What a week. It all began when Rob Cole a/k/a the Balloonmaster, who runs a local variety show down at the Onyx Theatre in the fabulously grimy Commercial Center, asked me if I could dress up as a clown and come down to create a disturbance at his show last Friday. Could I ever! I have a rainbow clown wig and a green clown nose that I’ve been DYING to try out, so I went in my closet and put together this amazing clown ensemble. It went over great at the Onyx, because first of all, the show is full of sick and twisted shit like ladies shooting darts out of their vaginas and mimes puking and lapping it up off the floor. Secondly, as mentioned, the Onyx is located in this AMAZING run-down shopping plaza called the Commercial Center, which back in the day was THE hoity-toity upscale shopping spot of ’60s Vegas. These days it’s gone to seed, and is nothing but gay bars, sex clubs, massage parlors and adult stores. In other words, better than Disneyland!
What goes over well downtown, however, doesn’t necessarily fly uptown…as I learned when I cruised over afterward to meet my friend J.R. for a nightcap at the Rio, where he was staying. I love showing up to surprise him in wacky outfits or with wacky props, as when I surprised him at Caesars with that ventriloquist’s dummy earlier this summer. J.R. loves all that kooky shit, so when I rolled in looking like Bozo he thought it was great! We immediately starting taking wacky photos at this fake World Series of Poker Final Table thing they had set up as a photo op…until a security guard came over and made us stop.
This was one of those security guards who takes their jobs EXTREMELY seriously, and was a real cowboy badass: “You can’t wear that in here,” he said, meaning my clown makeup. WTF! Half the fuckin’ whores in that dump had ten times as much spackled on their faces…just not circus-style! Makeup is makeup, and that is BLATANT CLOWN DISCRIMINATION! You’re seriously gonna kick me out, and meanwhile roll out the red carpet for that pancake-faced ho Kim Kardashian?!?! Get real!
J.R. got pissed too, and started arguing with the security guard, who got REALLY mad: “We can’t have clowns in the casino!” to which J.R. replied, “Are you kiddin’ me? This nickel joint ain’t run by nothin’ BUT clowns!” Oooh, probably not the best thing to say. We were surrounded by security guards, and were unceremoniously 86’d.
Now, I understand that you’re not allowed to wear a mask or a hood in a casino — just last week a dealer at Caesars told me I had to take the hood of my jacket off! (Srsly…get a life!) But makeup?! Apparently, it fucks with the casino’s facial-recognition software — I know this sounds sci-fi crazy, but apparently they REALLY DO have this weird software installed in all the Eyes in the Sky, that immediately recognizes the facial features of known gambling cheats, prostitutes and other personae non grata….and my clown makeup prevented them from identifying me. J.R. almost told them that he had a clown fetish, and had specifically ordered up a clown prostitute — and since he’s a Seven Stars member, they probably would have backed off. Oh well… should coulda woulda.
I didn’t have much time to worry about it, because the very next night I had two parties to attend — first my friend Guy had a pagan holiday jamboree with a Yule goat set aflame, and then I headed over to the annual Modern Holiday party at my friends James and Staci’s fabulously swanky mid-century-modern pad. I went to this party last year and was kinda shy and intimidated by all the media people and professional writers in attendance…but now that I have a few articles under my belt for CityLife (one of the local alt-weeklies here), I felt much more comfortable. Besides, people were lauding me left and right for my fabulous Facebook status updates — Clowngate being the most recent one. Did I mention you should follow me on Facebook?
After that, I laid low for a couple days, taking care o’business vis-a-vis Christmas shopping, etc. But I had to come out of retirement on Wednesday, for my girlfriend Trixxie’s company Christmas party. She works for a staffing agency that handles all the sexy blackjack dealers in town — you know how every hotel has its “Party Pit,” where buxom bims of childbearing age are on display dealing cards? Well, they were all having a party down at Binion’s, and it was open bar. Trixxie invited me as her date, and also invited me to spend the night in her room down there so that I could get REALLY fucked up and not have to worry about driving. So I packed an overnight bag and headed down.
