Tag Archives: Tats

Vodka gets me in trouble…

19 Mar

Here’s the deal. I like my martini dirty (light on the dirty – maybe we call it a naughty martini). Either way, the root cause of all evil is wheat. I can prove it.

It all started when the Maynards invited us to join them for the Northern California Special Olympics celebrity ski event at Incline Village the other weekend. As soon as we arrive at the ski resort, we perch our asses pointing at the north shore and begin our ritual – you know, starting off the ski day by getting warm – ala some dirty mary’s.

Nice ass.

Properly revved up on napalm mary’s we ski’d for a bit then on to other fun activities – we head to the banquet. One word: Mayhem.

You see, Brad Kinney was manning the turntable and of course I had to go say hi. After all, we went to HS and are facebook friends and all. Such a small, small world. I clickity clacked my way over and said “Hi Brad!” and we chit chatted and maybe there was some flirt on my part. I mean, he’s BRAD!

Meanwhile, over at our table, dubbed Team Vodka (coincidence? I think not) we had one of K‘s colleagues, a very nice Russian man named Dmitriy. He’s been at these celebrity events before and knew everyone. I mean e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e.

He and I quickly hit it off, drinking shots of Russian Standard and talking in a thick Russian accent. My accent is a hot mess but Dmitiriy’s is real – which totally worked!! So after a few of these fire shots, me and my big girl shoes are dancing and whooping it up. I don’t need much of an excuse you know.

However, I have NO idea who I’m dancing with at this point. And it totally doesn’t matter. I think at one point I was bootie popping with Juliet Goodrich from CBS News. She saw one of my tattoos and became my new dance BFF.

Then, Dmitriy gets me in a gang-dance. I don’t know what else to call it. There were three of them and one of me. And outta nowhere, I find myself hoisted up on top of a dinner table to dance with Ryan Merriman (Pretty Little Liars) and Thyme Davis (Days of our Lives). No shit. Earlier that day, after skiing, we met up with them in the bar. Ryan showed me a picture on his iPhone. It was him – shredding at the terrain park.

But up on the table – dancing with Ryan and Thyme – this was well, both surreal and to be expected I guess. I mean, for those that know me. THIS. IS. NOT. UNCOMMON. FOR. ME.

Thanks Brad! The hat is smashing!

As the party goes on, out come the cute pink cowboy hats with tiaras (thanks Brad for giving me one first!). We continue drinking vodka, and I realize I’m a gonna pay dearly for this later.

And I do. Can barely walk the next day and I have to check my texts and tweets for too much sass. And then apologize. A lot.

Like a half-off shoe sale at Nordstrom’s, I love my vodka but it gets me in all sorts of trouble.


Sexting? Really?

2 Dec

S, T, and I have been friends since the days of rex-style roller skating. We basically grew up together and like most longtime friendships, they are still there even when we move away and fall out of touch.

Facebook allowed us to find each other again and so the three of us set a date for a girl’s weekend. Just girl’s, groceries and gab. And a new tattoo to commemorate the renewed friendship. And cocktails. Lots of cocktails.

S lives out of state so T and I picked her up at the airport on a Friday afternoon and we headed to a swanky bar to catch up with each other (and by catch up, I mean catch up with S… she started celebrating the upcoming visit somewhere over Texas with a Jack and Coke, or three.)

T and I had no problem catching up – quickly. It all started when S got a sext message from a guy she recently started dating. I have no idea what his real name is, she only ever referred to him as “sweet cheeks”. I thought that was very romantic and kinda not expected – I mean she had only recently separated from “ass hat”. Ass hat is her ex-husband and this moniker totally fits him so naturally I thought of sweet cheeks as this charming man bearing flowers. I was wrong.

Sweet cheeks did bear gifts, just not the kind you would tell Mom about. His gifts tended to focus on his most charming feature – his (how do I say this in a blog?) longshoreman, wilson, tool, pork sword, sausage, willy… well, you get the picture.

And so did we. Several in fact. Sweet cheeks sent the gift that kept on giving the night before the trip {wink}.

In a picture. On her phone. By text message. With some colorful and equally charming odes to it. I would know, I made her share it with me. And then I drank another martini. Wanted to light a cigarette if I’m being completely honest.

What struck me as odd was not the tool itself in the photo, it was the tool that sent it. He is in his forties!

What is wrong with people that they would send sext messages in their forties?? On the other hand, is it wrong for me to have been highly amused by it? To maybe have stared a bit too long at the longshoreman?

What did it say about S that he felt she would want the ode to his wilson?

I’ve given this a lot of thought. S is crazy. And I do mean that in the best way possible. She’s a wild, uninhibited, in-your-face crazy bitch. She inspires others to be wild and crazy too so I totally see why sweet cheeks sexted her. Still.

Sweet cheeks lasted a couple of months – however his gift will be treasured forever.

What happens in Vegas… part 4

7 Oct

My favorite part of Vegas really had to be the pool time. Lounging poolside in my fubulicious bikinis and cowboy hat, finishing a James Patterson novel (Alex Cross’ Trial – very good!), and drinking mojitos with the hubby – who could ask for a better way to laze away a hot day in the desert?

