It was the beginning of a joyously wonderful [albeit rainy] Sunday evening until Elvis got a hold of me.
“Come on baby! Let’s do some ecstasy!” says he.
“I don’t do that shit. In fact I don’t do drugs,” says she. “At least not anymore.”
“But it’s really mild stuff,” insists he. “You won’t even feel it. Just do half.”
“Well if it’s really mild then perhaps you should do a whole,” suggests she.
This conversation happened right before I got stuck with fat bellied Elvis from Louisiana all night long. While my friends were drunkenly cavorting in the VIP room, Elvis had me cornered near the DJ’s booth where he slipped the man a few bills to announce our names in between sets. While it was ultra flattering to hear “Stiletto in the House” a few times and then some, it sure wasn’t worth the hefty price attached to it – which was total alienation from the rest of the gang and having to quietly endure the sweaty clutches of some big fat ol’ pervert who really insisted I swallow a pill so not good for me.
So I did what any crafty girl worth her weight would do. I pretended. As he covertly places half a tab in the palm of my hand I patiently wait until he turns away and then I quickly slide the pill beneath my dress and triumphantly swallow a big swig of bottled water and flash a smug smile as if to say – we did it! – and it’s going to be one hell of a jolly good roll!
Every now and then I dab a bit of water around my forehead to make it look as if I’d been a team player. He is so fucking stupid I swear there was a spot that I had missed but when he went to examine my forehead he made the mistaken observation that I was “sweating profusely.”
Oh! And every time I tried to escape from his clutches using legitimate excuses (like an urgent break to the ladies’ room) he would demand to know why I was gone for so long! His sense of time was apparently warped from the drugs because, while he accused me of neglecting him for a whole fifteen minutes, I’d only been gone no less than ten!
What’s worse is all my prospects for sexy flirtations went down the toilet once everyone saw [and thought] we were an item! Oh, oh, oh! Now I know you are wondering – why, Stiletto, why? Why didn’t you just tell him to fuck off?
Honestly. I don’t know. I really don’t. Maybe I felt sorry for him.
But my sympathy only extends so far. After two fucking hours of Elvis hell I manage to talk him into hanging out in the VIP room with the rest of the crew.
“Sit on my lap, baby!” he says.
Oh! Oh, oh, oh!
During one point in the night I finally raise my voice at him because he’d been playfully grabbing my nipples and I’d had enough. And it hurt. It really did.
“Why don’t you pull your top down and let me suck on that nipple? It’ll make it feel better. It’s the best thing for it.”
Oh! Oh, oh, oh!
Absolutely not! I say!
“Well fuck you then!” he snaps.
Excuse me? I’m going to the bathroom again!
Apparently the stuff he’s on really is mild! Isn’t ecstasy a love drug? I guess they don’t make it like they used to!
On the way out the bar I spot several cuties and they are all young to boot! My whole night has been ruined by one man. Ruined, I tell you! I am so miserable that I barely hear the voice behind me.
“Excuse me miss, do you know what time it is?”
I swing around and throw him and his friends an exasperated shrug before they even come into focus. “I don’t know, I really don’t.”
“Hey, long time no see,” says his friend. Oh. Oh, oh, oh! It’s…
Bahamian Cart Boy!
“Cart boy,” I nearly say aloud. “I have to go pee!” And I practically sprint to the loo to temporarily escape the surreal world that fate cruelly immersed me in.
“Hey! [hiccup] Come back!”
I am standing against the bathroom stall and clutching my chest. My God! What am I going to do? By the time I freshen up and exit the ladies’ room they are gone.
And standing there is some guy from Friday night’s wedding entourage.
“Hey! How are you? Weren’t you at the dinner?” he asks, smiling broadly.
Oh thank God. A normal face, a normal voice. I didn’t recognize him but I didn’t care. “Yes! How are you?”
Out of the corner an arm reaches for mine. It’s Elvis and he looks pissed.
“Come on. It’s time to go,” he says and drags me down through the casino before I can say goodbye to Mr. Breath of Fresh Air.
I was about to slap him until I spot everyone standing at the corner of the street waiting for our ride. As both vans pull up they all begin to pile in and then some fucking smart ass suggests that I sit in the front. With Elvis.
“Yeah why don’t you sit up front with him?” suggests the mystery person who is now number one on my Murder List.
So there I am. Stuck. With Elvis. And every five minutes it is, “What’s wrong, baby?” to “Are you ok, baby?” to “What’s wrong, baby,” to – you get the point. Not only did he unwholesomely invade my space he was trying to infiltrate my thoughts too.
I was angry. I was miserable. When one of the girls rudely told the driver to “Turn the fucking radio on” I damn near turned around, jumped over the seat and strangled her. I swear. I was about to commit assault. I don’t know if it’s smart to scrap with a girl who was voted WWE’s top five model search finalist but I was willing to forgo all common sense and decorum and give it a try.
Thank God I wasn’t on tequila. Jack Daniels makes me mellow, tequilla is just pure evil. She would have been toast.
