Vegas Baby

Anybody interested in listening to more of my drunken tales? This time in Vegas?

Well, no matter. I need to write this all down so I can relive my glory days when I am in my 80s… I sure do hope the Interwebs are still going strong “50” years from now…

We had never been on a vacation without the kids in tow until this past weekend. And thank goodness we did not have our kids with us. Otherwise The Husband would not be able to check out the top-optional swimming pool at our hotel.

TOPTIONAL.

That is the new word I learned from my trip there. Don’t you just love Vegas?

I am leaving on an early flight to NYC this morning, and I need at least 2 hours of shuteye since I have been sustaining on minimum sleep since we came back from Vegas.  Therefore I will be brief, (and you all know “brief” is a relative term when you are dealing with someone who is borderline Narcissistic when they are talking about themselves…) I will make a list of things I can still remember as the massive amount of alcohol finally found its way out of my system.

1. It actually was not that startling to have a woman turn around and you found yourself face to face (?) with her boobs. Well, I am not a straight man so I cannot speak for them. For me, it was kind of natural anyway. Anti-climatic almost.

2. Young boobs are perky. Either that, or all these girls all have had boob jobs. Once you pass 30 though, your boobs start drooping. So enjoy them while you can. Or start saving money.

3. Older, trim and fit women’s boobs even if they do drape a little do not bother me at all. Yes, the young women next to me exclaimed quietly, “Ewww.” I so wanted to tell them, “Let’s see what yours look like when you hit her age.”

4. Men are hilarious when they pretend they are not looking. Ladies, you know what I am talking about.

5. This is a note to the girl who was competing against her (former?) best friend for the same young man’s attention: Taking off your bras somehow did not work, eh? Your friend put hers back on pretty quickly and guess what? The young man continued to talk to her while your boobs were bouncing up and down in the background. I am sorry. Next time, don’t try so hard. And I hope your (former?) best friend forgive you for trying to upstage her the second you got into the pool.

6. People watching is a lot more fun when it is TOPTIONAL.

7. In Vegas, Adult Shows mean TOPLESS. Duh.

8. Those boobs on stage are no larger than yours and oh my goodness they do not stand up like “Boing!” the way porn industry makes you think they do. They droop, a bit. Naturally. Due to gravity. They fucking droop. And they all look gorgeous. You chuckle at yourself because who would have thought that you’d found affirmation at the show Fantasy? 

9. It is a brilliant idea to get well buzzed before you head down to the night club so you don’t spend all your money on those over-priced drinks.

10. Chuck Liddell is apparently somebody famous.  (You found that out when the security personnel told you off “Please stop taking pictures!” even though you were taking pictures of the go go dancer). More importantly, he apparently can crush you with his bare hands, according to your husband, after you obnoxiously yelled Chuck Chuck Chuck! And your husband is no fun because you really want to say to Chuck, “Chuck, Asia loves you!” – a bold faced lie of course. But you are so drunk you could not fucking care.

11. You say and then yell some variation of “I am so drunk I cannot fucking care” throughout the night.

12. You don’t mind going and waiting in line at the bar because you are so drunk… yeah, and you keep on talking to random strangers.

Some young man asks whether you’d mind if he cuts in line to get some water from the bartender. You say, “You are so cute. Go right ahead.” While you are waiting, you ask him, “What’s wrong with you that you are drinking water? Are you Mormon or something?” He mimes giving you a pamphlet, and you laugh and tell him that your son sprinkles you with holy water as a joke. To which, the very nice young man feigns surprise, “You have a son?! Impossible. You look about 21!” Of course you thank him, “I will buy you any drink you want!” When you ask the bartender to give the young man a glass of water, the young man says, “I want to marry you right here right now.” You think, “Too bad he’s gay, and of course, I am married.” Then you send him off to have a great time “because that’s what young people are supposed to do!”

13. When you go back to the bar the 3rd time, you strike up a conversation with a nice gentleman from Hawaii who is a boxing club manager and whose fighters finally get invited to Las Vegas. In the middle of your conversation, you say to him, “Well, I just don’t want to see white people ruin Hawaii.” He bursts out laughing and tells you “You are real.” So of course you have to buy him a drink. And guess what he orders at the bar after the long wait? Pineapple juice. Yup.

