“I'm invisible! I'm not even here! No one looks at me. They look right through me.” Yup. Another exciting night with my friend Bob. 55. Chubby. White. Balding. Not just alone. Lonely. Miserable. Old. And after 2 and 1 quarter vodka orange buckets of misery, a complete boor. And about to start crying if I don't stop flirting with the guy over his shoulder and get him to his fallback, food.
“I've said it before.” I know this part of Bob's next overly dramatic performance. It's the whole, “if I don't find someone soon. To love me. To hold me at night. ..I'm going to end it….” I glaze over as he launches in and imagine myself handing him the broken bucket glass with instructions in my best Rose McGowan, “up and down. Never across.”
Bob is not dealing with the whole gay guy getting old thing well.
“I don't really think the rules apply to gay guys.” My 22 year old best friend, Christophe. “Active gay guys like you, well, it's still cool if you go out to bars or pool parties. Though you may want to lay off the pancakes after the Garage before next season.” Out of the mouths of bitches. I mean, babes.
I get his point, but I'm 52.
I can say all I want that Black doesn't crack. Or yellow stays mellow. But I'm 52 freaking years old. I'm an AARP member for fuck sake. I remember Julia. The colored nurse, not the abnormally large cook. Oh God, I remember her too. I was there when Alexis showed up in the courtroom. I grew up with a black and white TV.
Gay and old.
Whether I like it or not I'm a senior citizen. Kill me and sell my bones to the Soylent Green corporation. If they'll deal in past date fat products.
Gay and old.
You never see 40 year old straight guys at Rehab. If you do, everyone there is looking at dude in his long board shorts like wtf? No one bats an eye at a 60 year old guy in a speedo with pierced nipples at a Luxor Gay pool party. It just seems like we never have to grow up. Something just seems wrong to me about that.
I don't know why.
I look at my friends from high school on Facebook. The jocks all look worn out. Fat. Sloppy. Tired. What happened? We're the same age. Come from the same place. I can only conclude, straight happened. They grew up. It's what straight people do.
Why haven't I? Why haven't I had to? When do I? Will I?
Let me just start out by saying that this is a great Mexican Food Restaurant.
If you loathe Mexican food.
Best thing about eating lunch here? It was out of me less than two hours later!
Really. I swear.
My bud had a 2 for 1 coupon and asked me to join him to talk biz ,so, being cheap, fat and hungry, I said, "sure'. I knew where the place was ( who hasn't bought street drugs at some point in their lives? Don't judge me!) and made it there only to enter 1981 Mexico. The "decor" is barely that. Some frescoes of someone's idea of Mexico could have used a Silkwood shower and the tables looked like ,well, nothing.
The first bad sign? Stale, tasteless chips and some sort of salsa juice. WTF? I mean this set up was so bad even my friend (who will eat anything.) only finished 1/4 of them.
The menu is very typical White suburbia version of Mexican "Combinacciones Platos". I was actually in the mood for that. It's like you know it's not real Mexican food but you love it anyway.
And then I made a mistake that would cause our waitress, Surlyrella, to decide that she and I were NOT going to be Freunden.
"You know what? I'll have a cheese taco as well as my Enchiladas", I gamely said to the looming rock of hate. "CHEESE TACO?', she hissed.
We stared at each other like two mean Wildebeest about to go all Wild Kingdom on each other. Being Gay, I was not about to back down.
"It's a TACO WITH CHEESE", I looked her gaze right back at her now beady steely eyes.
"Hmph", she shot back in a way that said, "screw you and your mother for letting you down the birth canal!"
The "food" came.
As did the next twenty minutes of my choking down some of the blandest globs of cheese, rice and beans that I have endured since Swanson decided to take on the Mexican TV tray market.
It came, but it didn't went fast enough for me.
Fast forward to me back at work breaking my cardinal rule, "No number 2 at the office!'
Oh yeah. That cheese taco? A hard shell with some cheese shoved in with that nasty from the bag shredded lettuce you get on clearance at Food For Less. Despicable.