For some, this is enough. For others, it’s the freedom that only comes with letting them all hang out. And by them I mean the  “girls”. And then having your BFF take lotsa papparazzi style photos of you modeling your assets. Now, I AM NOT A PURITAN- but I also don’t think you should pucker, pout, and tout your twins around unless they are a matched pair. Sorry Euros. But it’s true. Size A- cups, don’t please don’t – you’ll be confused with Jared Leto.

And if one of the girls skipped a grade growing up, leaving the older twin to battle high school solo, oh please, keep them covered so others don’t see you listing to the side like you have one short leg.

OK, I know this is harsh – but this is America. Where if you don’t have a true twin set, be prepared for “J”udgement and “R”idicule. I encountered J and R on our last day poolside. We had made the happy mistake of having an early lunch on Sunday at Emeril’s Stadium. Now That’s What I’m Talkin Bout. What a fun place. TV’s in every alcove and OMG the bathroom. It was the ultimate ode to all things sports. OK, I’m not a sporty chick, but in honor of the excursion, I did decide to wear my sporty bikini – all white and the bikini top twisted up the back. A bit more bum coverage too. So inside, I felt like Sporty Spice. Without the accent and money. Or in her obscure case, without the accent. {wink}

But I digress – we didn’t get back to the pool til about 12:30p so we lost much beloved and highly coveted lounge chairs at the adult pool. So I meandered to the other side of the pool casino (yes, there is a full bar and casino between pools) and saw a lot of unoccupied chairs just behind the “you-can’t-sit-here-unless-you-overpaid-for-a-cabana” chairs. No worries, I’ll just drop the back of those loungers and viola! we have a clear view of the happenings across the way. Bingo, I Sunk Your Battleship, 22 Red, or whatever winning phrase you shout when you win…

We settled in and I never read my book. Didn’t notice it was the European pool we were camping at. Missed that sign. Drat hubby. Hope you don’t mind looking at some hot tan and skinny chicks sunbathing topless. Oh, you really are ok? Super. Make it a double. D.

Which is when I first noticed “J”udgement and “R”idicule. Spoiled twenty-somethings resembling Britney and Lindsay before the shaved head and lesbian adventures.  With pursed lips and constantly talking behind the hand, I knew the objects of their mirth as their heads moved back and forth. On the southside of the pool was a 30+ woman with droopy boobs. In front of them, a mismatched pair.  But when Miss DoubleDee stepped out of the pool without her top showing off her canonical orbs, and her long blond hair dripping down her back, they stopped stunned. She stopped. Wrung her hair out, flipped her mane over her shoulder, and casually walked back to her day bed with a little smile. Wowsa – I could not pull that off no way, but congratulations! But J and R furiously and feverishly whispered and texted. Smirked. Clearly not enjoying the show.

Whatever – moving on. Turns out, the night before was some body building championship and the she-males were all a-busting through their mankini’s. And while I’m totally FOR boob jobs, if you take your top off, and your biceps compete with your implants for “who’s harder and rounder”, then it’s likely best to make us guess. Put a bigger triangle on them. And by them, I don’t mean the biceps. Yeah, I’m talking to you Ms Jungle Lifter – the bandana bicep wrap was just a bit too much Rambo for the pool.

By now, I’m on my 3rd mojito and totally enjoying the show, while cataloging the guffaws. As I make my way to the restroom (yes, pool people, there is one and it’s intended to be used), some Guido stops me.

Guido says, “Nice hat.”

I respond {touching my cowboy hat} “Thanks.” I smile. Keep going.

When I get back to the lounger, I tell the hubby, “See that Guido over there, he said he liked my hat”.

Hubby says, “Ummm, I’m not sure he was looking at your ‘hat’.”

I squint and wonder.

Whatever – we’re half nekked, drinking, and I’m having fun. We get in the pool – and I pretend that if someone does pee, it’ll trail blue, so I feel better already. And we’re laughing and he’s giving me turtle rides. A turtle ride is where the girl (that’s me!) puts her hands on the guy’s shoulders (that’s the hubby!) and he swims and she doesn’t have to. Woot woot. It’s a blast. Try it!

I’m riding the turtle when we run into Guido – who tells the hubby he likes my Tat. Not apparently my hat. Yeah, I have tattoos. One on my lower left belly and one on my backside. That’s all I’m saying.

But Guido wants to say more. He says his wife wants to get a Tat while they are there – at Vince Neil’s tattoo place on the strip. Unh huh. Sounds good. Have fun. We move a few feet away.

He follows. He says he wants me to talk to his wife about my Tats. “Sure” I say. Unh huh. Sounds good. Have fun. We get out of the pool.

He follows. She is ironically and coincidentally sitting in the lounger a few feet from us. Super. He says they know Vince, have photos with him. Blah blah blah. I’m not into this whatsoever. We nod, and smile, and politely get our things. I tell her, who seems nice enough, to be sure she wants a tat, cuz like a diamond, it should last forever. I’m wise like that.

As we tried to leave, he asks if we’re staying here, snaking his smarmy arm around my waist. I couldn’t resist. “Of course, this is a private pool.”

He says they are too, at the Encore, but their room isn’t ready yet. “Can we come to yours?”

Once again, we got the message too late to avoid it, but with tote bag in hand, and a huge laugh out loud, we finally left.

Vegas has some interesting places, and more interesting people visiting them. I can’t wait to go back. But if I run into you, and you do something questionable and I catch on – expect to see it here on my blog.

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