A roomful of hot young babes with an open bar might sound good to you, but for me it was kinda boring…I didn’t know anyone, but the booze was good and the food was catered by this awesome vegan restaurant in town called Pura Vida…and it was awesome!! I beat up the buffet, had about 3 vodka cranberries, and then headed down the street to the Heart Attack Grill to hang out with my friend Dr. Jon while I waited for Trixxie to be done, so we could go bar-hopping.
At the Heart Attack Grill, Dr. Jon poured me a giant shot of Tennessee Honey, and I sat there sipping it, bullshitting with the Doctor and this other guy who hangs out there, who happens to be the President of the Fremont St. Chamber of Commerce or something like that…basically he runs shit down there. I filled his ear with all my gung-ho pro-downtown talk, and before you know it it was time to meet Trixxie across the street for more drinks at some of the hipster bars in the East Fremont district.
I don’t remember much from this point on — it was nickel beer night at the Beauty Bar, so everyone was wasted. I ran into my roommate and another girlfriend, and after a few more drinks and another bar, I was pretty well lit. I never did find Trixxie, and she wasn’t answering my texts…so when my roommate offered to drive me home, I totally accepted. I ended up puking all over her car on the way home (AMATEUR!), and then when I got inside, I FILLED my bathroom sink with puke. It was all that vegan food — and I’m here to tell you, ain’t no puke like vegan puke. It was so THICK and CHUNKY and full of lentils and carrots and stuff. Bleeeeccgghghhhhhh!
The next morning, I woke up to the taste of vomit in my mouth — and THIS <–!!! Blech! It was so chunky it wouldn’t go down the drain, so I had to fuck around with the sink until I pulled a giant clump of puke-encrusted hair out. Goooooooooood morning! Meanwhile, I had a hangover from hell and I had to be downtown for an appointment at 1:30. I tried to wake up as best as I could, but I couldn’t stomach any coffee or oatmeal, so it was rough. But I had a REALLY busy day ahead, so I sacked up and got on with it.
Whenever I’m facing a day filled with unpleasant tasks, I adhere to the adage “Put on your big girl panties and deal with it.” <–These are my big girl panties, so I put ’em on, slapped on some makeup, and grabbed the first thing I could find to wear, which happened to be jeans and a t-shirt I had apparently bought in my drunken stupor the night before…a t-shirt that reads “TRI*SEX*UAL” in big red letters (some artist kid was selling ’em in the alley behind the Beauty Bar…I’ve always fancied myself a Patroness of the Arts). I figured it didn’t matter what my shirt said, since it was chilly out and I had to wear a hoodie over it anyway.
HOWEVER, my car was still downtown at the 4Queens, where I had valet parked it the night before. I didn’t want to wake my roommate, who was sleeping off her own hangover, so I decided I’d just ride my bike. I figured I could ride to my appointment, then ride over to get my truck. I needed the exercise, anyway!
But it was unseasonably sunny and warm, and plus I was running REALLY late and thus had to pedal like a madwoman…which made me really hot and sweaty. I had no choice but to remove my sweatshirt and tie it around my waist, pedaling furiously in my TRI SEX UAL t-shirt like the Wicked Witch of the West. To make matters worse, all I have is my Burning Man bike, which is covered in pink duct tape, and the “basket” (really just a wicker basket I spray painted pink) was broken and falling off and dangling by a thread, which made it difficult to ride fast. But somehow I made it to my appointment only 15 minutes late.
After my appointment, I next rode over to the 4Queens to get my truck. The problem was, I had lost my valet stub…so I had to plead with the valet guys. They already thought I was a freak with my crazy bike and t-shirt, and since I had no ticket they had to call Security to verify my ID against the car’s registration. Meanwhile, they started looking through the keys in the valet office..and couldn’t find them. “It’s the one with the ball sac on the keychain!!!” I informed them (remember, I had a metal sac on my keychain to remind me to be strong at times like this).
