Ms. Cheevious in Hollywood

My Zany Years Spent Working in Tinsel Town

Vegas

Boys and My Toys

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1.  Boys love toys, this we all know.  We’ve all heard and probably said some rendition of the saying, “Boys and their toys” at one time or another in our lives.

2.  I was thinking about this the other day – and it seems in my adult lifetime, whenever I have been getting to know someone in a dating relationship, the “boy” inevitably has asked the question of toys, with a little twinkle in his eye.  They want to know, ‘do I have them?’ I love when they ask that.  Not only do I love to share secret information, but:

3.  I do.  I have good toys.

  • I have a 40 inch LG, flat screen plasma television;
  • I have a surround-sound home theatre system with an iPod docking station, and 5-disc dvd player;
  • I have DirecTv, with NFL Sunday Ticket, HBO, Showtime and I don’t know what else;  
  • I have a Wii with Rock Band;
  • And, yes.  I have a few fun little gadgets that I can’t talk about here.

4.  Boys love my toys. 

5.  I love my toys too.

6.  Enough said.

I’m off to Vegas tomorrow with my friend Britt (who is visiting from New York) and Fred the Wonder Chicken.  Now that I’ve revealed Fred’s identity to the whole world, we’ve decided to go in costume to Vegas on Halloween night.  If you are there, look for Fred.  He’ll be a gorgeous chicken in a pirate costume, and Britt and I will be the beautiful pirate wenches.  HA!

 

I’m sure there will be many a tale to come out of this trip – but you know what they say – What Happens in Vegas —  Didn’t I do a post about that once?

I will be thinking of you beautiful girls and boys this weekend.  Be safe, have a wonderful time, and ENJOY EVERY MOMENT!

Love you people!  Mmmmmmphhhuuhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious 

 

Hit Me Bee-otch!

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DISCLAIMER:  Today’s blog is NOT for everyone.  It’s full of all manner of debauchery, sexual inuendo and R-rated, if not X-rated content.  If you can handle that, read on.  Otherwise, see you next week!  It was so good to see you, if only for a moment!  Mppphhhuhhh!

As a follow-up to my What Happens in Vegas  post, I just have to tell this funny little tidbit from a friend of mine who just returned from The City That Never Sleeps (Wait.  Is that New York?) 

She’s my hair stylist, and ladies and gentlemen, THIS girl knows how to have fun.  She’s a chick with loads of a little trait I call pizazz.  She’s my “party girl” idol, I tell ya – always going on trips with big groups of girls and tearing things up along the way.  My own sisters and I use to do that, but I can’t get them to commit to it any more, so I live vicariously through Scissor Sister (oh yeah, you better believe that’s her name).

Well, Scissor Sister and a group of her girls were in Vegas for the weekend celebrating her 40th birthday.  They partied like rock stars.  “So much so,” she said, “that we were kicked out of one place.” I was chuckling along with her story, til I heard that. It totally took the wind out of my sails.  In Vegas?  I said out loud, incredulous.  Sin City?   How could it be?  I was losing my faith in the whole system, when I turned to her,  doe-eyed, with that look of desperate hopefulness and anticipation one might expect to see from someone wanting to be enlightened by their own personal guru.

Listen.  Of course I was doe-eyed, looking to be enlightened by Scissor Sister. I’d just returned from a trip to Vegas with my twelve year old son, where of course I didn’t participate in any sort of shenanigans, but I can dream can’t I?  I was trying to LIVE vicariously – not fizzle vicariously.  I needed to hear it was a mistake! If not, I needed to know the WHOLE story.

She elaborated. “Well, we were having sooooo much fun, you know? One of my girls had so much fun, we had to carry her home.” Hello.  I can relate.  Been there, done that.  New Orleans, 2002.  Not a pretty picture, and the hangover – Oh My God.  But I digress. 

“So, it was pretty cool, the way they did it.  The bouncer was really cool, and said he liked us, but we had to leave.  But we were pretty shocked.  MAYBE it had something to do with us getting really roudy and yelling “HIT ME, BITCH!” to the dealer all night.” She laughed. 

“No Way!” I said.  You got kicked out for saying “Bitch? In VEGAS?” 

“Yeah, right?  Ya think it was a little off?”  she said.  “They let us stay there as long as we were losing, but we started to win! And the dealer was totally cool!  She was laughing and she totally liked dealing to us.  Then they gave us some staunch Asian dude.  It totally sucked.” 

