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 ...

Tis the season

You Are

A Drunk Pumpkin Face You would make a good pumpkin martini.

What's Your Pumpkin Face?

Death by Window

We live right on the edge of the woods, so we have the requisite flora and fauna growing and wandering about, up close and personal like. The deer, all 8 of them, greet us nearly every morning at the kitchen window, thanking us for the corn. We go to bed each night to the croakings of about 1,000 frogs. And we look out on a solid wall of trees behind and to one side of us. Ahhhhh.

CRASH!

Oh, shit! What was that?

Another one bites the dust. It seems as though our kitchen window is a magnet for birds with suicidal tendencies, so we've had our share of death out here in the wild kingdom. Even with Peach's artwork taped to the window as a deterrent, there is no stopping them. This poor bastard left quite an impression, literally - above is an imprint on the window of what I hope was his head and two wings, although that dark spot in the middle there makes me wonder if he was flying bassackwards, in which case, what a friggin' idiot. We didn't actually recover a body. He either limped back into the woods to die or was carried off by somebody higher up the food chain.

It's a damn shame. But doesn't my bitchin' new camera take kick ass pictures?!

Cien

So this is it, y'all. My 100th post. Wow. Over the past eight months, I have made some new friends, learned new things about old friends, and enjoyed reading some incredible writing. I was hesitant to do this at first, but now, I'm so glad I did.

SO, if you've been reading along, and you haven't commented in a while, or ever, and you're not going to say something ugly that I will immediately delete, because I will, today would be the perfect day to gimme a shout out. No pressure ...

Progress Report

I started this post a couple of weeks ago, but after my GD camera crapped out on me for good, I had no pictures to illustrate my hard work. So, really, what was the point of telling you about all of my hard work without showing you pictures of all my hard work so you could then tell me how hard I worked and how lovely it looks? BUT after doing some research and finding out that there are several class action suits pending against Kodak regarding this very same GD camera, and that said GD camera is beyond fixable, we bit the bullet and got a new camera - a bigger, better, badder mutha that nearly slept on my pillow last night I love it so much. So, from now on, expect to see great feats of photographic genius! Or just regular old snapshots, but with two more MP. Whatever.

All this to say, when last we left my backyard, some five months ago, it looked something like this. Due to spots of "cooler" weather here and there lately, I've once again been up to my elbows in Dillo Dirt and other varieties of shit. Behold, the fruits of my labor:

A few things have already come and gone, and any holes you see are from my ripping out or cutting back a few other things that were just about to take over the place. I just stuck that Esperanza (yellow bells) in there (even though it will soon die a slow death, IF we ever have a real winter), because I love it, and I couldn't stare at that-bigga-hole for all of the next six months. What prompted my mania in particular was the carpet of weeds that had grown under The Bench. With some eager child laborers helping me, we pulled that shit out, tossed out some pea pebbles, and voila. Next up - antique roses for the trellis in November.

In other outdoorsy news, the GGMS fall family campout was a great success. I could hardly keep Peach and Olive out of the new big ass tent, which was one of about 50 set up for the weekend - our own little GGMS tent city. We headed out to the park at halftime of the Big Game and got there just in time to start setting up for the potluck dinner, the offerings for which were almost exclusively vegetarian, which was nice. I spaced and forgot to bring the freeze-dried ice cream sandwiches, but we did have the makings for s'mores, so that was a big hit. At sundown, which was beautiful, by the way, the sing-along began, and we threw in the towel about an hour later. Sleeping in the big ass tent was wonderful, what with the nearly full moon holding steady right above our mosquito mesh panels and plenty of air mattress space for everyone, but I wasn't anticipating how nippy it got in the wee hours of the night. The Shorties had flannel sleeping bags attached to their air mattresses, and, at one point, I tried to squeeze my big ass in with Olive, but I couldn't get the damn sleeping bag zipped. Finally, poor T-Bone had to trek a little ways to the car to grab a throwdown quilt I keep in there, but we were all much happier after that. We heard kids screaming until about 10pm, and some chuckleheads by the fire having a deep philosophical debate until about midnight (and they weren't even drunk), but then it was peaceful until sunrise. I love camping out, and with all the bad ass equipment we have now, I hope we get to do it more often. Just with more blankies next time.

Only 80 more days til Christmas

And exactly 0 more days to freak me out with this:

I'm sorry. I love Christmas and all, God knows I do (really, He does. And so do Michael's, Hobby Lobby, and Lowe's), but I can think of a bajillion more respectful and tasteful ways to remember my loved ones than this creepy piece of crap.

For $3 more, you can get it in gold plate, and for $13 more, you can upgrade to this. Eww. I've got to get off all these friggin' mailing lists.

Lord, deliver me from stupid people

I hate stupid questions. HATE them. And I hate people who work in customer service positions who have shitty attitudes. All the time. Not just having a bad day, but having a bad personality. So imagine my joy in the drive-thru at the credit union this morning:

LT: (ring call button)
Teller: (from video screen) Can I help you?
LT: Hi. Can I get -
Teller: Ma'am, I can't hear you. You're going to have to speak up.
LT: (louder, and a little annoyed) Can I get a deposit slip? There aren't any -
Teller: Ma'am, there are deposit slips in the box.
LT: (punchy) But there aren't any in there. It's empty.
Teller: Well, did you look?
LT: (simmering) Y-eee-sss. It's empty.
Teller: And there weren't any in there?
LT: (flat-out bitchy) No! That's why I'm asking for one.
Teller: Well, we got new ones.
LT: (WTF?) O-kaaay.
Teller: (sigh) I guess I'll send one out.
LT: Well, don't hurt yourself. (okay, so that was after she shut off the camera, but still).

Is it me? It's her, right?

Happy Birthday to Olive

Today marks the third anniversary of Olive's birth, when she came bursting into this world with a dark brown mohawk and the eyes and skin to match. A mere fifteen minutes after my epidural finally kicked in, by the way. We celebrated this momentous occasion today with a movie (ehh), lunch (yum), and ice cream cake (drool). Everyone hung in there fairly well, despite a three hour fashion show at home last night, an early morning, and no nap.

After the opening of the presents, there was a bit of a scuffle over the new throwdown doll stroller, Olive actually being the snatcher for once, and when Peach came to me in tears to report the theft, I mentally kicked myself repeatedly for not buying two of the damn things to begin with. Even with my current (un)employment situation, I think I could have swung the seven bucks. That said, I went to Olive to have the sharing toys talk, and she responded with, "But it's not her birthday, Mommy." Ah yes, the old birthday defense. Had she not been wearing every one of the Little Mermaid Happy Meal accessories I got her on eBay, I may have been able to keep a straight face. But, no. After I recovered, she did give up the stroller and apologize to Peach, saying, "I'm sorry I took MY stroller from you, Sissy." Think it's time for the passive aggressive talk?

We rounded out the day with the obligatory trip to Cabela's with my dad. Next weekend is the GGMS fall family campout, so I came home with a new big ass tent, some freeze-dried ice cream sandwiches, and a 40 lb. bag of deer corn. Life is good, my friends. Life is good.