Having found my keys, it only took the security guard about 4 hours to verify that it was my truck. But then he gave me a hard time about my ID card! You see, when I go out, if I’m not driving I just bring my State-issued ID card. I got the card last year, when I had a DUI and my license was confiscated — I needed something to get into clubs with. But then once I got my license back, the photo on the ID was SO MUCH BETTER than the one on the Driver’s License, that I prefer taking it with me. Since I wasn’t driving anywhere the night before, the ID was all I really needed.
Now, it’s even worse — I FINALLY got my medical marijuana patient’s card (YAY!!!!), and the picture on THAT is EVER BETTER!! All three are approved forms of State-issued ID…so now I’m really in a quandary. Take a look:
I mean, fuck! Which one would YOU use?!?!?!?!?! (Fun game: guess which is which!)
Anyhoos, so all I had with me was my ID card…and this hard-ass security guard wasn’t gonna let me go without a driver’s license. But my license was in my overnight bag, which I had left in Trixxie’s hotel room! She had taken it with her to work that morning, and I planned to drive STRAIGHT over there and get it back. Her office isn’t far from downtown, so I just figured I’d drive reeeeeeally carefully.
But this was another one of those overly bad-ass security guards…so I had to kiss his ass a little before he FINALLY let me go, admonishing me sternly that it’s a $1500 ticket for driving without a license. I know, I know! I cruised verrrrrrrrrry slowly and law-abidingly over to Trixxie’s office, got my stuff, and breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, and did I mention I had $6,800 in cash stuffed in my bra this whole time?!?!?!?! $3,400 in each side!! (I was making a bank deposit for a friend.) Arrrrrrrrrrrgh!
After that debacle was over, I faced the worst challenge of the day: asking my boss at the souvenir photo company if I could have Christmas off. EVERY YEAR I put in a request for time off around October, to make sure I beat out everyone else and get to go home for the holidays. But this year, with all the other shit going on in my fucked-up life, it slipped my mind. So now he had me on the schedule to work this dumb Chinese concert at the MGM Grand! As you may know, Chinese people don’t buy souvenir photos — I should know; I’ve suffered through MANY a wacky Chinese show in my day (Jackie Cheung, Grasshopper, Rain, etc.). I NEVER made ONE DOLLAR off any of those shows, and there was no reason to expect anything had changed. I mean, they DO say that the Chinese are acquiring more and more American tastes for stuff like Beef and Luxury Cars…but I don’t think they’ve caught the photo bug yet.
Anyhoo, I was reeeeeally nervous to ask him, because he’s already busted my balls about taking too much time off…and I haven’t worked at all since that awful ventriloquist show back on Dec. 3rd. I sweated and stewed over it for 4 days, debating on what tactic to use and what to say. I was ready to quit over this! I finally decided to use humor, and went into his office on my knees, pleading with him. Maybe he thought I was on my knees for a different reason; I don’t know. Moreover, I don’t CARE — he gave me the time off! Yipppee!!!!! Consequently, I am headed off for Lake Tahoe in the morning — my crazy family borrowed my grandma’s vacation condo for a few days, so we’re gonna go party in the woods. Fun!!
So with that being said, I’m facing a 7.5 hour drive tomorrow, and I better get some sleep. But before I go, have a look at my Christmas Wish List, and see if there’s anything you care to throw my way. If not, no big deal…have a great holiday anyway!
Incoming search terms:
- clown fetish
A harp and a pocket synth? LOL! You play the harp also?
LOVE the puke in the sink!
You are one funny girl.
thanks Tatiana! Same you 🙂
I can’t believe you posted a picture of your recycled edibles. Really?!?
I won’t go into the details of my own party indiscretions, other than it was plentiful and everywhere.
Oh yes, and game answers: Medical, Driver’s, ID.
Correct! Too bad there’s no prize 🙁
Can I at least get mad props for my cleverness, then?
It is Christmas, after all….