14. So yeah, and then there is the part about you getting kissed by a girl. Twice.

15. Your husband actually got a picture as proof.

16. Maybe that was why he was not mad at all even when you dropped his Crackberry into the swimming pool.

 

 

Why not?

I sometimes wonder why I have not become an alcoholic.

I like myself better when I am just a little bit drunk. Like now.

The state of knowing that you are drunk, knowing that perhaps you should not have leaned out the car window and shouted at the guy across the street but you could not help it. Because it felt like the right thing to do. When you are simultaneously listening to the angel and the devil sitting on your shoulders: The should and the should not. And you are just buzzed enough that you listen to the devil even though otherwise you would have listened to the angel.

The devil asks the right question:

WHY NOT?

 

The WHY NOT. Yup. That is the one.

That is the question that gets to you when you are just the right amount of drunk, isn’t it?

Perhaps I should not have allowed the kids to run around all over the carnival on their own after dark. Nor should I have allowed them to have unlimited intake of sugar.

Perhaps I should not have jumped up and down and WHOOP! when your very interesting friend suggested that you all go to her boyfriend’s bar in the downtown area of Small Town, USA, now that the carnival is closing.

Perhaps I should not have agreed to bring all the kids to the bar now that it is past 9:30 in the evening.

Perhaps I should not have the first vodka+cranberry since I have had 3 drinks at the carnival already.

Perhaps I should not have allowed the kids to play pool and darts at a bar, complete with local townsfolk, drunk and otherwise.

Perhaps I should not have tried to engage the drunk man at the bar who said more than once that he was going to dance on the bar.

Perhaps I should not have mentioned the song Tiny Dancer to the man when he started talking about his little buddy Joe, who was invisible (but of course), that he took out from his pocket and put on the bar and whose sneakers the man asked your more-than-alarmed girlfriend to hold on to.

Perhaps I should not have found the man amusing. Or agreed with the man that Tiny Joe existed.

Perhaps I should not have my second drink. Or the third.

Or talked to the regulars in the bar. All of them were regulars, except us, of course, the way a bar in Small Town, USA is.

This was a place I would not have walked into if I were sober.

These were the people, the Small Town USA people, I would not have the courage to interact with (hey, stereotypes go both ways) if I were sober.

But why not?

So I did.

 

Never for a moment was I not self-conscious of the strangeness of me being inside the local bar where the real Americans, as Sarah Palin likes to claim those who are her people, hang out. But why not?

 

As I became the responsible adult and told The Husband that we needed to leave and bring the kids home, I found two of the bar patrons sitting on the sidewalk next to our car.

Hey. Is the midget going home now?

One of them, some guy that had a friendly conversation with me about Queen and David Bowie and Freddie Mercury and Under Pressure, pointed to my 8-year-old and joked.

Why not?

Oh yes. They are all midgets and that’s why they have the right to be at the bar at this hour. You know, we do not practice prejudices against midgets here.

His friend who just told me that he’s not had a break from working 16-hour days for over a month and is finally having a day off tomorrow sighed.

Isn’t this place just turning into San Francisco now? Are you telling me that we are becoming like San Francisco now?

I paused because I thought I’d misheard. He continued,

It is becoming more and more like San Francisco. I personally could burn a few buildings down in this town.

At this point I was no longer as drunk as I had thought.

Hey, it is the Fourth of July. We are celebrating freedom and independence! Come on. You said you will have tomorrow off!

The guy took a sip of his beer.

Yeah. I am just going to drink more and more and get saltier and saltier.

His friend raised his eyebrow and chuckled at the word,

Salty?

He took yet another sip and frowned.

Yes. Salty.

By  now it was almost midnight and  The Husband has got into the car with our kids and the other boys we were bringing home for a sleepover. (Why not?) I got into the car. As the car spun around, I leaned out the window and yelled,

Happy Fourth of July! Cheer up!

The man looked up, still grouchy, and yelled back,

Goodbye Sweetheart.

(Yes. Of course. The Husband made a motion to indicate that he was going to throw up upon hearing the word “Sweetheart”)

 

As I am still buzzed and am Blogging Under the Influence. I do not think there is any moral to this story. This is of course not a social commentary since I failed to confront the man. I simply needed to share. That is all.