So, I had to ponder it.  How on earth did they get kicked out for saying “Hit me BITCH!” in a city like Vegas where prostitution is basically legal, and you can carry your cocktails from place to place? 

One might state the obvious here, that perhaps the better question is why do I care, and why am I asking?  You have to realize, I was born into a whole family of women that do this.  Don’t ask me why, but whenever faced with a dilemma, quagmire or problem, we MUST solve it.  I hate that I do this, but I do.  So, there it is.  Even if we AGREE with how it all worked out, our genetics don’t allow us to leave the situation alone.  We have to figure it all out.  We are driven by that gene making us unearth the beastly thing and show it to everyone.  Sad, I know.  Even if the “problem” is how some sleazy greasy dude, who likes to get cozy with little boys ended up working at an elementary school!  If you have this gene, you will come up with all manner of excuses in support of the obvious weakest link, like “Well, maybe he was thoroughly rehabilitated, or perhaps he got castrated and they thought it was safe!” Okay.  We don’t really go that far.  Ewe.

So I thought about it.

1)  Maybe it’s because of the strippers.  Strippers get called “bitch” all the time, and it hurts them.  This is Vegas’ way of protecting its own.  What if a stripper hears it and thinks it’s directed toward them? Strippers out their strutting their stuff, crying and blubbering does not look good?! Ya know?

2)  It’s the old people.  They were inadvertently gambling at the Senior’s Center, and the 90 year old lady next to them kept falling out of her chair every time they yelled.  Their insurance wouldn’t allow for that, so it was the 40 year old SAUCY girl and her friends or their license to operate. If you were the bouncer, you’d kick them out too.

3) Misery Loves Company.  They were surrounded by a bunch of lonely, boring people who were jealous that these girls were taking no prisoners while they ravaged the city. 

Okay, I will spare you any more.  It’s an illness. 

So, since my last trip to Vegas was somewhat (more like “very”) mundane by most of your standards – aside from the ever thrilling roller-coaster rides – I decided that “Hit me BITCH!” should be my new THANG.  Don’t get me wrong.  My trip was actually one of my all-time favorite times ever.  Riding those coasters with my son was priceless, and soon enough he won’t want me to do that!  I had a great time with some really great memories, that no one can take away.  But I just got a kick out of that whole “Hit me BITCH!” business.  

And of course, you know I had to solve THAT problem as well:  How does a bouncy, blue-eyed, blonde, blogging babe get away with saying “Hit me BITCH!”??  After pondering, I came up with a few scenarios. I’ll tell you.

1)  I take a lover that likes dirty talk.  If he doesn’t mind being called “bitch” I can say it when I want a little spanky.  hee hee!

2) I reserve it for times when my girls and I get together for drinks at someone’s house.  I have a cocktail, and slurp it down.  When they ask if I want a refill, I say —–  hellowwww? “HIT ME BITCH!”

3) I go to Vegas and Tempt Fate.  I play black-jack, and when they ask if I want to hold, or whatever, I yell it out – then quickly regain my composure, and sweet little ole innocent me bats my eyelashes at the bouncer nearby, and looks with a frown at the frigid girl next to me, as if SHE said it!  (just kidding.  I would never do that.  If I did, that frigid girl probably would take me up on my little phrase and HIT ME!)

Anyhoo – just wanted to fill you all in!  It’s been a fun one this week!  I hope you had as much fun!

Stay tuned for next week’s essay full of big words like “antidisestablishmentarianism.” You’ll be enlightened, and I won’t even ask you for that doe-eyed, innocent look.

Have a FANTASTIC weekend, would you? And wear sunscreen! (That’s the mommy in me).

Love you people!  Mmmmmphhhuuuhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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What Happens in Vegas

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I’m in Vegas with my soon-to-be teenage son (does that make him still a tween, or just simply hormonal?), Graden.  If you are new to Ms. Cheevious – Enjoying Every Moment, welcome!  We have loads of fun in here.  I tell it like it is, based on how I see things, of course.  Anyhow, I change the names of my friends and family, whenever they get entangled in a predicament I feel compelled to share.  So, Graden is not really my son’s name, but it’s cool isn’t it?  My son’s pretty cool.  I must admit.  Both of them are.  Graden and Joel (another cool, also not-my-son sort of name).

As many of you know, Graden and I were in Aspen last week, where I got very sick and was laid up most of my visit.  I was there on business, and upon arrival soon found myself about the business of lying in bed trying to recuperate. 