And back at the Wyndham I take pleasure in watching an emotionally bewildered Elvis storm down the hall of the hotel in the most dramatic drama queen fashion – suffering the deserved humiliation of the big thank you for a lovely evening goodnight you no you ain’t getting any pussy kiss off speech.
-o-
Dinner With Friends
(Black Angus Grill Wyndham Hotel)
[above] Miss Louisiana and Miss Florida (also voted Miss Photogenic)
VIP Lounge in Casino Tower
[above] Miss Photogenic sports a sexy blonde wig. I am not sure why but she really insisted on squeezing my boob. I think I can live with that.
In case you missed it I won a thousand dollars that afternoon. The Gods were smiling upon me that day.
The Poop Deck
Jessie James and friend
[above] Donnie and the Girls
VIP room at Dragon
The Aftermath
June 7, 2007 at 11:23 pm |
The girls are real pretty but it looks sort of like a perv fest for old guys.
June 7, 2007 at 11:25 pm |
Oh! I was JUST thinking that as I put the pics up.
Stay tuned for ecstasy story.
June 7, 2007 at 11:52 pm |
Oh my.
June 8, 2007 at 12:34 am |
Eeew.
June 8, 2007 at 12:39 am |
I take it you read it. Heeheehee
As you can see there were a lot of Cling On’s there!
June 8, 2007 at 2:42 am |
That post made me so freaking sad and I’m not sure why. Probably a little too much Captain Jack going on right now.
June 8, 2007 at 3:05 am |
What’s with all the creepy fat old guys?
And you should have beat that guy with fire extinguisher for putting his hands on you. If you ever visit Ottawa you can come hang with my crew where the chicks are cool, the guys are good looking, and respect is shown to ladies or bad things happen.
June 8, 2007 at 5:45 am |
You should have kicked some bad girl ass! You should have made Elvis do tricks!
June 8, 2007 at 6:16 am |
OK, that tears it! I’ll be attending the next pageant with you toward the end of the year where I’ll employ my professional cockblocking expertise in defense of your *ahem* honor…Smooth and badass in the finest blaxploitation tradition.
Suddenly, I’m thinking of those drunken goons accosting you during our lame NYE. LOL
It’s fun being a jagged little pill to such oafs.
June 8, 2007 at 6:19 am |
Hey, why the bloody hell are those fucks so fat? And sweaty? Oh, I guess they have no tolerance for recreational substances.
June 8, 2007 at 12:05 pm |
It looks like the guys came right from Central Casting when they asked for “middled-aged, overweight, pervert-types.” I’m washing the retinas of my eyes right now.
June 8, 2007 at 1:33 pm |
In fairness to most of the men in the pictures, they are very cool Jewish and Italian boys from NY who are fellow judges and have been nothing but respectful for the last two years.
It’s the one person who made the trip a little rougher than usual.
Thank you AJ. I’ll keep that in mind.
The problem with Elvis is – he’s used to hanging out with sleazy women, strippers and porn stars (and I don’t mean to be judgmental by lumping them together in one sentence)_that he just assumes all women like to be touched too much by the wrong people.
June 8, 2007 at 1:34 pm |
“It looks like the guys came right from Central Casting when they asked for “middled-aged, overweight, pervert-types.” I’m washing the retinas of my eyes right now.”
So what are you? Middle-aged and pervert minus the overweight? lol
June 8, 2007 at 2:47 pm |
That makes two of us.
Wait…
June 8, 2007 at 5:48 pm |
“Elvis” has bigger problems than that.
Next time a man touches you inappropriately grab his thumb and bend it backwards hard. That is a favor really it will give him time to ponder his approach to the gentler sex while they are splinting his inappropriate paw in the E.R.
June 9, 2007 at 12:52 am |
I like the pink dress, and I assume I’d like your shoes too.
If you ever see me dressed like Elvis, you have my permission to shoot me.
June 9, 2007 at 12:58 am |
My face is really puffy fron…er, some puffy injections. I think I’m going to lay off of those. It’s not cool when the Koren grocer who can barely speak English says to you: “Your face – fuller.”
Shooter, the dress is actually coral.
Max, I’ll follow your advice but hopefully there won’t be a next time. At least not with him. I hate to call his stubby little fingers “paws.” Dogs deserve better.
June 9, 2007 at 1:20 am |
Well technically you should not have had to either defend yourself or politely endure his advances. One or more of those “nice boys” should have interceded. Not one of them was a “boy” either, those “nice boys” were all what, twenty years older than the girls in the pageant they were frollicking around with? And why were they qualfied to judge a pageant? You come from a background that qualifies you and you are beautiful. They were just a bunch of over the hill pervs in bad shape and one of them regularly consorts with pornography industry types and this was their qualifications? To judge beautiful young women?
June 9, 2007 at 1:38 am |
Thank you for the compliment.
