After a day at the pool with pseudo- ball players and booze, baby was ready to to a rest and settle down and watch X-Men 2 on Beefy-Jon's wall-projector (it was on cable), or hit the penny or nickel slots, so at least then I could sit-down. Stavvy didn't think so. "
Beefy-Jon missed the memo that high hem-lines and black stiletto's were the night's theme. Then there's that ever present clutch of Stavvy's. That dumb clutch has ruined SEVERAL photos and one day I am going to take it from her, beat her with it, and then snap my picture.
Due to time constraints (The Man is thirsty and wants MORE than a pint of blood today) I have to skip over Stavvy's skirmish with a restaurant owner and how that led to me falling asleep in my Thai soup, at the next restaurant, due to low blood sugar. I'll skip right to the line outside of XS. How I wish I'd taken a picture. It went on and on and on as security scrambled to keep things moving. I thought, "Well this must be a hot spot! Hopefully there will be loads of guy-candy inside." Then, I put on my best "smug" face, as we walked past all the the people in line and were ushered in like we might possibly own the place.
Once inside. My eyes could not believe it. I haven't been to Vegas in some time, and even then I was not a club-goer, but from watching
The Hills and reading gossip rags, I thought everyone in the local hot-spots would be, well....hot. Not here. I was expecting a room full of Brody Jenner and got a room full of Spencer Pratt. I thought it rude and wanted to warn the people waiting in line.
Despite the fact that everyone was mugged. The rumble did not occur on this night.
The next morning, after a minimal amount of sleep (I shared a bed with Twin, and she kept trying to convince me that casual sex would not ruin our relationship) we were up and at it AGAIN as we had to prepare for Stavvy's big Leblon "White Party" (mmm-hmmm, and white it was) at the Wynn.
She rented a 3,300 square foot room at the Wynn and invited a special and mysterious Mixologist from New York to tend bar.
and bought a SUITCASE full of limes to use in making drink and decoration.
Whilst we were setting up, Stavvy informed Beefy-Jon that he would be security detail for the night! This means he would not be inside the party but checking ID's and invitations at the door! I turned to laugh at him and he swiftly informed me that if he was working the door, then I was working with him as security assistant and this was not up for discussion. This is what is known as a "pecking order"
The kids display their white party attire while Stavvy's dumb clutch continues to make its presence known.
Photo taken from outside the party, as I worked Security.
no no no no no. Twin used this as example of what NOT to do.ette, arrived and received a posing lesson from Twin. One that I've given countless times but people just refuse to listen.
Twin actually gave a DEMONSTRATION on how you never, ever simply stand towards the camera.
One leg forward, to promote length and slimness, and an arched or "broken" back. Look at the difference. Beef-ette looks good enough to eat.
B.J. and Twin make dash for the limo
Speaking of eating. The caterers ran out of food at the party (poor planning alert!). Some blamed me for heavy, pre-guest arrival snacking (and if you'd had those bacon-wrapped figs you would understand). Anyway, I was grateful when it ended so we could finally take the Limo ride down the Vegas strip to Drai's for the Leblon event. I was less grateful when I actually got into the limo and had a claustrophobia driven anxiety attack. We were crammed in like sardines so I pleaded with the driver, "
Does this window next to me roll down?" He looked at me as if to say, "
Shut your big, girlish ass up," but he simply answered
"no". Luckily, B.J. used his military training to talk me down and keep me calm. This incident warranted a deserved, high maintenance alert! Hey, I'm usually low to no maintenance, but I will throw in an anxiety attack, every now and then, just to shake folks up and keep things fresh.
Here's the guy that planned Stavvy's shin-dig. His name is Ty or something like that. He must be doing ok for himself because A) Someone recognized him from television (!!!) and B) He pulled the woman pictured, obviously out of his looks league, and she is now his fiancee. Ty is the man that told me I had a head the size of a continent. His exact words were, "Dude! Your head is the size of a continent! You have presence!" Gee, thanks.
Here's Stav-On with the ever-present, dumb clutch (blast that wretched clutch!). Stavvy is wearing over-priced pants from Neiman-Marcus (or Needless Mark-ups, as I call them). I know they are over-priced because I was with her when she bought them, and took photos of the price-tag and of other ridiculously over-priced items in the area. That story will be getting its own blog.
Thank heavens the clutch is on holiday here. I asked the girl on the right to move out of frame, along with the clutch, so I could get one shot without her because her dress was an eyesore. She ignored my request. I found out later she is married to some big-shot in Vegas and is very charitable and sweet. Thus I forgive her for ruining this photo with that ugly dress.
Ladies sit on the sofa at Drai's...until they were forced to dash due to tom-foolery and possible fisticuffs.
The Rumble:
Chuck Lydell and some "fans", shortly before he had to jump up, intending to whoop some Beefy-Jon ass. Well, some drunken guy jumped on the couch at Drai's. In doing so, he accidentally bumped into Beefy-Jon, who in turn bumped into Stavvy, causing upset as she spilled her drink. As Stavvy proceeded to spew profanity, B.J. asked, "Should I shove that guy?" Now...this is usually where the woman, or bottom, in a relationship says, "No! He's drunk. Just tell him to be more careful, I'm sure he didn't mean it and will apologize," to diffuse the situation. But, of course, Stavvy barked, "Get him! Shove him to the ground!" So, B.J. turned and shoved the drunkard, who at this point was standing up on the sofa, and he shoved him HARD. He should have looked first. He shoved the fool onto a table full of brutes, one of whom was former UFC champion, Chuck Lidell (whose presence had been advertised on the party fliers). Chuck and his posse JUMPED up and got right in Beefy-Jon's face (BJ said they were so close that he could smell Chuck's breath, and it wasn't fresh). BJ told me that he thought, "Wow, I'm about to get my ass kicked" (to which I told him, "Well, you should have thought about that before you started shoving people."), but then four security guards piled on him, roughed him up a bit, and escorted him to the elevator. Turns out that the drunken guy he pushed...was Drai's general manager. B.J. said he was grateful for the security interruption, despite his eviction from the club, as that was preferable to a public ass whoopin. My response? “You mean to tell me that with all your top secret training you couldn’t take out a UFC fighter and his posse? What a punk!”
Well, that's the END of it.
Good Day
