I just cancelled my order for the lastest Anita Blake book, Skin Trade. I absolutely refuse to read another sentence as painful as the second one below, which appears on the novel's first page.
I refuse to read it even at Amazon's super-awesome discount price. Hell, I just refused to move on to page 2 when it was offered to me for free on the author's website. Bad prose is bad, mmm'kay? And 400-800 pages of equally bad prose? No thanks.
I don't even care that it takes place in Vegas, which is why I started on the preview in the first place. I wanted to see how badly she screwed up the setting. But now I realize I won't even be able to make it that far, which is a shame because her Anita Blake books used to be one of my favorite series. And intelligently written.
Shit like that does not deserve to be published, much less be guaranteed a spot on a bestseller list. And if you don't see anything wrong with above-posted sentence, please leave this blog and never come back. You'll be doing us both a favor.
I am officially finished with this author. I'll be taking the money I would've spent on the book and buying this haircare product instead. It lives up to its name and never fails to deliver the quality I have come to expect.
P.S. Ooh, they make shampoo!
I will not be getting a house for at least 4-6 more months. This sucks, monumentally. Especially as it is no one's fault but my own. I fail as a human being.
Unless plans change, I will probably lock into one more lease here at La Chateau, then break it (and suffer the financial penalties) as soon as I'm able to secure a place. Hopefully by late fall or early winter that will be possible.
In other news, the free concert bug is hitting again this weekend. Going to see Blue Man Group at the Venetian on Sunday. And possibly Barry Manilow tomorrow.
Why Barry Manilow? I dunno. Neither does Zombie. But there is still a possibility we will be there anyway. If we don't decide to eat out at a very nice steakhouse instead. Also for free.
In other news, the weather here was really nice today. Like, freaky nice. It was overcast but didn't actually rain, which means the sun wasn't trying to kill us. The winds died down just as I left the house, and the city smelled like water as opposed to a wet dog. It was a perfect day to dine outdoors.
And now I am going to dye my hair. Against my wishes (but in favor of my better judgment) it will not be purple.
EDIT: Looks like Manilow will have to wait. All the free tickets were snapped up before we could clear our schedule.
The Sound Of Madness
Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King (CD/DVD Deluxe)
By Dave Matthews Band
Since I didn't win the decommissioned British Naval aircraft carrier up for auction on eBay a few years back, I must have these!
By Marian Call
The following is the long version of the events referenced here.
Since I last wrote at any length, a few things have happened here in Ang-land. I am now an official, voter-registered citizen of the state of Nevada, after putting the necessary DMV trip off for as long as possible. I have hit a small snag in the quest to become a homeowner out here, but I hope to have that sorted out by week's end. I have gotten lit on tequila, seen some good movies, and bought two new jasmine plants that aren't dead yet. I've stared re-writing Mystic Nation (again) to fix the last, remaining plot issues.
So first thing's first, I guess, which will involve a bit of backpeddeling. As I mentioned previously , there was a while when my driver's license was nothing more than a piece of printer paper and my license plate was another piece of printer paper taped to the front of my windshield. I'd been counting the days till I got pulled over and, sure enough it happened two Saturdays ago as Zombs and I were heading out for some German food across town.
We'd gotten only a few blocks from her place when lights start flashing in my mirror. I pull over, and then the cop comes up, but not to my side of the car. He strolls around to the passenger side, makes Zombs roll down her window and then asks me why my car doesn't have any tags on it. I explain that I got them changed over, and give him my printer-paper driver'slicense and my old Virginia one that now has a hole punched through it. He barely looks at it, doesn't want my registration, and asks again why I have no tags. Well, that would be because I ordered special ones that had to be custom-made and the paper and the Scotch tape are supposed to cover me.
To both our surprises he lets us go without even going back to his cruiser to run my license. We are warned to look forward to being pulled over at least four more times today.
Dinner follows at a hole-in-the-wall German restaurant called Cafe Heidelberg, which I am probably spelling incorrectly. The food was fantastic, as was the beer according to Zombs, but I did get a little homesick when I ordered the Sauerbraten and all I could think was "Andi's is better." (Cause, seriously, it is.) We unloaded the leftovers at my place then headed down to the Strip with the intention of getting sloshed and looking for trouble.