I hate this place and strongly suggest you eat at , well, anywhere other than here.
1741 E Charleston Blvd
Las Vegas, NV 89104
The hottest new swank place to wave your hands in the air like you just don't care is, say it with me this time, SHARE.
Located convenient to, but not swamped by the traffic of The Strip, SHARE is THE place to see and be seen. On Friday nights you'll be putting on your wig hat and high heeled sneakers for Paul Nichols Stripper Circus. It's La La Land's ultra sexy fab u lush party served up Las Vegas Style with DJ CHI CHI LaRue and the the sexual DJ Nick Ayler. Every 3rd Wednesday DJ Lisa Pittman serves up the hot chicas at BootyBar. There's a $500 prize for the best tail on Cotton Tail Mondays, oh my. The Fabulous Edie is the hostest with the mostest weekly at The Biz: A Weekly Cast Party with the best entertainers from The Strip showing you what they got in a tres intimate setting. Did I mention there's 2-4-1 Cocktails those nights starting at 10pm? Now I have. And of course Saturday is everybody's fave night to get hot and sweaty on the dance floor!
AND THERE'S NEVER A COVER CHARGE!
I said never.
Ok, let's talk about what's muy importante.
No Bitch, not my recent weight gain.
VIP TABLE SERVICE!
As you know, Moi never goes anywhere unless Moi is on the DJ. I mean on the DJ's list. And I would never sit anywhere but the VIP section con bottles of my favorite adult beverages. Never. Well, SHARE has the best table service in the Gay Las Vegas universe!
AND it's tres affordable starting at just $100! Uh hello, why are you still reading this? Shouldn't you be Tweeting your peeps and updating your Facebook status to "In The VIP Bitches!"?
By the by, if you manage to get your car out of the driveway in time SHARE has OPEN BAR!That's right from 10 PM to 11 PM just get out your DROID and text "isahre" to 313131 (must show text at door for open bar).
Did I mention SHARES serves up After Hours frivolity from 3am on every Friday and Saturday? They do.
So. Hurry on down and shake your groove thing while you oggle the parade of cuties at SHARE.
I said now.
4636 Wynn Road Las Vegas Nevada 89103 702-258-2681
Moi is forever trying to learn how to tie a Bow Tie. Recently, I stopped into my fave fashion establishment, STITCHED at The Comopolitan and had Michael do his best to teach me how to do what should be a rather simple thing.
Well, Michael does the best at explaining this of anyone I have ever seen, and yet, I STILL can't do it!
STITCHED The Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas 3708 Las Vegas Boulevard South Las Vegas, NV 89109
If you have ever heard the theme song from "Cheers" and got that warm et fuzzy feeling then you will feel right at home at the only cool coffeehouse / hang in Las Vegas, "The Beat."
I have yet to settle down for a spot of work here and not run into everyone.
Who. Is. Anyone.
Really. I swear.
From politicians to local starlets (Hello Princess Ann!), this is the place to sit back and watch the world go by Vegas style. I could come here for the people watching alone, however, where else can you also decide to throw some Rolling Stones or "Thank God It's Friday" on the record player (NOT JUKEBOX! Thank you very much!) while you are munching on some of the house specialties and discussing the state of everything?
Let's get down to the munchables. Shall we?
My own personal fave is the Croque Monsieur, a delicious, cheesy bit of perfection. Let's be honest here, you slap some dead pig on a crunchy bread and smother it in tangy cheese and you have this chubbette in your hands like a Kardashian in front of a camera.
You can pretty much order anything here and be more than happy. Most everyone I know loves the "Slap & Tickle."
Oh. Stop. Dirty minds are the Devils bocce ball court.
"Slap & Tickle" is The Beat's own little take on the classic Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich.
Well. After you add Bacon and Jalapenos.
You do add Bacon and Jalapenos. Don't you?
Well. Now. You. Will.
