Goodbye, brain cells

Summary haiku:
I are a third grade
grajooit. Now Flavor Flav
wants to conversate.




Yes, I'm watching "Flavor of Love." I don't know why I do this to myself.

It's always gutwrenching on a variety of levels, but tonight, it's an especially vast grammatical wasteland.

I've grown accustomed to them butchering spelling. Flav gives his suitors nicknames, such as Myammee (Miami); Grayvee (Gravy); DYMZ (Dimes); Sinceer (Sincere). You get the point.

But during the first 20 minutes of the show, four different women used the word "dramatical." As in, "You should get as dramatical as you want."

One woman told Flav he was her love, her best friend, her "confident."

Someone else said, "It's everyone for theyself." And finally, someone was glad that Flav "standed his ground."

Thank God the Kansas/Memphis game started at 9:30, because now Kyle is watching that and I'm too lazy to move to one of the other TVs.

On another note, I hate that "I'll Melt With You" Taco Bell commercial. They ruined the song, and seeing people with melted cheese suspended in midair between their lips and a giant burrito is just ... fucking gross.

Viva Las Vegas!

Let me begin with a small gripe.

Elvis Presley's "Viva Las Vegas" used to make me feel energized and ready to drink and gamble. But since they started using it in the Viagra commercial ("Vivaaaaa Viagra!") it makes me feel icky and gross inside.

In case you haven't seen the ad, a bunch of old farts are at a hootenanny playing their musical instruments. They warble a verse of the song, replace "Las Vegas" with "Viagra," then they all high-five each other and scatter in different directions, presumably to put their four-hour boners to good use.

Now, every time I think of Sin City, I hear that fucking commercial in my head. Thanks, Viagra. You shouldn't have.

Anyway. So, last week I met two girlfriends (Beth, a photographer from Maine, and Wendy, my bestie, a massage therapist from Washington) in Vegas for a totally impromptu, last-minute trip. Long story short: It was a freakin' blast, like Vegas always is.



But the first day/night was like an episode of the Twilight Zone, for real.

We went to our hotel room, opened the door, and found four 50- or 60-somethings -- three women, one man -- partying in our room.

An army of empty beer bottles were strewn about, and we were like, "Oh sorry! They must have made a mistake at the front desk."

"Nah, nah, nah -- come on in," yelled one of the semi-drunk women. "We'll explain what happened."

We're thinking, "no, that's cool. We'll just go have them switch our room." But they insisted, and we were curious. They said they had asked for a non-smoking room but the hotel put them in a smoking room (ours). When they called the front desk, there weren't any non-smoking rooms available, so the hotel apparently told them to hang out in ours until they had one cleaned.

So these people stayed in the room all day, showered, used all the bathroom stuff. "But we didn't sleep in the beds," they said, "so you could just call for some more towels."

Um, I think we'll also have them clean the bathroom as well.

Then they wouldn't leave! They were all drunk and chatty, and we were all travel-tired and just wanted to chill for a few. One lady starts pulling stuff out of her shopping bag to show to us (souvenirs and whatnot). The man was like, "Heh heh. I'm in a room with SIX beautiful women now!"

Vivaaaaa Viagra!

This was all within the first hour. Beth took a picture of them because the whole thing was so bizarre, so when she emails it to me, I will add it to this post.


Tales to be continued... Method Man has a guest spot on Law & Order and I must watch. I wuv him!

Tomorrow's story: "It's not St. Patrick's Day! What are you talking about?"