What Happens In Vegas...

I'm back.

Thank God.

Of course I had a great time, but I learned that nine days in Las Vegas is about four or five days too many. But all of that time allowed me to sleep a lot, eat a lot, see a lot of good shows, drink a lot, gamble a lot and shop a lot. I wasn't prepared for the shopping in Vegas to be so good. I found a Coach outlet that brought me to tears. The poor little gay sales boy had to help me to my feet when I fell to my knees sobbing and clutching half-price designer purses and wallets like a crazed lunatic.

I love to exploit those with insecurities about their financial status, especially those who are clawing their way to upperclassdom from regularclassdom. Case in point, one of Big Daddy's friends that flew up from Arizona to play with us for a few days. I had never met him before and didn't particularly love him once I did. He's a young guy and nice enough, but still apparently reveling in the newness of his recent business successes so that you have to hear about it every five seconds. If you see a car you like and point it out, he, of course, is just about to buy one. If you mention an exotic tropical island that you would like to visit, he, of course has been there a thousand times before. You know the type. So anyway, unfortunately for him, I had about four margaritas in the hotel bar while waiting for him to arrive from the airport, and then a couple more while listening to him regale us with stories of being wooed by various pit bosses to come back and stay at their hotel/casinos the next time he was in town. Hot Lips had heard enough.

If nothing else, my one gift in this world (other than my great hair, tits and sense of humor) is I can read (most) people like open books. It is really more a curse than a gift, but in this instance let's call it a gift, mkay? It doesn't take me more than a minute or two from meeting someone before I can basically read their minds, which is what makes me such a personality snob, but I digress. This little gift comes in handy in my job, and it comes in handy on a daily basis when I need to relate to people and make them like me. But other than that, I try to be a responsible superhero and keep it tucked away where it can't hurt anybody. Unless of course I've been drinking, then I can't be held responsible for the ways in which this little gift rears its ugly head. You see, when you can read someone's mind, it is very, very easy to manipulate them into doing whatever you want them to do.

So yeah, Mr. Jim started a little business about five years ago that's now worth a couple of million bucks and I'm assuming he grew up poor, because it was very, very important to him to make sure everyone knew he was sitting on a little cash. I truly believe that he didn't mean to brag, he just very obviously drew his self worth from his bank statement.

When you can read people's minds it is very annoying most of the time. But you know what's even more annoying? When your dumb boyfriend just totally feeds into it. So, so annoying. And then drunk Hot Lips has to entertain herself at others' expense (excuse the pun).

So I had Mr. Jim take us to one of the casinos that was supposedly romancing him for his business, where I made several new friends, all funny little men that were in town for one business reason or another. So as Big Daddy and Mr. Jim were off doing "rich" man things in the casino, I was floating from table to table collecting friends. When I finally met back up with them, I had five new male friends in tow, and I was demanding we go to a titty bar.

Mr. Jim was, after all, a self proclaimed Mr. Vegas, so certainly he would not only be up for it, but know the best place to go. So I told Mr. Jim to go get us a car while we all cashed in our chips (this was one of the few nights I didn't lose everything I came with). And when we met him out front, just as I knew he would, Mr. Jim had secured us the biggest stretch Hummer limo I had ever seen. My five new friends, who are apparently easily impressed, kept oohing and ahhing and profusely thanking Mr. Jim, meanwhile, I just tried to stifle my evil laugh.

When we arrived at the gentlemen's club, my five new friends all started to reach in their pockets for their wallets, and I just did a little covert hand motion telling them to leave their wallets in their pockets, while, you guessed it, Mr. Jim paid the $30 cover charge for the 8 of us. I had a great time with my new friends, Rick, Eric, John, Ben and Matt in the $600 an hour VIP room running up a four-digit bar tab that Mr. Jim was more than happy to whip out his AMEX and pay for. And as the sun was starting to come up, we all climbed back in the same stretch Hummer and were dropped off at our respective hotels. I'm no mathematician, but I'd have to estimate that Mr. Jim dropped a minimum of $5,000 on me and my new friends that night.

The next morning (or afternoon as it were) Big Daddy said to me, You know, that really wasn't nice what you did to Mr. Jim. My response, Whatever, he had something to prove, so I let him prove it.

So you see, I'm not manipulative, I was just performing a public service.

I just so happened to fall in love with a stripper that night, like real, true love. But I'll save that story for another time.

So yeah, I had fun in Vegas, but I'm happy to be back.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I also accidentally got married in Vegas, too.

Love ya!