Owners, Jennifer and Michael Cornthwaite are what one might call "Downtown Royalty". Much like their counterparts further south in the Downtown Arts District (officially the "18b District" but I can't stand that name. Sounds like it's trying to hard to be Austin. Or someplace with good public transportation.) have been flying the Downtown flag for years and years before local politicians decided it was a good applause line to tout "the revitalization of Downtown" (spare me.). The Beat is located in the much larger "Emergency Arts Center" where, especially on the weekends, you are bound to find everything from great art, vintage LP's (it's a vinyl disc that makes music magically appear.), art, fashion and even a fancy hairdresser and hip production company.
I believe in airline terms, it's a "hub".
Get a table near the window if you want to be left alone. You won't be, but, you will look dramatic and rather Zelda Fitzgerald sitting by the window in an Edward Hopper sorta way. When your friends see you, the first thing they will think is, "they've taken up reading." Or some such flattery.
Park at The El Cortez. But. Make sure you walk through the casino to The Beat just across the street.
Why? Well, I said so. Oh, you need a reason? Fine. because it is the coolest place on the planet!
Block at least two hours to be there and expect to stay longer. Once you settle in, you may never want to leave. Me? I take my meetings there. Back to back. I have gone from early am to sundown sitting my life away in my Zelda table many a day.
It's that cool.
They have coffee too.
THE BEAT 520 Fremont St Ste 101 Las Vegas, NV 89101 (702) 409-5563 www.thebeatlv.com
Hours: Mon-Fri 7 am - 12 am Sat 9 am - 12 am Sun 9 am - 5 pm Takes Reservations: No Accepts Credit Cards: Yes Parking: Garage, Street, Valet Attire: Casual Good for Groups: Yes Good for Kids: No Price Range: $ Delivery: No Take-out: Yes Waiter Service: No Outdoor Seating: No Wi-Fi: Free Good For: Lunch Music: Juke Box Best Nights: Fri, Thu, Sat Happy Hour: Yes Alcohol: Beer & Wine Only Smoking: No Coat Check: No Noise Level: Average Good For Dancing: No Ambience: Hipster, Casual Has TV: No Wheelchair Accessible: Yes
It is chic in a totally non-fussy way. There is ample seating which is a rarity in Las Vegas and unheard of on Le Strip. The art is funky and world class. All in all, The Cosmopolitan is exactly what this burgh has needed for a long time. A hip and urbane place that locals can dig even while surrounded by Tourist Girls in Sausage Casing Skank Dresses.
Did I mention, J'adore The Cosmopolitan?
Well. I do.
Fuckin' Holsteins, on the other hand, should be 86'd from The Cosmo as it drags down the property like that fat dude Sandra Bullock was married to at a Bat Mitzvah.
Way total bummer.
Me and The Bestie decided to sashay over to The Cosmo to check out the "secret Pizza place". Upon entering Moi decides it isn't quite what I am looking for at the moment.
I say, "let's go to Holsteins."
Cue ominous music.
"Don't go in the basement White girl!"
My first clue as to where the evening would be going was when we were greeted by the hostess. About 12, she was dressed in a dowdy outfit that looked like nuns forced her to wear it due to the itchy underbits that kept a tortured grimace on her innocent, Squirrel in the headlights face.
"Um, we're, um, really, um busy. It's like a hour wait, un, I think. But, you can eat in the waiting, bar sorta area."
We sat and waited for our waitress.
Who knew we could have read the first three chapters of a Suze Orman book in the time it took for our server to arrive?
The Bestie loves dark meat.
That's a whole 'nother story.
Where was I?
He orders a "WELL DONE" whatever Burger. I order the Kimchee thingee Medium Rare. We were asked what kind of fries we wanted? I said the chip things and I forget what The Bestie ordered. It would turn out to matter. Later.
We also ordered two of their signature Milk Shakes. Lactose intolerant Negro that I am, I still could not resist two of my favorite fat boy things combined, booze and Ice Cream! They were all right. In fact, they were the best thing about this whole Gawdawful, I'd rather be sitting through an endless loop of "Trog" starring Joan Crawford during her "A Bitch needs a job, ok?" period, Holsteins experience.
