybe five, glasses of wine over a three or four hour period. I mean, that's a lie. Not a lie about the fact that I didn't drink all that much, but a lie about how I don't know how I ended up that drunk. I had neglected to eat most of the day. I'd had, like, two rice cakes at 2pm and that was it. That's how I ended up spending the night on the bathroom floor.
Chapter Three: And then there was Saturday night... Yes. Sigh.
Honestly, you may just want to look at the pictures from Saturday night. That's a better way to tell the story. Click here to see the full set.
Not only was Saturday night Jess's bachelorette party, but also as I may have mentioned all three nieces plus a bunch of their friends were in town for a birthday party. So the plan was that we'd do Jess's bachelorette and then all meet up at Ghostbar late night.
Here are some highlights.
We started at Voodoo with a Witch Doctor and some steak.
We went to Chippendales for Jess's birthday. Yes, we did. And we all rolled our eyes about how much we're not going to dig this. And then...we were wrong. We were not only entertained, we were all oddly turned on. And I have a total crush on Bryan Cheatham. We all agreed that the best scene in the entire show is the "art scene" in which there is an unexplained bed, chaise lounge and motorcycle on stage and three separate solos about the sadness of being alone going on. I may not have laughed so hard in years. In between stripping, the men just look hearbroken. I recommend. I strongly recommend. That is all. So.good.
After the show, the entertaining, fantastic show that I want to see again, we headed to Moon. Where I will leave it at "We got our drink on. We got our dance on."
And then, the explosion of ghetto hit us at Ghostbar and the party turned up even more, and I can't even think about it, really.
And then I got home at 5 and the nieces were at least an hour later than I was. Rough. I have big black spots of memory. Literally.
Okay, and so I had dreams of going to LA next weekend, but today I was brutally brought to the realization that I went to Africa, and came back and pretty much had houseguests every weekend and went through a traumatic job transition and had a bad pregnancy scare and I'm just exhausted and I need a weekend of Zelda and tea and quiet. So that is what I will do next 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.
Oh goodness. I'm so underwater. How did this happen, and how did I think that going to LA this weekend was a good idea? I guess the good news is that it's only Monday and I can get caught up/ahead if I'm really committed to the idea. That said, the best I can do today is a disjointed list - number of items to be determined later.
1. Ferris and Dana: Are here, and if I didn't mention it, I love them. There are some select pictures here, and many more will be added after they download. I love that picture of them in front of the Rio sign. It'll be getting printed for framing later.
2. The Party of the Century: Honestly, could not have been more perfect. ToniK and I almost wanted to cry it went so perfectly. Our clients were amazingly impressed with us and think that we're goddesses. If you were following my Twitter stream, you got most of the highlights, but let me bullet some things out.
- Don't hate all rich folk, because some of them are wonderful. This family was wonderful. The mother arranged this entire weekend in Vegas for 20 close friends and family kept every single thing a secret about it. They didn't know where they were going or what they were doing. That's sweet. It's what I'd do if I had more money than God, too.
- We had an issue getting the stripper in the cake through the door. Then Geronimo, the guy in charge of the cake, just pushed it REALLY hard and it was fine. Also, I can now sing almost every word of Kajra Re. Word.
- We loved how at 11:00pm on a Saturday they asked us to see if we could get a VIP table at Tryst. We loved even more that we made it happen.
- If we described our Saturday night, it would sound like we didn't work, because it would sound like this "After we got them in the limos, we sat at the bar at The Eiffel Tower restaurant and each had two glasses of Geverztraminer, some escargot and some carpaccio. Then we went and hung out in their VIP area in Tryst." Let me assure you, I've managed high strung staffs and million dollar budgets. I've never worked as hard as we did during that party. I slept for a day afterwards.
3. Speaking of Staffs: Mine is so snotty. In our department meeting today, we pretty much talked about how awesome we all were and how not awesome everybody else was. I like to see that I pass my best qualities on to my employees. Sad. I need to do some self and team correction on that.
