What a difference a week makes

Last week at this time, I was literally one bony arm's length from Mick Jagger, and this week, I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry, grocery bags, and cleaning products. My, how the mighty rock and roll queen has morphed back into suburban housefrau.

Following my triumphant return from Vegas last Sunday, T-Bone and I immediately made the trek to Zilker Park to see The Rolling Stones and company. And, boy oh boy, did those old coots deliver. Again. This was my fifth time to see them, and it was not only the best Stones show I've ever seen, but the second or third best show I've ever seen ever EVER. And I've seen a shitload of rock shows, y'all. The best part was when they came out to an auxiliary stage in the middle of the crowd for a few songs - the stage T-Bone and I had strategically camped out right friggin' next to. In fact, we were dangerously close to becoming one with the fence surrounding the stage. But I'm a big girl. I hung in there. And it was so SO worth it. They sang four songs, and if I had gotten up on my tippytoes, I could have grabbed any one of those tiny Brits and put him in my pocket. I actually got a little choked up for a minute there because the joke is always, "We've got to see them again because you never know how much longer Keef will be around." And this time, he really almost WASN'T around, courtesy of that freaky head injury. They are still SO awesome, yo, and to see every wrinkle so up close and personal was way cool. I told T-Bone that we may have to quit going to concerts because we've had such great seats the last few we've been to, we're getting totally spoiled. Seriously. Unless Chris Robinson comes to my home, to my bedroom, to play the next time he's in town, I really don't think anything else could top the last time I saw him. So too with the Stones now. I know. It's only rock and roll. But (say it with me now) I like it, like it. Yes, I do.

Coming back to reality, which I actually love even more than my rock and roll fantasy life (aww), let's look at what I did this weekend: Peach performed with her dance class at one school carnival, played in her first basketball game for this season, went to her own school carnival, and went to the obligatory birthday party. There were many loads of laundry and trips to the grocery store, Target, and the mall. Basically, lots of driving. After tomorrow's basketball practice, I will have been to WAYA three times in the last three days. I think I should get a free membership for that. Or at least a friggin' parking place.

Sin City Part II

Why, yes - that is a picture of the all-Little People tribute band, Tiny Kiss. But no, I didn't get the pleasure of seeing them live in Las Vegas because M and T weren't quite up to it. Especially after I dragged them to the free Big Elvis show. The guy is legendary, and he is very BIG, indeed. It was packed, and sort of sad, so we left after only two songs, which he performed while sitting in a very homemade-wood shop project-looking "throne." The best part was when two other BIG, as in tall, Elvises (Elvi?) came in to wish Big Elvis good luck before the show. They were GIANT Elvi, y'all. One was dressed in the standard issue Eagle jumpsuit, and the other was in the full-on black kar-a-TAY outfit with the tiger on the back. Sweet. Jumpsuit pulled a wad of cash out of his zip-up ankleboot to pay for their drinks because his fly outfit apparently did not have pockets. Or much support for his nether-regions. Yikes.

M was game for the live Price is Right show at Bally's, so she and I headed over there Saturday afternoon with high hopes of getting to come on down. Alas, we didn't get called, but the show was hilarious, mostly because it was hosted by this guy, who was CLEARLY loaded and openly hostile to the contestants and the announcer. He was slurring the whole time and probably questioning his many career missteps. I did get my picture made afterwards with him and the rest of the cast, but, alas, because I took a throw-down, throwaway camera instead of my new kickass camera, all of my pictures are completely grainy and nearly indecipherable. Sorry, folks. M and I did, however, manage to score three of these:

We got the last ones! Whew!

For you foodies out there, we ate dinner Friday night at Bobby Flay's Mesa Grill, and, can I just say, YUM. That was by far the priciest meal we had, but da-yum, it was delish. And although we were fat and happy after that, we managed to stay awake, change clothes, even, and hit Forty Deuce for a girly show. Yes, we are just that trendy. I have an affinity for girly things, such as this ashtray, which is just like one my granddaddy had next to the bed to keep his change and nugget ring in:

So I loved this club. It was really small and WAY crowded, so we didn't stay all that long. Just long enough to marvel at the girls' beautiful, silicone-free dancer bods and adorable burlesque costumes and moves. If I looked like that, well, I just might be twirling my own tassels right about now ...

All in all, we had an awesome trip. Vegas is such a weirdass place, and I'm so glad I got to take my own weird ass there with two of my favorite girls. Thanks, y'all, and I can't wait til next year. Helio Vasquez lives!

The Bitch is Back

And I now realize how old I am. Geezaloo, y'all - I'm tired. After a madcap long weekend in Vegas, followed by a rollicking good time at quite possibly the second or third best concert I've ever seen, I have been reduced to a freakin' zombie. There is so much to tell, and I am so not firing on all cylinders at the moment. And my hands and lips are all nice and chapped from the dry desert air. Oy. But I will soldier on for you, dear readers, just for you. There are at least two of you, right?

