#15 Shade. Shady. Shadiest.
The Las Vegas Cheesecake Factory deserves to be on Reality TV. Bravo, can you hear me? Let's see, where do I start?
First off, all the "straight" boys at LVCF need to repeat after me:
"Metrosexual is just a rest-stop on the highway to homo."
If I hear one more story about "LVCF straighty #1" or "LVCF straighty #2" wanting to hook up with some female, I'm gonna be angry. If said "straighty" ends up alone in bed at 4 am with an obviously gay boy (sorry John, just deal), because it's "too late to go home," I suggest counseling and a good male-on-male infomercial. If said "straighty" goes to hang out with the gay boys cause "it's so much more fun," just accept that you're probably going to be Mike's newest future ex-boyfriend. With all the fag hags at LVCF, you'd think someone would come to their senses.
#15 1/2 : There And Back Again, A Hobbit's Tale
And then there was Smeagel. The story I heard was that he wanted to get on someone John can't admit he wanted to get on when said gotten on wanted to get on someone without external genitalia. Then Smeagel got on the gotten on and the Great Shade Battle of 2005 began. Three dicks, one vagina and The Ring. Tolkien's got nothing on the Factory.
Smeagal wasn't a server. His nametag read: "Official LVCF Shade-Thrower." She threw shade at John at the host stand, Mike on the way to the bathroom, and the whole party a good five or six times over two days and, oh say, a few dozen of our visits to the LVCF. I thought it only appropo on our last outing to LVCF to sit in the corner of the booth, place a napkin over my face, replace my sunglasses over my eyes, sip my martini and throw the shadiest of shade back at He Who Throws Shade For No Reason. Apparently, this was funny. I thought of it as my duty to all Americans. And I was drunk. Big surprise.
#14: Liquor By The Crate.
I don't know where y'all shop for liquor, but Vegas' Wholesale Liquor Outlet is the portal to heaven. Upon entering said Garden of Eden, Mike and I stopped for a moment of silent prayer and had a true moment of Thanksgiving for the holy gift bestowed upon us. Mike and I played every gay boy's favorite, Supermarket Sweep, and grabbed anything not bolted down on one clean sprint. I'm not gonna lie, the boxes didn't all fit in the trunk. It was like Costco for Alcoholics. I was so happy I just piddled right there. No really, I piddled. Literally. Right there at the checkout counter.
#13: Coffee Tea Cigarettes?
Seriously John. What exactly were you worried about? Prude. I may be naive and virginal, but, girrrrrrl, come on. Winesha may be young but she wasn't born yesterday.
#12: Little Pre-Party on the Prairie
As always, a little Saturday night pre-party was necessary. Luckily, John's La Quinta was available (as was Scott's Shangri La hotel room but we'll let bygones be bygones). Although we didn't have shot glasses anywhere in John's apartment, except for, you know, right on top of the refrigerator, we made do.
Scott and Jay made the three hour trek from the Strip to find "Straighty Bottom Boy" and Winesha on the futon in the living room, Giniqua downloading porn again and John trying to gather enough coffee, tea and cigarettes to supply every man, woman and child on earth for the next millenia or so.
Now, I'm not gonna lie. I had a bottle and a half of wine, three martinis and two Big Gulps of light tan Captain and Coke before I loaded up a sippy cup the size of the Statue of Liberty for the six hour busride over to the strip.
#11: All Aboard, MENSA only...
I will say, first of all, that I do extremely well with puzzles. No really, I do. But really, on Saturday night, we ALL had a time of it fitting this puzzle correctly.
Puzzle pieces: 6'5, 6'3, 6'1, 6'2 and 5'9 peoples. Five sippy cups each about the size of the Sears' Tower.
Puzzle board: A mini-Bug.
Go.
Oh, I forgot, there's a sunroof.
Go.
#10: Room Service
I didn't know many things on Saturday night. My name. What city I was in. Where we were going. I learned much in Vegas, but most importantly, I did acquire a certain crucially important bit of info.
You can order liquor up to your hotel room on the Strip. And a martini shaker. And martini glasses.
Fortunately, someone in Scott's room had the coordination to put all said items together to make a drink. The sippy cups were empty.
#9: Jay and Giniqua in the Scott's shower
Nuff said.
#8: You Forgot What?
Yes, I forgot my wallet at John's La Quinta. Yes, it had my ID, my credit cards and my cash. Yes, it had John's address and phone number. Yes, my cell phone battery was dead. No, I couldn't tell it was me when I looked in the mirror. Problem.
Luckily, while walking along some street I couldn't identify again even if I fell on it, divine intervention intervened. Right between, "I have no idea how you're getting in anywhere" and "you're fucked" a door opened. John yelled to run in the door. I, not knowing an open door from my left foot, ran in. Luckily, the door was wide enough because I just aimed for the middle of the dark hole I thought might be a doorway. Followed by Scott. Who's a good foot taller than I am.
So I'm running like a nelly bottom and Scott's yelling something like "run you stupid nelly bottom" past all these people that were probably Krave employees. I was lost in a maze that really was of my own invention. Turned out to be exactly one hanging curtain. I'm pretty sure I ran in a circle several times and kicked out half of N Sync's Tearing Up My Heart dance routine.
I ran for the only light I could see. As soon as I found myself in some corner of Krave, I tried to act nonchalant. I think I waved at a stripper. I turned a corner and some hottie bouncer asked me for some kind of VIP badge. I'm pretty sure I pretended not to speak English. Scott soon followed. I ran into exactly...everyone...between me and wherever the hell I ended up. Scott helped a little. And by helped, I mean he laughed until he piddled.
Somehow John, Mike, Jay and Christian found me. Scott was on the floor peeing himself silly.
John: I can't believe you got in!
Mike: Girl, you are one tragic mess.
Me: Ain't NOBODY keeps the Cho out of NOWHERE!!!
...
Me: Aren't we going to Krave?
Mike: Girrrrrlll. We're already here.
Thanks a lot everyone.
#7: Taxicab Confessional
Apparently, at some point in the night, Giniqua turned back into Mike and wanted to go home (considering she had exactly 1252 attempts on Day 1, I'll let it go). Scott and Jay either hooked up or ditched. So there I was, talking to people I will never be able to identify again. My cell phone was 3 minutes from being dead. I had no wallet. No money. No credit cards. No ID. No keys. No clue. No ability to focus on objects any distance from my face.
I had to get home. Whether it was Honolulu, Milwaukee or Tempe, AZ (John's apartment), I didn't care. So I started to walk. Along the street. On the Strip. With 75% of the world's electricity lighting up flashing lights that didn't help the balance problem I was having.
A cab. I needed a cab.
Three things occurred to me, at various times over the next forty five minutes.
(1) Hailing a cab to take me back to Tempe with exactly 12 cents in my pocket would prove difficult.
(2) Hailing a cab and asking them to take me to "John's apartment" was an ineffective way of getting home.
(3) Hailing a cab is impossible when [a] cabs don't pick people up on the street, [b] walking in the direction of traffic (not against traffic) while holding my hand out is quite inefficient irregardless of the city and [c] I would have better luck falling in front of a cab then into one.
I got home.
Thanks a lot everyone.
#7 1/2: Bedside Furniture
If memory serves me right, I found quite a comfortable spot on the floor next to the futon in the living room. John's carpet was quite thickly padded and it had that wonderful down-home feeling to it. Unfortunately, I later found out that no one else was sleeping in the living room much less on the futon beside which I fell asleep. Yes, I fell asleep next to the empty bed. On? No. Next to.
Thanks a lot everyone.
#6: Biological Bases of Human Behavior
Now, Giniqua deserves to have her fun. But, I'm all about telling all about it. At exactly three casinos, amid the growing crowds of America's finest straight boys, Giniqua wasn't beyond trying to cop a feel. Giniqua did more laps around the Hard Rock than...Giniqua around a Hard Rock. Girl's split times were faster than a Kenyan at the Olympics.
As thrilling as that was to watch, it compares not at all to the hunting of a certain "straight" boy playing in the tournament. In describing what I witnessed, I am reminded of a few videos I watched in my BBOHB class at the University of Illinois. In said video, a certain type of mammal, in order to invite copulation, places their swollen hind parts in direct eyesight of the sexual target. Baboons got nothing on Giniqua. Giniqua has well-practiced opposable thumbs. That grasp firmly. While the other baboon plays pinball.
Unfortunately, said baboon has the sexual taste of early paleolithic man. If there's a hole, plug it. Tragic.
Girl, you can do SOOOO much better.
Upcoming:
#5: Can we stop at that house? Maybe they'll make us something to eat.
#4: Tragic Four Corners
#3: Skittles, can you hear me?
#2: Tragic Brittney.
#1: Hell no. Someone done stole Donna's costume.
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