4. 50 People I Don't Want to Die Without Sleeping With: If you had a facebook account, you would have seen my list. I can't make you get one, but it was funny stuff. I suppose I could get motivated to recreate it here. I guess. It was so much work the first time though.
5. Also: Tonight I finished one of the writing projects I said I wanted to finish by the end of the summer, and when I wrote the last line, it made me cry. And I'm actually not a very good fiction writer, and this isn't even the SAD writing project that I was working on. I'm actually toying with the idea of posting some of my fiction when I leave for Uganda so that people can read it while I'm not here to deal with the knowledge that people are reading it. You like the way I'll blog about every single messy detail of my life, but ask me to show you some of my fiction and I'll hide under the couch? Because the fiction is almost more personal because the cover of fiction allows me to access things I wouldn't normally access. I don't know. We'll see.
I've actually cried a couple of times about the end of that story since I finished it. I even knew in my head how it would end, but when I actualized it, it felt so sad.
6. I Make Messes: This is a portion of a conversation that happened tonight:
Me I'm making a mess with that boy. We all know this isn't good. We all know that six months from now I'm going to have to clean up this mess I'm making. Fuckit.
Dana (insert stare of "You know what you're doing isn't good. So stop.")
Me I know. I KNOW.
I can tell you this, if you were a betting person, you could comfortably bet that this thing I'm doing right now is going to turn into a horrible mess and I'll spend the holidays either a)feeling like I am the most horrible person with zero self control or b) crying. Or both. Wagers in, please.
7. Twenty Days: In Uganda when the rest of my life stops for a while like it doesn't exist cannot come soon enough. And nothing's even bad in my life right now. I just have the itch. HOW WRONG IS THAT?
1. Sometimes I can be a mean bitch: Though usually only when provoked. Almost always only when provoked. But when provoked, I will tear your shit down like you can't imagine unless you've experienced it. You have no idea, really. How is it that Catwoman was once described in a review by one of her employees? "Demeaning, Devaluing and Demoralizing?" Always remember that she and I went to the same school, I just learned better how to put the sugar coat on top if I had to.
And sometimes there are things that a thankful journal is insufficient for giving thanks for. And this is the case today. Because when you have had the kind of day that culminates in your slamming your laptop closed, screaming at people in a meeting to go fuck themselves and storming out of work to go home at 11:30am, then spending the day screaming at people over the phone and crying on your couch because you're just.that.angry, you can't really be thankful in the form of just one photo. When what happens is that you then end up going out to drink with your friends and you do nothing but laugh for three hours about things like people's sex videos on their phones, a story about a pinky ring that ends with somebody saying, "What? Did it end up in her butt?" and a hundred million inside jokes, you realize that even though Vegas was never supposed to end up being, "Yep. I live here. In Vegas," it's ended up being amazing and you've found a wonderful group of people whom you love and who love you to surround yourself with. And great business parters even if they infuriate you some days. And you are very, very thankful. And, as ugly as they are, you can see all of the pictures here. But here are a couple of my favorites.
So I guess I'm saying that I'm thankful that Vegas has given me bounty in the desert in so many ways. Enough ways that within three hours I was able to completely turn one of the worst days in months around. Grateful!
2. Why are you not on Twitter? Because the rest of us are having so much fun over there. Go join. Now please.
As a side note of unrelated issue, only coming to my mind because that link takes you to my Twitter profile, I've written a lot of online profiles of myself, but I believe my flickr profile, which I finally entered this week, takes the cake. Enjoy it. 3. Other People's Writing Again: Some good things this week. Okay, actually one major thing of note, and that's that Hil has finally put some of her own poetry up on Big Sky Mind. You should read it. And absorb it.
