Caterwauling

The last time I hired somebody, I got deathly sick, to the point of being in the hospital for a week and recovering at home the next week when the poor girl was barely on the job a month. This time around, I had my new hire for three days before spending a week in Vegas and now trying to overcome this food poisoning thingy.

I feel bad giving these great people such a trial by fire, but it always goes to show that I picked folks with initiative, drive and the ability to work independently. So, I guess this is how I get them to pass the test! Although I do wonder what strain of plague I’ll get the next time I bring someone on board. …

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*

‘I’M GONNA EAT YOU, GUMMI BEAR!’

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. 😉

STINKOSPHERE

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! 🙂

YEAH, SON!

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.

THEN AND NOW

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. …

Sat by the wave pool today. Had sand in my toes and it seemed like a perfectly logical way to rid myself of it. I had my feet in the water for an hour — my feet-up Friday is the most fantastic ever!

Don’t worry — I don’t do the bathing-suit thing. Too afraid of being harpooned or something. 😉 But what does amaze/impress me is how many women just don’t care who’s looking at them. I have a slight self-conscious streak that’s more apparent in beach-weather situations, and maybe it’s the fact that everyone’s on vacation, but hey. Apparently if you can get the suit on, you can wear it!

I’m more freckled than when I came out here, thanks to today being the first day I actually got exposed to sunlight. My chest got tan, which is nice, but damn these freckles — they stopped being cute about 25 years ago!

My poor, aching feet. I just wandered the entire resort barefoot and standing on the hot cement hurt less than wearing shoes. Oh well. There are other children who would kill to walk through the desert on their way to an air-conditioned suite!

Got to “Fashionistas” tonight — front-row center seats, baybee!

I may create an iMix with all the music, if one doesn’t exist already. LOVED the tunage.

The show was fine. I don’t think it was worth sixty bucks. But then again, there were women in skimpy outfits doing airborne calisthenics right above my head (wrapped in a sheet — very nice) so I guess I got my money’s worth. The girl who sat next to me left for awhile, while one of the acrobatics experiences was taking place. Wuss. 😉

She seemed disgusted in general. Looked like she thought it was going to be something else entirely. We were given posters after the show and collectible programs (i.e., the song list with which I will be creating my next playlist) and she tossed EVERYTHING in the first available trash can.

I was tres underdressed for a fetish show. Perhaps the only person who left the hotel in khaki pants and an albeit-casual blazer. Of course, I got points for being the youngest in the audience — i.e., the one person who probably read the show description on teh Interweb — and I think I was the only one who was clapping with any feeling whatsoever.

They worked hard, the dancers. Although I do admit, for a supposedly sexual storyline, some of those chicks were as wooden as a freaking Pinocchio doll. And entirely too skinny — seriously, bones don’t turn me on, sweethearts, even when they’re covered in fishnets and leather garters!

I ended up at the Paris for the evening, at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Which was lovely, per usual. It’s been about two years since I’ve been up there, and I believe the last adventure was in the winter with someone who chatted a lot. I watched the fountains at the Bellagio dance, and well, it was a fantabulous night. Now it’s 2 a.m. Pacific and I’m afraid I’m going to sleep through my wake-up call. Oh well! 🙂

In Vegas, you can buy used card decks from all the major casinos with their logos and crap on them. They like their cards to look pristine, so they use ’em a coupla times and then package them for resale.

We were looking at those for our hotel and we started debating the point of even playing cards anymore outside of gambling establishments. As I mused, “Yeah, if I want to play solitaire, I just pull out a vibrator. And I always win!”

Mike Ditka is staying at my hotel, as is Dr. Phil. I also know Jon Bon Jovi is around here somewhere — so help me, if I run into him, I will be the crazy drooling fangirl on the news whom security had to unclamp her legs from around his waist.

Just sayin’, watch the news. And wave! 😉

As if last night’s feast weren’t enough to give all of us a major case of the “blahs” today, T, J and I went out for breakfast. Mmm, salmon benedict. Lord. Is it a wonder that none of the clothes I brought will fit anymore? There’s talk of dinner at a favorite haunt, but argh, the work I still have to do. And besides, how could I go to that place if I can’t even digest the thought of eating yet again?

My digestive system is currently in rebellion. Dinner tonight at fancy-schmancy upscale French place with the gang. Could pronounce pretty much everything, as I took five years of French and all, but can’t remember it all.

Highlights: salmon ravioli (pure salmon, no pasta) stuffed with guacamole. Lamb shank plus lamb cannelloni. Eggplant caviar. Dessert a chocolate plate with chocolate sorbet, chocolate-caramel gooey cookie, chocolate brownies with anise and some other stuff. And neverending glasses of red and white wine. The one-word summary of the night: yummy.

I eat more on these quick trips than I do in an average month! Last night brought the best Brazilian barbecue in the world plus alcohol and way too much gambling. Lunch today: lamb (even more!) and tasty pomegranate limeade at a poolside cantina.