I haven't been to Las Vegas in 10 years, and back then, they were trying to bill it as a great family vacation spot. Rrrrright. Mom watches the kids at the pool while Dad gets tanked and loses the family nestegg at the craps tables. Now, it's all about "What happens in Vegas ..." - the most bastardized slogan since "Got milk?" The Strip looks completely different from what I remember, and while the hotels are trying to outsleek and outluxury each other, the streets are literally littered (say that three times) with "escort service" calling cards that are two or three strategically placed stars away from straight-up hardcore porn. These cards are nasty, and they are EVERYWHERE. My cohorts, M and T, picked up a few the morning before I got there and told me they had met some friends who wanted to party with us. Eww. But funny.

The Bellagio absolutely rocked. Our suite was way sweet, the buffet was painfully good, and I found my new game after getting lucky a few times at the casino. Usually I just play slots and peoplegawk, but I tried some roulette and was totally sucked in. M and I also spent the better part of Friday afternoon in the posh sports book, where I actually won three out of the five horse races I bet on, my picks being based purely on the horses' names. I mean, how can you NOT bet on Mr. Classy Action?

We spent a lot of time just walking from hotel to hotel, and damn, I am so old. I'm sore, y'all. From walking and eating too much. How pitiful is that? We gambled here and there and picked up lots of free drinks, but the main event of the weekend was the Elton John show at Caesar's Palace. I have to say, for a gay guy, he sure loves him some boobs. The show was designed and directed by David LaChapelle, and it's got his fingerprints all over it - cool, artsy videos and pictures, lots of graphics, lots of color, and lots of boobs. Including a GIANT pair of tatas that inflated and hung over the audience during "The Bitch is Back," while five videos of Pam Anderson pole dancing in a thong and pasties played over the stage. Then there was the huge inflatable banana with inflatable cherries on either side, the huge inflatable lipstick, and the huge inflatable roses. Think he was trying to tell us something? There was also the softcore film full of clips of various combinations of people dancing and getting it on to "Philadelphia Freedom," and the Justin Timberlake-as-a-young-Elton film that played during "Rocket Man." That was cool. And PeeWee Herman was in it.

My favorite piece had to be the film that played during "Someone Saved My Life Tonight." I'm all for artsy, but can someone please explain this to me: We open with an Elton look-alike putting his head on a pillow in his oven, and then a shirtless fairy boy (as in, wearing wings) (and sequin pants) separates from Elton's body and flies around the room. Cut to the fairy boy in an all red room with all white furniture and a woman with so much silicone in her, she was in danger of splitting in two. The woman is wearing pasties, a thong, hooker shoes, and a bridal veil, and the fairy boy dances around her. Cut to a cabin in the snow, like a snow globe, and the fairy boy is sitting and laughing with a giant purple bear, who is feeding the fairy boy honey with a giant wooden spoon. Then they go ice skating outside, and the bear swings around a smaller silver spoon, laughing all the way. Cut to random images of the fairy boy dancing, the plastic lady, the ice skating bear, etc., until the pace gets so frantic, and the fairy boy gets so out of control, the plastic lady goes apeshit and starts tearing up the red room and destroying a wedding cake. In the pasties, thong, and hooker shoes. Finally - now stay with me here - the fairy boy is dancing in a gray room, and shots of the Elton-in-the-oven, the ice skating bear, and other random images are interspersed with shots of the plastic lady strapped to an electric chair. And her crotch is on fire.

I am truly spent just relaying that last bit to you, so I'll leave you to ponder those images for now. Stay tuned ...

Luck be a Lady. For once. Seriously.

I'm leaving for Vegas on Thursday, and because my partners in crime, M and T, are leaving on Wednesday, they have demanded I post a pre-trip report today. See, they don't understand the life of the tortured blogger, the bouts of writer's block and lack of inspiration. They don't get that genius cannot be forced and that fabulous posts need time to germinate and develop. They're only in it for the shout-out, which they readily admit, so here it is: Helio Vasquez rides again, bitches! First round's on me!

Have I mentioned M got us a sweetass suite at The Bellagio? Word, y'all. And I got us tickets to see Sir Elton at Ceasar's. We're trying to get a cabana at the pool one day, and the rest of the time will be spent eating, shopping, and staring. Oh, and trying to decide which skinny jeans, sparkle top, and giant sunglasses to wear to Light, Pure, or Tao, because we'll totally be getting into all those shitholes. Fo rizzle. Gawd, I hope K-Fed is there. And Paris, too. They both could use good ass-kickings, just on principle. Here's hoping ...