4. And I cried, and cried, and cried: I read the last 50 pages of The Amber Spyglass while floating in the pool, and thank the Lord I was in a body of water because I cried and cried and cried and cried and cried. Heart wrenching. I don't want to give spoilers because I know that several people are reading those books based on my recommendation (which is really K-Yo's recommendation so thank her), and the last 50 pages are really the last 50 pages of about 1200 pages of story and I'll ruin everything if I say anything. Except to say that I CRIED LIKE A CHILD while reading the ending. Tears, sniffling, loud freakin' sobbing. There were moments in that book where I was like "He absolutely wouldn't end this that way." But he did. And my heart broke a little. By the way, I'm going to tell you now that while the movie will be fabulous I'm sure, I promise you it will not be the emotional experience that reading the books becomes. But if you're curious, here's the trailer:
I'm moving on the the Fitzgerald books next. What a great reading summer.
5. Friday Playlist! Here's what I was listening to on the way to and from the mountain, and what's held on since I got back. I think it was a good music week.
a. Sullivan Street - Counting Crows. This is a live version and it's beautiful. Hilary, because she really wants to support me in my effort to stay single for the next six months, also sent me a beautiful Counting Crows song this week that I've been listening to called Goodnight LA, but I couldn't find a download for the play list. Anyway, we all know that Counting Crows can make you feel and that Adam Duritz is an amazing lyricist. Here are the lyrics to Sullivan Street.Here are the lyrics to Goodnight LA.
b. Whistle for the Choir by A Fratellis. It's just really a lovely, lovely song. Here are the lyrics. I could listen to it all day.
c. Desperately Wanting by Better than Ezra: I've also been listening mostly to Get You In and Briefly. Really, that whole cd. Desperately Wanting is a great song though. You know, I popped that cd in on the way home from the mountain and was all like, "Man, this cd is not as good five years later," but then I got to the part of the cd with Get You In, Briefly and Desperately Wanting and I remembered why I loved that cd so much.
d. Love's Divine by Seal: Still one of my favorite albums of absolutely all time, and this is my favorite song on said album. I listened to that album up and down that mountain and all of the way home. And I loved every second of every measure of music. And I love the way that Seal believes. Lyrics here.
e. Poison by Bell Biv Devoe: This is on here because J-Flo was in town this week and this was our song when we were in high school. Back Stage - Underage- Adolescent - How You Doing? There was REAL art in the eighties, ya'll. "NEVER TRUST A BIG BUTT AND A SMILE."
Oh, a long weekend of a bachelorette party. And a party before a bachelorette party. Yeah. As I look at all of the pictures (and there were just shy of 500 of them, but I narrowed it to 87 winners for you, all of which can be found here), we're really dirty girls. Enjoy the stories.
So...this was our Friday night crew.
Chapter One: Morty and His Hookers On Thursday, the throw-down six and I went down. It would have been the throw-down seven, but I had wussed out on Thursday night's activities. We start with Morty. You see, we start with Morty because while the girls were finishing up getting ready, I was having a cocktail at the circle bar in the Venetian...by myself. Often, that sucks because you get mistaken for a hooker. But I instead befriend Morty, who is a sports bettor who lives in Costa Rica, so we have a lot in common. He's old and everything you would expect from a sports bettor fleeing the law in Costa Rica. He's also very funny. I tell him about how you often get mistaken for a hooker when you sit at this bar alone, and he YELLS AT FULL VOLUME TO THE CROWD, "WHAT? YOU'RE NOT A HOOKER?!!!" Good times. He buys all of us cocktails. We love him. He's an auspicious start to the evening. Love him!
Check the fabric on Morty's shirt, yo.
Onward we go. To Moon.
Moon: Everybody Goes to the Bathroom That's what I call this stop, since the first half was about waiting for one half of us to come back from the bathroom and the second half was about waiting for xtine and I to come back to the bathroom. That place was live though. I will share with you my favorite boy moment from that club. So, these two guys walk up to xtine and I while we're on the patio. They're not so much what we normally go for, to the point where we didn't even bother to take a picture. We talk for a little while though.
