Monday. September 13, 2010
The boyfriend and I woke-up to the sounds of two billy-goats fighting to the death using spoons, blankets and old cassette tapes as weapons. At least, that’s what it sounded like; in actuality it was room service delivering our breakfasts.
I use the term “breakfast” lightly, as what our silver-domed trays revealed was something more akin to after-birth than food. What must have been powdered eggs had a texture that reminded me of the phlegm I used to cough up back when I smoked clove cigarettes. And the bacon? It was like really juicy, succulent, pan-fried Dr. Scholl’s inserts.
Chop and fry and add to omelette!
The boyfriend, too sleepy to deal quickly with the delivery, neglected to tip and felt guilty as a result.
“I’ve got a tip for them,” I growled, “Don’t bring me this garbage to eat!” We determined then and there to forgo the “luxury” of room service and take our morning meal at the buffet, where we could be discerning, from then on.
I'm just back from the final night of the 2009 Film Noir festival. The 1st feature Walk Softly, Stranger had gambling as a central theme, so I thought it was time to post this blog...
Although I've priced out the LP many times, it wasn't until very recently that I realized how ridiculous Pablo Cruise's Part of the Game cover is. My favorite? Los Braveros del Norte wins this round, hands down...
This is how we.......... yaaawn.... sssstretch.... roll.
It was our final day in Las Vegas, and Corey and I were determined to sleep through as much of it as possible. Corey is more gifted in late mornings than I, so he was impressed and pleased when my peepers didn’t pop until after eleven o’clock, ante meridiem.
We ordered room service. I had the same, slimy oatmeal mentioned previously in my blog, but this time I had it in the luxury of our suite, so okay! Everything tastes better when you have live footage of a shark tank playing on wide-screen TV.
"I'm only working The Strip to put myself through college."
Our only real schedule obligation was to vacate the room long enough for the maids to magically transform it to its virginal state. While we wandered into the lobby, wondering where we’d walk, we fortunately stumbled into a serious conversation about some dynamics in our relationship. So we sat down at a patio table outside and proceeded to communicate, sincerely.
Not only did this help illuminate certain things for each other, but it totally kept us occupied long enough for housekeeping to complete, so, once we were satisfied we understood each other, we returned to the room to continue doing as little as possible. It was a success.
That night was The Advocate’s party at Ivan Kane's Forty Deuce, Mandalay Bay’s burlesque club, which, every Monday night (as it was) hosts “Stormy Mondays” – a male burlesque show.
As Corey was one of the hosts, we were on hand ahead of time to panic and prepare, which we did, more or less in that order. I observed the go-go boys practice their routines - so bored looking, so distracted without the throngs of gay dudes and fag-hags clamoring to pad their g-strings with greenbacks. It was a very heterosexual moment for me. I started drinking scotch.