When I planned the trip a couple of months back, I’d mentioned it in passing to Graden, thinking we’d be driving from Los Angeles to Colorado.  To sweeten the deal I said we’d probably stop in Vegas on the way there or back to break things up.  Graden is a cool twelve year old.  In “parent language” (in case you’ve not been blessed with little darling children) this means he doesn’t crack a smile or show any emotion.  At least not to me.  I’m his mom, dude. That wouldn’t be cool.  Hello???  So, when he half-way squeaked a quasi-exuberant huff, something to the effect of “Oh! Snap! That’s coooool,” I knew I’d better not re-neg on this one.  He went on to explain that the roller coaster at New York, New York was on his list of “must rides.”  I quickly realized that the little boy who, on a trip to Knott’s Berry Farm a couple years back, wouldn’t board anything that looked remotely fast or furious, was gone. Sniff, sniff.

You’ll get a laugh, (either that or be extremely bored) over our little excursion.  Our story is replete with after-midnight tales, and scurrying about the strip. But it’s not the usual story, as most trips we’ve all heard about that are chock full of juicy, sordid details of love lost (and found – well, a tainted version of it, anyway), money won (and lost). and all manner of legal and illegal substances consumed (or, ehem, “tossed” – as in “I tossed my cookies”), for better or for worse. 

So here we are!  We arrived at about 7 pm last night, got the rental car and checked into the hotel (NY NY).  It was 9 pm before we were able to head over to a little restaurant called Mon Ami Gabi in the Paris Las Vegas hotel.  It came highly recommended by a friend who frequents Vegas, who said “Sit outside on the patio.  You’ll love the view.” We did, and – we did!  Graden said, “Tell Thurston (another fictional name) I love him!”  THAT, my friends, was a very important clue.  For Graden to say that, I’d DEFINITELY broken through the hard, cold exterior of his coolness.  I was on the fast track to becoming the essence of cool in the eyes of my son, which, at the age of almost thirteen, is INCREDIBLE. 

 

Here I caught Graden in a “moment” where it wouldn’t be too bad to take a picture with mom.

Mon Ami Gabi’s patio sits directly opposite the Bellagio Hotel’s famous fountain, and every fifteen minutes, on the dot, we were treated to a beautifully choreographed fountain routine.  There were routines perfomed to songs by the likes of Celine Dion, Frank Sinatra, even Charro.  And those sexy legs!  Well, anyway.  It actually was very beautiful.  But the really fantastic thing about the restaurant was the food.  That was what prompted Graden to say that he LOVED my friend.  He drooled as he savored every bite of his filet mignon.  What twelve year old wouldn’t, I suppose!?

Here is basically the same photo, but this time, you can see the FOUNTAIN!!

But I must admit, as beautiful as the fountain was, it was what happened next that was really hilarious (or very sad, depending on your opinion, I guess). 

Okay – one more picture of the fountain, just for good measure:

We left the restaurant and ran as fast as we could back to the hotel to try and catch a ride on New York, New York’s roller coaster, the Manhattan Express (I’m not sure that’s still the name, but it works for me). 

Normal hemming and hawing, making excuses as to why the ride could wait until tomorrow, complaining about the traffic (pedestrian as well as auto), or any other stalling mechanism I could think of to enlist aside – I went on the ride.  I have to say, something interesting happened.  It was as if my inner teenager was awakened.  I had a BLAST on that roller coaster!  I would have run back to the front of the line again, were it not for our getting on board the last ride of the night. 

Graden and I got back to the room after midnight and pulled up whatever websites we could find to plan our coaster strategy for the next day.  We were up until TWO AM scheming our screams for the day ahead.  Silly me even thought I’d get up early and get a work out in.  Yeah right. 

We ended up riding the roller coaster at Circus Circus, the Sahara (pictured above, at the NASCAR cafe), and one other that escapes me now.  They were ALL fantastic.  We rode them multiple times.  By the time we got back to the hotel, I was in need of a massage.  I got one.  It was fabulous.  Graden used his free time to buy a Manhattan Express wrist band and ride the coaster at our hotel over and over again.

We are off to see “O” by Cirque du Soleil tonight, then it’s the Stratosphere coaster and swimming at Mandalay Bay tomorrow.  My, we are awfully hip, aren’t we?

I have to run now people.  Places to go, people (or at least characters in costumes and what-not) to see!

I hope your weekend brings you multiple smiles and something good to remember.

Mmmmmmphhhhuuuuhhhhh! 

xoxo, Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious