City o’ Cliches

If I never hear “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” again for the rest of my life, I’ll be the happiest girl on the planet.

That said …

I’m hoping that the food poisoning I picked up in Vegas will stay, well, in Vegas. I doubt I’ll be that fortunate, though. There I was, surrounded by booze and cuisine and all kinds of sinning and stuff, and I was the only sober person in the city. Go figure. *sigh*

See, the problem with dry-heaving after consuming a cracker (I had two crackers and six Rolaids today, total) is that a girl’s mother will automatically start planning on grandchildren. Not morning sickness, peeps! This is a conversation a man never has to have. It’s food poisoning, folks. Jeez — I spent a week with colleagues in Vegas; unless my vibrator started spewing sperm in the interim, I’m pretty sure we’re all safe. *whew*


The weekend wasn’t a total wash, however. I did get what we will call the WORST PICKUP LINE EVER. I was walking down the Strip (the North Strip, which is kind of ghetto, not the South Strip where all the “real” hotels are) with the girls bouncing around quite happily. And this drunken dork sees me and says, “Those are jigglies!”

You see where this is going.

So he really wanted to touch them. I walked faster, although he couldn’t quite break into much more than a stumble. So he’s slurring, “Those are jiggly — like gummi bears! Come here, Gummi Bear — I’m gonna EAT YOU!”

Needless to say, I tore up my Monorail pass and decided to cab it to the South Strip from there on out. 😉


With whatever illness I have right now, I can’t stand the smell of anything. So imagine coming from the rich, chi-chi resort-type hotel where my work comrades and I set up camp for four nights — which smells deliciously like coconut — and going to the Stink Stratosphere.

Now, I don’t want to hate on the Stratosphere — the view from the top is lovely. And the room is functional — it’s no Paris, Bellagio or Mandalay Bay, but you know, it’s fine. But the casino part? *faint* It smells like stale smoke and dry-roasted ass. I know all the resorts smell like smoke, but you’ve got places like Caesar’s Palace that does its best to make the air smell like vanilla.

I walked into the Stratosphere last night, after seeing Lisa Lampanelli’s set at the House of Blues in Mandalay Bay, and I started dry-heaving. It would have been retching, had I digested anything in the past, oh, four days. It’s cute how everyone thought I was the one who was drunk! 🙂


Speaking of Lisa Lampanelli, awesome. Just, awesome. She was promoting her “Dirty Girl” tour, which you probably saw on Comedy Central. There was some really old and some really new material mixed in, but you’ve got to love her because she’s all about the audience participation — she was out in the middle of the floor, insulting people to their faces. Priceless. 😉

She had two opening acts, and the second one — a guy named Wendell — totally blew her off the stage. He was flamingly gay and spent his whole set talking about vaginas. And he lamented that we as women do so much to gussy ourselves up elsewhere, but we leave that area dark and neglected.

First, he suggested we toss up some track lighting down there, to brighten things up. 😉 Secondly, he said he has a great new product for us to add some sheen and sparkle to the ol’ hoo-ha: “Clitter.” HA!

I was ticked off that my camera got confiscated at the HOB. Not only did they take it, but I had to PAY them for the privilege of handing it over to them. And there was a tip jar, to boot! Jeez. The line to get the camera back was no picnic, either. Meanwhile, Lisa was out signing autographs, but it took me so long to get through the camera line, I said fuck it and opted to not jump in the meet-and-greet line. Oh well.


Back in my mid-20s when I used to host fund-raising events, I used to come to the hotel room equipped with bottles of rum, vodka, tequila — you name it. Then in my late 20s, I picked up the habit of bringing wine — always a white, sometimes a red.

This trip?

A bottle of Pepto, a bottle of Immodium, a bottle of Phillips, a roll of Tums and a pack of Rolaids vanilla soft chews. Sheesh! How times have changed!!!

I’m sure there’s more to say to sum up my Vegas adventure, but alas, someone’s body clock is finally adjusted to Pacific time and she’s back on the East Coast, just in time for her first 7:30 a.m. deadline. …

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