About 3 hrs later the server..oh, wait, did I mention this was like the third server we had seen by this point?
"W-T-F!" screeched the bestie.
Rememember, he had ordered "WELL DONE!" This looked like one of those partial birth abortions that Republicans are always going on about.
Umbilical cord and all.
Really. I swear.
Now. It gets GOOD.
Our server (like #15 at this point) had the temerity to say with a straight face to The Bestie who was bugged out by all the blood in front of him, "That's our version of 'WELL DONE!'"
It's a good thing Sally Field didn't have to go up against this Bitch when they were casting for Norma Rae. That would have been an Oscar she would never have put on her commode shelf. The utter sincerity with which she said it was Gobsmackingly audacious and worthy of not only an Oscar, but, the ultimate glory, A GOLDEN GLOBE!
I said "you need to take that back and burn it." Server #15 started away. "Um, excuse me, but, you need to take mine as well", says Moi. "Why?" says #15. "Because I don't want to be eating my food while he has none."
At this point #15 is truly going for for the triple crown, she's going to add an EMMY!
"What's wrong with that?"
Nothing at all.
If you were born of Lesbian Wolves.
Who the hell would eat in front of a fellow diner for Gawd only knows how long it was going to take while whomever brought back The Besties burger?
Along comes, I kid you not, servers #16 AND #17! Two pimple faced kids who looked like they just won a bad acid trip to Willy Wonkas Chocolate Factory on "Underwear Night". Guess what they brought us? No. Really. Guess.
Two entirely wrong burgers.
"IT'S NOT MY FAULT! I JUST BROUGHT OUT WHAT THEY GAVE ME!", said Wednesday Adams. "I'M JUST A RUNNER!", said Bobby Brady as he sulked away.
"What's the problem?" It was #15. Yet. Again.
"Well, other than your Kansas City Bomber attitude" I silently thought in my grade school Russian, "these burgers are BOTH wrong."
Eyes rolled as she snatched the plates up and shoved them at Wednesday with a gruff send off to whatever table they were meant for not knowing whether or not I had flavored them with Coke boogers, or whatever.
FINALLY, we got the burgers we ordered correctly cooked.
They were OK.
The bill arrived.
I have never wanted to see a bill so badly in my entire life.
Well. At least one that I was paying. Trust. MANY times I have been glad to see a bill arrive, but, that's because a wrinkly old white hand covered in liver spots would finally have something to do other than trying fondle me whilst I simply wanted to enjoy my Creme Brulee.
That Tyler Brulee guy is sorta hot.
But. I digress.
Where was I?
Oh. Yeah. The fucking bill.
After 17 servers and what seemed like enough time to give a coffee enema to the Ed Hardy wearing tourists next to us, the bill was $65!
So. It took SIX burgers to get the order right. Those "what kind of fries would you like?" were not what came with the burger. Oh. No. They were extra. The shakes while good had come at the cost of a meal that SOMEHOW added up to about three times what I would normally want to pay IF it had come through a window with a Clowns head attached. If only.
I wrote quite a little letter on the "How Did We Do?" card.
"How Did We Do?"
Are you fucking kidding me? Did Pol Pot give out such cruel cards after a "visit"?
I wrote all over that thing and sent it back WITH my card to pay for this little bit of no reason for cows to have died for.
Oh, yes I did.
And you know what happened?
They committed the Ultimate Las Vegas Sin.
No. Not signing Shania Twain for a long term run. She's got like two songs and a bad divorce, am I right?
No manager came out to see if "something was wrong?" No anything taken off the bill. No care whatsoever that a customer was NOT a happy camper.
Nada. Zilch. Bupkus (or however you spell that).
Just "give us your money and Sod Off!"
Numerous calls and Tweets later, still, NOTHING.
If you are simply dying for a burger.
On a desert island.
With Rush Limbaugh.
And a branch of Holsteins.
At least you might get a Viagra boner.
The Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas 3708 Las Vegas Boulevard South Las Vegas, NV 89109