Tuesday, November 18, 2008


I always hear people say that Vegas is such a hard place to live in because there's no real people here.

I myself tried to live here in '98.

When I was twelve.




Fuck you.

Pretty quickly I took the first 20 mule team Borax the fuck out out of here. This town was Podunk.

I actually went back to Medfly (West Covina, Cali) rather than stay here and rot waiting for something, nay, anything, to happen.

Vegas in the late 90's was Tres Gauche.

That's Stinky Cheese Eater for, "that's not a drag queen, that's a dude with a wig."

Vegas sucked.

And I couldn't find anyone who wanted to.


I swear.

The clincher was when I went to work at my gig asst managing at Macy's (I was the Calvin Klein specialist. He's a racist fuck. How do you manage season after season and have NO black models in your runway shows? Fuck him and that pedophile Bruce Weber who did a book on Brazil and only managed to find white people. Yo! Chester the Molester! The boats stopped there on their way to New Orleans. Actually, a whole lot of Black people got off there. But, I digress.).

What the fuck was I on about?

Oh yeah.



There was this cool straight dude named Rob who was my favorite guy. He was there when I knocked out my teeth bowling.

Whole other blog post.


Who knew there was a game where you down a drink every time you get to throw that red ball?

I went to steal the shoes. I didn't 'cause I wore my Guccis.


So (hang on, I'm getting there), I went to work and Rob was gone.

Turns out in Vegas that happens all the time. No one comes here because they choose to.

People end up in Vegas.

First runner up in the Miss Dayton Pageant?


32 years old and still third chorus boy on the left in the West Covina Playhouse run of Evita?


Husband wondering where his best friend and his Buick are?


My parents chose to live here during the great California real estate boom of the late 8Os's. They were the first wave of people who actually chose this place. It could have been worse.

It could have been Bellingham.

That's somewhere else.

Well, I ended up here after a year of sitting in the front row at L.A. Fashion Week, being nominated for an award for my TV producing, celebrity styling (she was married to a midget and fucked a world famous pole, you figure it out)and a really nasty nervous breakdown followed by a series of car crashes, evictions, drugs sex and general malaise.

That's foul smelling whores along the Seine for JAY - DED!

After two years of begging God to kill me rather than manning up and realizing that 54 T-cells didn't have to be the end of the world, I actually found some friends.

Not "happy hour cocktail girlfriend" friends.

Real friends.

Everyday I am going to tell the story of how each came into my life in Vegas and how they all became......


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