Tonight, I decided to be a good girl and passed on after-dinner activities as it is 11 p.m. and all. Just chugged a liter of water and wondering whether to take a bath with the signature sea salts provided for us or whether I might finally get my first night of sleep in three nights. Fucking drunken morons roaming the halls at all hours — even a Benadryl and Tylenol PM cocktail never manages to keep me asleep.

Off to watch the channel with the live aquarium webcam feed and curl up in a ball. *hugs corporate expense account, wonders why I spent so much time in nonprofit sector before this* 😉

What self-respecting bar-type establishment serves Grand Mariner in a non-heated glass? Amateurs. Oh well. Whatever the liquor’s temperature, it makes the next morning a complete and total bitch.

Actually, it’s my ass that hurts more than my head — I’ve probably walked 20 miles in two days. I’m pretty sure I’m having fun; I’m just too exhausted to notice!

I’m hanging with good people here. And I’ve got to laugh because every story begins with, “So then B. hit town” and it ends with, “So then Goddess (insert random crazy action here)”! I’m a legend, although perhaps NOT in the way I intended!!!

Subtitle: Clearly, the universe hates me

I’m happily snug in the Pacific time zone at the moment, but getting here was one motherfucking adventure.

So yesterday, I got up on the East Coast after two hours of sleep, doing laundry and sneezing and just being uneasy in general because hey, why not? So I was up on time and doing my thang when …

Yep, found a spot o’ cat piss in my (thankfully empty) suitcase.

Bitches!

So I tried scrubbing it out, but it really was stinky. And knowing me, a quick airplane trip usually turns into full-day fiascoes, so I just couldn’t take that suitcase with me and ruin all the clothes I’d spent all night washing.

I’d gone to Kohl’s on Saturday and saw that luggage was 50% off. Which, yay, right? So I packed all my crap in garbage bags and hauled ass to the store a mere two hours before my flight. But Springfield is close enough to the airport that I wasn’t worried.

BUT …

That 50% off sale was done and now it was BOGO. And the suitcase I didn’t love at $99 wasn’t any cuter at $200 — even if I could get two of them for that price.

ARGH.

So I found a cheaper suitcase and picked up a cute smaller bag for my “free” item. Whee.

So I go to three different registers, where every goddamned sales person was slower than the last. I was literally CHEWING on my wallet, trying not to scream. (I can show you the teeth marks. KILL.)

So the cashier was giving me shit because my signature didn’t match the one on my card. Jesus! Even the guy in line behind me said, “She’s in a HURRY to catch a FLIGHT — let her go!” And the cashier said, “Well, I guess it’s different because you’re trying to get out of here, huh?”

JESUS.

So she starts carefully putting “paid” stickers all over it. I was through with her at that point. I’m all, “Lady, I’m parked in the FIRE ZONE and I’m going to RIP those TAGS off the second you HAND ME MY RECEIPT.”

Lord.

So I did just that — threw the suitcase on the ground, dumped my skivvies out of the garbage bags and away I went. If there are panties on the pavement in Springfield, trust me, I wasn’t having any fun when they landed there!

So I flew into fucking Dallas, where my souvenir was my liberal integrity. 🙂 I didn’t buy anything in the crappy shops, because who had time? But boy did I have time SITTING ON THE RUNWAY FOR TWO HOURS because a lightning storm grounded us all.

My first flight was fabulous. Comfy seats, great seatmate. We talked the whole time. Loved her. Second flight? Crammed, cramped and miserable. And HOT. To conserve power, off went the a/c. I was suffocating.

I tried opening my laptop to do some work, but the fuckhead in front of me reclined his seat and nearly snapped the damned thing in half. So I had to hold up the computer with one hand and type with the other — ever so convenient when you’re trying to write articles. NOT.

Seriously, if I’m going to have a man’s head in my lap, I would HOPE he’d be doing something useful while he was down there! 😉

The worst part? I’d packed my headache pills and my money in the overhead bin — not that anyone was coming around with the adult beverages, but I really wanted a bloody mary. Rats.

The flight was fine, once it happened. I ran into someone I knew in the Dallas airport (go figure), so when we landed, he grabbed a rental car and took me on a tour of the city where we finally arrived at. I think he wanted to hang out and all, but I was exhausted (it was nearly midnight Eastern when we landed — I was one crabby bitch) and I didn’t mean to be mean, but I said, “Look, I’m having fun and all, but I’m slap-happy. In 20 minutes, I become silent. In 30 minutes, I become homicidal. Would you mind taking me to my hotel now?”

Yep, I’m a charmer!

Incidentally, we got to the hotel in less than 15 minutes. Hah!

I didn’t get Internet access in my room till about noon Pacific. Joyous. I put a call in to tech support at 5 a.m., as I got up that early to do work so I could go about my day. Again, hah!

It’s been all uphill from there. Let’s face it, after that auspicious start, how could it NOT?!?!