I recently discovered that high rollers in the casino are asked to judge the pageant. Funny how I never thought to question what sort of credentials were required but when in Rome…
In fairness to the rest of the crew, they were solely hanging out in the back where the VIP room is located. You cannot see out into the bar. I do think if I said something someone would have delicately plucked me from him – or roughly plucked me from him – if need be.
I need to believe that.
I really do.
You know what though? You are right. Why are these over the hill guys tearing apart one girl from another? As though they qualify to do so? But it seems to be the way of the world. You always hear some bloated oaf wax on about his desire for some young hottie while criticizing someone more his equal when he is nowhere near the arena.
June 9, 2007 at 2:36 am |
One time I was at a baseball game and this player missed a play and this guy near me screamed, “You loser!” And I look at the screaming guy and he is at least 60 pounds overweight, looks like he has never worked out a day in his life, his clothes are rumpled and unkept as is his hair, he is covered in perspiration as a result of the effort required to swill his beer and stuff down a hot dog — and I think, Oh. My. God. That is a finely tuned athlete out there who has worked his whole life for this and attained the top level of his profession and you, YOU?, just screamed he is a loser? WTF?
June 9, 2007 at 3:25 am |
I want/need a throne like that for my livingroom. I wonder what it must be like to have sex on such lovely furniture…
I’m proud of you Stiletto for just “saying no” to the ecstasy. I’ve never done that crap, and never will. I’ve seen people on that, and wow were they friggin’ goofy!
It’s funny what you say…Jack makes you mellow and tequila makes you evil. I’m the exact opposite.
June 9, 2007 at 4:19 am |
Middle-aged?
Nope.
Overweight?
Nope.
Perverted?
*deafening silence*
June 9, 2007 at 5:06 am |
“I’m proud of you Stiletto for just “saying no” to the ecstasy. I’ve never done that crap, and never will. I’ve seen people on that, and wow were they friggin’ goofy!”
There is a time and place for it.
June 9, 2007 at 6:44 am |
I think those boys could do with the “Fitness Made Simple” Basedow regime. FMS for those in the know…or those up late enough to see those hilarious commercials. LOL
June 9, 2007 at 9:48 am |
Hey Max, I like your perspective here.
June 9, 2007 at 3:27 pm |
AJ anyone that does drugs is a fool. Yes, I said it…a fool.
June 9, 2007 at 4:00 pm |
What a bummer of a night. I don’t think I could have been quite so polite under circumstances…
June 9, 2007 at 4:26 pm |
“AJ anyone that does drugs is a fool. Yes, I said it…a fool.”
Well I hope you never get sick, or have surgery, or drink coffee or alcohol then.
“Drugs” is blanket term that covers a huge array of substances that vary hugely in harm and effect… to rail against all of them, and anyone who uses any of them regardless of context, is ignorant and childish. Some drug are bad. Some are ok in moderation depending on personal chemistry and maturity. Some are actively helpful.
June 9, 2007 at 7:29 pm |
Thanks, D200.
[eating cigarette and hiding advil]
June 10, 2007 at 3:49 am |
I put a pill in my ear once to hide it from a girl who wanted me to take it….. I was too young to kick her ass and definetly too young to take that pill….
Max, Advil is the true breakfast of champions!
June 11, 2007 at 12:56 am |
My favorite drug-related quote comes to us courtesy of Salvado Dali: “I do not take drugs. I am drugs.”
Here’s a nice quote from pages 27-28 of Vonnegut’s Hocus Pocus that sums it up nicely:
“Another thing I learned in high school that was useful in Vietnam: Alcohol and marijuana, if used in moderation, plus loud, usually low-class music, make stress and boredom bearable. It was manna from Heaven that I came into this world with a gift for moderation in my intake of mood-modifying substances. Durinhg my last 2 years in high school, I don’t think my parents even suspected I was half in the bag a lot of the time. All they ever complained about was the music, when I played the radio or phonograph or when The Soul Merchants rehearsed in our basement, which Mom and Dad said was jungle music, much too loud.
In Vietnam, the music was always much too loud. Practically everybody was half in the bag, including Chaplains. Several of the most gruesome accidents I had to explain to the press during my last year over there were caused by people who had rendered themselves imbecilic or maniacal by ingesting too much of what, if taken in moderation, could be a helpful chemical. I ascribe such accidents, of course, to human error. The press understood. Who on Earth hasn’t made a mistake or 2?”
However, Brent, to run about with such a provincial attitude toward mood-altering substances makes you what William S. Burroughs would call “a terminal fool.”
June 11, 2007 at 12:57 am |
Hey be nice to be Brent now.
June 11, 2007 at 1:05 am |
I think that people need to be educated and stop swallowing the propagandistic lies our current administration has unleashed upon the public through the ONDCP. Education is the first best protection against many ills.
December 28, 2007 at 6:39 am |
Wow, Stiletto – we sooo need to party!
December 31, 2007 at 9:47 pm |
Sounds good to me. But I’ve to to start without you tonight. See the cat above you? He’s dragging me out…