On the other hand, how drunk could I be if I am 1) typing on a computer, 2) all the time thinking I need to go and clean the bathrooms because my mother-in-law is coming tomorrow and I have to leave home early for a 9 am meeting at work.

Later gator.

Pride

I had to travel to San Francisco this weekend, and therefore I had the good fortune of participating in the 41st San Francisco Pride Parade. My lucky star shone on me for I was able to drag Brilliant Sulk to walk in the pride with me.

Yes you heard that right. WE. WALKED. IN. THE. PARADE.

(Apparently it was not that hard at all to just WALK in a parade… When there’s a will, there is a way)

Yes there were “protesters”. Some preacher guy was on a soap box, literally, with a mike yelling something about sinners, and Jesus, and The Lord, and Wrong. A woman yelled back, “Jesus would fuck a man!” Laughter broke out. The preacher guy shot back, “You are a wicked wicked young woman. The Lord would wash your mouth with soap.”

Of course, I sure hope The Lord worries about more important things other than washing somebody’s mouth with soap.

For several hours, I basked in the gorgeousness of people. The joy of life. The wonders of possibilities.

 

I hesitate in taking pictures of people without their permission. I want people to know that I take pictures of them because I find them beautiful, that I can see their spirits shining through and not because I am gawking at them. I caught their attention and they posed for me. Afterwards, we blew kisses at each other. I had the urge to run across the street to tell them, “Stay fabulous.” I wish they could see this post. Stay fabulous.

 

 

When I pointed my camera at him, again I felt awkward. Despite the flamboyant make-up, he exuded quiet dignity. I lowered my camera, paused, and mouthed, “Could I take your picture?” He smiled in return. Then again, we blew kisses at each other.

 

I ended up taking more pictures of the spectators. The exuberance was uncontainable and I soaked it in through the camera lens. I found beauty in all.

 

 

Maybe it is because I am was a “theatre person”, I always pay more attention to what happens when the show is over. You see a side of the performers that are undeniably human and I find the untold stories fascinating.

 

 

 

The ironic thing was, at the end of day, the one picture I hastily snapped with my phone while we were waiting to start was probably my favorite of them all…

 

Amidst the droning of idiocy that we hear and read about every day, esp. that propagated by the network with an animal name, for one day, I was proud to be part of the human race, part of the American fabric.

Pride.

 

You can see all the photos on Flickr.

A-Ha

As I was sitting in the cafeteria during lunch hour today, I noticed that the music selection has been veering towards the 80s this week.

“Did you notice the music?” I asked my one co-worker who has transferred to the new office with me. (So yes I am now surrounded by actual people every day at work. More about that later…)

“What about it?”

“It’s music from our youth!”

It was odd because I believe the average age at this office is 25 and the average weight is 125 lbs.

My Co-worker raised his eyebrow with suspicion.

“Come on. I listened to the same music that you listened to! There was this one English-speaking radio station in Taiwan that was a left-over from the American military occupation, and they played all the popular English songs all day long. Top 40. The best!

That was THE radio station that we all listened to when we were in college. Because it was cool.

Remember making mixed tapes? Remember there was no CD and the only way to get any music was to record songs off of the radio? How you had to press RECORD right at the second when the DJ started the song? And then you had to run to the bathroom but before you came back the song was already over and now you’ve got a bunch of talking on your tape at the end of the song? So now you had to press REWIND. STOP. Listen. Rewind some more. Repeat. Oh no. I went back too much. FORWARD FORWARD. Shit. Now I have to go backward again. Oh shit the DJ is now playing my FAVORITE song that I have not been able to get on tape?!

Remember there was no Internet. No Google? And the only way you could figure out the lyrics was by listening to the songs over and over again?

Well, if I had kept all my tapes with the lyric sheets, you could see that I had written down Chinese next to English words that I had to look up in the dictionary. That was how I learned English. How many of us learned English.

Actually till this day I still have no idea what the lyrics to most of my favorite songs are.

I wish I had kept all my mixed tapes. [I did not mention that quite a few were given as gifts by my “male friends”. Remember making mixed tapes for the person you’re interested in hoping that they’d know how you felt simply from listening to the songs?!]

Remember Wicked Game?

Every Time You Go Away?

