I am in Las Vegas. On an unrelated note to the normal humor-level of my blog, the dance piece I choreographed, Vagabond Dolls, just won a first place gold award at the national dance convention we are attending, called Urban Jamm. I am so psyched I could get my nipples pierced. But that would hurt like hell and show through all my clothes so that won't be happening.
This town is full of characters. I am not even referring to the plethora of part-time go-go dancers and other performers with drawn-on eyebrows and humongous breast implants that wander the hotels during the day. We have had two cab drivers who were insane. One discussed the merits of owning a Papillon dog (in her case TWO, named Scout and Bandit...) at a tongue-twisting rate of speed. I am guessing she either won a year-supply of Red Bull or she was whacked on meth. The other was explaining in depth why he was going to retire to Costa Rica with his friend who was a girl (but not his girlfriend) who went through a bad divorce and was going to give him $90,000 in a CD to invest. I felt like I was at two back-to-back family reunions with the way these cabbies chatted it up with us. Any second and I was expecting the waiver forms for Taxicab Confessions to be pulled out to sign. Good God.
I watched a sweaty, wasted man try to convince the owner of the tattoo parlor, Hart and Huntington, to lower the price of some crazy-ass tattoo he wanted in his broken Spanglish. Yeah, Paco, they are definitely going to give you that douche-bag huge tattoo for $300 and not the TWELVE HUNDRED DOLLARS they originally quoted you. Come OOOOONNNNN. I witnessed the uber-tight security at the Palms Hotel pool. If you are a woman who has a hot bod, huge jugs, and no man accompanying you, beware. You will have a flock or horny security guards, lifeguards, building attendants, and their friends swarming you like seagulls swarm a discarded ice cream cone on the sidewalk. People were drowning in the adjacent pool but if the hot bitch (not THAT hot, just big boobs and a tight ass. Had a "Butta' Face".) needed her sunscreen reapplied there were no less than 4 men at a time who would jump to her aid.
And speaking of tits, I do not even have big boobs here. I am a commoner. If you want to be noticed (by your cans) you must have them protruding like melons under your skin, like a silicone shelf, busting from the top of your hot pink bra. I need twice my titties to stand out. That's okay, it feels nice that way. All the single guys here look like Brody Jenner or one of the Gotti boys wanna-be's. Lots of hair gel and expensive jeans. Not my thing but see plenty of horny chicks who dig it. And if you can't find love via the club or casino route, just check the mini bar. There are condoms, lube, and a mini vibrator inside with my Red Bull and $6 Snickers bars. REALLY. I have to go nap now. We are on the VIP list at Pure at Caesar's Palace and I need to get a $800 tattoo of the Virgin Mary on my thigh real quick before they close. See you when I sober up next week...
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