Vegas Confidential
First of all, the photographic evidence.
The expo was HUGE and jam packed with silicone and slavering fans. When I arrived, I was disappointed to find that the Christian protesters were gone. I took tons of notes and think I have a pretty good handle on the scene I need to write that takes place in the middle of the expo.
From there, I met up with my galpals for our early dinner at Bouchon. I’d never been to the Venetian before and found it fit perfectly into the porno theme of the weekend. It was as expensive, over the top and tacky as a Vivid contract star. A plastic Vegas construct of faux class for flyover country tourists who have none. I killed my camera battery at the Expo, or I would have taken a lot more photos.
Despite the silly décor, our meal at Bouchon was superb. My pork belly appetizer was so transcendently delicious, I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. A thick slab that was brown and crispy on the surface but buttery and luscious inside, so tender it fell apart the moment I touched it with my fork. My entrée of scallops and root veggies in a lobster reduction was good but my friend Patty’s whole pan-roasted trout with potato confit turned out to be the knock-out of the night. Instead of having dessert there, we decided to check out the separate Bouchon Bakery downstairs. Lemon whore that I am, I went for the lemon tart with a pine nut crust. It was lip-puckeringly tart and ultra lemony, just the way I like. I came away from the meal more determined than ever to make the pilgrimage up to The French Laundry.
From there it was back to the hotel to get decked out for the award ceremony. Again, no camera, so I’ll have to make do with the thousand words instead.
I wore a mock-turtleneck black top and a knee length pencil skirt with a thick, black patent leather belt and matching flats. Everything tight-fitting but relatively modest. I figured I’d better leave the sluttiness to the professionals.
The event took place in the huge arena at Mandalay Bay. There was an amazing gauntlet of eager fans lining the way in, like a Hollywood red carpet. We were seated on the first level up from the floor, right beside the stairs, which turned out to be the best seat in the house, at least for me. All night long, I was treated to a parade of drunk and/or chemically enhanced tramps in ten inch platform stripper heels and micro-mini skirts staggering up and down the steep cement steps, falling off their shoes and flashing their chonies (or lack-thereof.) I’ve always had a bit of a fetish for girls tripping.
The show itself was as bloated and silly as any award show but still pretty entertaining. The short film of porn stars asking congress for bailout money and the infomercial for “Cock WOW!” were both hilarious. Predictably the pirates plundered nearly every award. I thought Roxy Deville was robbed for Best Actress and Jim’s Powers’ Little Runaway 2 really should have won Most Outrageous Sex Scene for the astounding punk rock bus bang. However I was happy for the always suave Mr. Marcus, who took Best Couples along with Monique Alexander.
Getting away from Mandalay Bay was an adventure in and of itself. The taxi line was a mile long so we wound up shanghai-ing Mr. Rotten and hiring a limo bus to make our escape.
Even though I was sick as a dog all weekend, I still managed to have a great time.
The expo was HUGE and jam packed with silicone and slavering fans. When I arrived, I was disappointed to find that the Christian protesters were gone. I took tons of notes and think I have a pretty good handle on the scene I need to write that takes place in the middle of the expo.
From there, I met up with my galpals for our early dinner at Bouchon. I’d never been to the Venetian before and found it fit perfectly into the porno theme of the weekend. It was as expensive, over the top and tacky as a Vivid contract star. A plastic Vegas construct of faux class for flyover country tourists who have none. I killed my camera battery at the Expo, or I would have taken a lot more photos.
Despite the silly décor, our meal at Bouchon was superb. My pork belly appetizer was so transcendently delicious, I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. A thick slab that was brown and crispy on the surface but buttery and luscious inside, so tender it fell apart the moment I touched it with my fork. My entrée of scallops and root veggies in a lobster reduction was good but my friend Patty’s whole pan-roasted trout with potato confit turned out to be the knock-out of the night. Instead of having dessert there, we decided to check out the separate Bouchon Bakery downstairs. Lemon whore that I am, I went for the lemon tart with a pine nut crust. It was lip-puckeringly tart and ultra lemony, just the way I like. I came away from the meal more determined than ever to make the pilgrimage up to The French Laundry.
From there it was back to the hotel to get decked out for the award ceremony. Again, no camera, so I’ll have to make do with the thousand words instead.
I wore a mock-turtleneck black top and a knee length pencil skirt with a thick, black patent leather belt and matching flats. Everything tight-fitting but relatively modest. I figured I’d better leave the sluttiness to the professionals.
The event took place in the huge arena at Mandalay Bay. There was an amazing gauntlet of eager fans lining the way in, like a Hollywood red carpet. We were seated on the first level up from the floor, right beside the stairs, which turned out to be the best seat in the house, at least for me. All night long, I was treated to a parade of drunk and/or chemically enhanced tramps in ten inch platform stripper heels and micro-mini skirts staggering up and down the steep cement steps, falling off their shoes and flashing their chonies (or lack-thereof.) I’ve always had a bit of a fetish for girls tripping.
The show itself was as bloated and silly as any award show but still pretty entertaining. The short film of porn stars asking congress for bailout money and the infomercial for “Cock WOW!” were both hilarious. Predictably the pirates plundered nearly every award. I thought Roxy Deville was robbed for Best Actress and Jim’s Powers’ Little Runaway 2 really should have won Most Outrageous Sex Scene for the astounding punk rock bus bang. However I was happy for the always suave Mr. Marcus, who took Best Couples along with Monique Alexander.
Getting away from Mandalay Bay was an adventure in and of itself. The taxi line was a mile long so we wound up shanghai-ing Mr. Rotten and hiring a limo bus to make our escape.
Even though I was sick as a dog all weekend, I still managed to have a great time.