Last Christmas? [There was eye roll and groan]

The Tide Is High?

Oh my god. Do you remember Take On Me? Do you?

I showed the boys the other day the music video of Take On Me. I told them it was ground-breaking when it first came out. Everybody was wowed because nothing like that had been done before. Of course they went Meh! on it. But oh I still remember how excited I was. We were.”

Just as I was wrapping up my psychotic rambling, complete with hand gestures and bouncing up and down on the chair, I recognized the first few notes of the next song coming from the ceiling.

I paused.

“Could this be?”

“No fucking way!”

But way. It was Take On Me.

If I did not think I am too old to be posting on My Life Is Average (or commonly known as MLIA), I would post:

Today just when I was reminiscing about how awesome it was when we first saw the music video of Take On Me, right on cue, the PA system started playing the song. MLIA.

 

It was a good day.

 

AHa – Take On Me from Eian Aldrich on Vimeo.

 

Coda: As I was finishing up this post, The Husband came to see what I was up to. “Remember this music video?!” I excitedly showed him the A-Ha MTV.  Turns out he has never ever seen it. Maybe I am a true cougar here. Maybe I have been married to a 20-year-old born after 1980 without realizing it…

You all have a good night now while I go find out whether he has ever seen the music video for Falco’s Rock Me Amadeus

Happy Father’s Day! Really. I mean it.

 

 

 

 

At 11:50pm, both boys were still awake. Hey, no judging! Summer vacation…

Mr Monk, my 8 year old: *sigh* In 10 minutes, I cannot be mean to dad any more.

Me: Oh, you are right. It will be Father’s Day.

Him: (Shrugs) Well, enjoy it while it lasts!

Me: (Thinking to myself) That’s what she said!

Best. Baby. Book. Ever. Go the Fuck to Sleep!

Just admit it. You've wanted to say this many many times...

 

I got something from The Husband last night. Something I believe that will allow him to forget my birthday this year. Honey, you are already forgiven!

THE best baby book ever. Really. If you know someone who just had a baby, or who is going to have a baby, RUN, don’t walk, and order this book for them. They will love you for it.

And it is possible that you may be saving their sanity.

If you have gone through this, the so-called sleep training, you probably have said this, nay, SCREAMED this inside your head, many many time.

WHY won’t you just SHUT THE FUCK UP and GO TO SLEEP?!

Yeah. That.

Then you probably felt guilty for screaming inside your head at your kid.

Yeah. That too.

Well, I hope this book will help absolve the sense of guilt you feel from time to time. No. You are not alone in feeling this way.

The Husband and I also really bounded overnight by staging dramatic readings of this book. I have to say, he did an awesome job in expressing the frustration. I did not realize he’s a method actor esp. when he was saying all the F word in his reading. Very convincing. Mine? Not so much.

 

Just when I thought this could not have been even more awesomer. Guess what? They have an audio version of this. Professionally done of course. Go ahead and guess who is the narrator.

Guess!

Ok. Fine. I will give you a hint.

Get out of here! Right? For real? For realz.

 

 

 

Dear Internet, I love you. That is all.

Now… for THE. BEST. THING. THAT’S. HAPPENED. ON. THE. INTERNET. Since yesterday when the world was given NPH’s opening number at the Tony Award.

Now, you know what I am going to say right?

Yup. Imma gonna go the fuck to sleep myself.

Fuck Yeah Neil Patrick Harris

Tony Awards.

As a quote unquote Theatre Person (Notice how I spell Theatre the “wrong” way? Yeah, that’s the sign I AM a theatre person) who nevertheless has been living so far away from the epicenter of theatrical creativity aka NYC, I always find Tony Awards a bitter sweet event. Wishing does not bring about peace. Let me just put it this way. Still, once in a year, I bask in the glory, vicariously through television broadcast and now more than ever YouTube, of the community of thespians.

I will shut up now so you could watch the opening performance at the Tony Awards last night. NPH. “Broadway: It’s not just for gays anymore!” FUCK YEAH AWESOME!

 

 

 

Tru dat! And while we are at it, shouldn’t somebody go and sign him up to host the next Oscar now too?!  Oh, what am I saying? Just sign him up for everything already!

 

p.s. I have to thank Brahm for posting this video first!