Me to Guy A So what do you do?
Guy A I'm in the Air Force.
Me Of course you are, because there's a base here.
Guy A And Brody here is a professional golfer.
Me So you're in the Air Force and he's a professional golfer?
xtine WE NEED TO GO NOW.
It might have been funnier if you were there, or you're used to game player guys in Vegas.
And then we went down to The Playboy Club.
The Playboy Club: Where we don't stay for long. Yes, here we are at The Playboy Club. See the bunny? It's proof.
We don't stay for long because it's a little bit dead in there. But I do meet, um, you know, I think his name was Kevin, but I really have no idea. He's a youngin. I'm like "I'm way too old for you." He's like "I've dated WAY older!" I'm not sure that's so much the correct response. Know what he does for a living? He's a professional golfer. Yep. This must be the line of the night. And then he lays this on me, "You know, you and I have really nothing in common, but I can completely tell that we would have amazingly hot sex."
So between that, the youngin status, the pro golfer thing and the fact that I'm being hyper selective right now because I can be, I said...wait for it..."I HAVE TO GO NOW."
And then, reluctantly, we went to Ghostbar, because frankly that place isn't as hot as it used to be.
Ghostbar: Where It's SUPER FUN You never really want to admit that you had an awesome time at Ghostbar because it's supposed to be going out of fashion, but xtine and I had this exchange.
Me You know, I hate to say it, but this is the second time in a month that we've come to Ghostbar and had an amazingly fun time.
xtine Shhhhh. We won't speak of that.
The first thing that happens at Ghostbar is that I become Asian. So what you need to know is that earlier in the evening, I had not been Asian enough. We were on our way into Moon/Playboy Club, and we were getting let past the line, and all of a sudden the line gets closed before I get in (I mean, and bad on me because I was talking to some boy and not paying attention). So I'm all like "Yo, brotha, I need in with my friends." And the bouncer is all like, "You're not with them!" And I'm all like, "What?" And he's all like, "You're not Asian. Those girls are ALL Asian" At which point girls come back to collect me. But I'd had my reverse-non-Asian discrimination for the night.
So for the first thirty minutes or so at Ghostbar, we're all chilling out on the patio, and there are some Black men next to me, who also have ONE WHITE GUY in their group. And there's some exchange where they hit on somebody and somebody's not into it. I don't know. I wasn't paying attention. Whatever. So I'm kind of chilling by the wall and hanging out to regroup for dancing when we go inside. And the white guy leans over and says to me, "Hey, my friend (one of the Black guys) wants to know why Asians hate Black people?" So, to review, a Black man had a White man ask a White woman why her Asian friends don't like Black people. My first response?
"Do I look Asian to you?"
But, apparently, I have been elected to speak for the Asian American female population. So I say, "Listen, nobody doesn't like Black people here. We've just been dealing with really aggressive boys all night long and we weren't in the mood."
This, this is a GOOD ANSWER. Until the White guy turns to his friends and says, "She says that Black men are too aggressive."
YES HE DID.
We went inside. Because that was funny. But not that funny.
Inside "the hat" comes out. By which I mean we meet the sweetest man ever who has a hat. And now we ALL groove with the hat. I don't have a fantastic story except to say that Britney Shim was tearing up the floor and we all had a fantastically fun time. Here are many pictures of the hat, which you can see bigger versions of over on flickr.
And then, just so you don't have to worry that we made it out of there without taking "the signature photo," I give you this.
We had a great time. We went back and ate huge amounts of food at 5:00am in the morning at the Grand Luxe. And then there was Saturday.
This was our Saturday crew.
Yep. That's a lot of women to navigate. A LOT OF WOMEN.
You know, honestly, there's no way to sum up stories. Your best bet is to go look at the pictures. If you're too lazy to do that, I can give you a top five pictures right here, but really, you'd be missing out. Go look at the pictures. It's a better way to go.
Madonna Tribute - Cast of Glee
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