The one good thing about the Strip is it's designed for drunk and/or lazy people. You take your car to the nearest Valet (every hotel had at least one) and just, ya know, leave it. Since the MGM Grand is the last leg on the Monorail we decided to leave valet there to make traveling the Strip easier. Problem was, for whatever reason the MGM had restricted their valet to guests only and sent us to another valet they assured us was just around the corner. We never found them, met with a similar problem with Excalibur across the street.
We quickly figured out we'd have the same problem at Luxor when the valet asked the car ahead of us for a room key. He came back to my car, which had the top down for once, and repeated the drill with us. When I confessed I wasn't a guest, he looked the car up and down, looked at me and Zombs again and asked how long we planned to stay at the hotel.
"A while," I answered quickly. "At least midnight." By that point, we'd kind of formulated a semi-plan to get completely shitfaced then go see Criss Angel's Crique show. Since it has been deemed a disaster by pretty much everyone who's seen it, we figured it might be more bearable if we were drunk when we watched it.
It was apparently the correct answer, for the valetlet us slide and took my car. It was one of those lovely little moments that made me feel both privilidged and hot. We cut through Excalibur, registered to win Criss Angel's Corvette, and walked down to Mandalay Bay were we parked ourselves at the bar at House of Blues.
Before we even order, the bartender gives Zombie a free drink to try since she'd been experimenting with it, trying to steal another establishment's recipe. We spend the next hour or so ordering drinks, nomming appetizers and making nice with the bartenders and wait staff. I discovered the my drink of choice had switched from vodka to tequila sometime following my move, and set about downing fruit-laced margaritas while Zombie worked on, well, whatever she was drinking.
During that time, a disagreement sprung up between one of the waiters and the bartender, as the waiter kept bringing a margarita back to be remixed because there were fruit seeds in the bottom of it.
"It's all her fault, ya know," Zombs said, indicating me, sincemy margarita's fruit had apparently tarnished the mixer. I agreed, the bartender agreed, and I ended up with the defective margarita on the house. Score one free drink for each of us.
Feeling a lot better than when we'd arrived, we made our way back to Luxor, stopping along the way to buy some lovely bath product named SOnic Death Monkey (look it up if you don't believe me) out of one of the shops. I'd finally gotten drunk enuogh not to care that I was about to spend a ridiculous amount of money on Criss Angel tickets, only to find the show was dark (on vacation) for that week. For someone who had just been denied the opportunity to spend a ridiculous amount of money on tickets to what is by all accounts a shiteous show, I was bummed.
We ambled over to the MGM with intentions of taking the Monorail up to the Fourm Shops at Caesar's, and wandered by the MGM's theatre as we did so. Turns out, Tom Jones was doing a multi-week engagement, which made both of us squee. We'd already missed that night's show, and would've bought tickets for soon after, but then we found out that Tom Jones is a ridiculously expensive ticket and said screw it. The same thing happened with Lewis Black at the Mirage not long after.
We settled for a free show, taking in the newly-revamped Mirage Volcano, which is far more full of win than it used to be. We then wandered around the shops, waiting for at least one of the skimpy-dressed girls to take a tumble in her platform heels. Why people walk the Strip in microdresses or evening gowns with perilously high heels, I will never understand. I have never seen people do that in New York. Ok, I have never seen people who weren't doing it for a paycheck.
Sunday was a screening of Star Trek in a private viewing booth at the Santa Fe. Which, I gotta tell you, is the way to go with movies if you can swing em. Just you and your party and these huge couch-seats and no annoying people all around you. Plus a microfridge and a basket of free candy and a private bathroom. I am so spoiled on those things now.
So that, I think covers the high points of the first fabulous Vegas weekend, which took place two weekends ago. There was also yummy yummy cheesecake involved, and a lot of drunken texting between guild members, but since Zombs was the one doing the texting I'll let her tell the story if she chooses to do so.
Will update again when I get around to writing up the events of last weekend. But I think that's more than enough story for now.
In addition to Jeff Dunham in July and Ron "Tater Salad" White in Septemeber, I just scored a pair of VIP tickets to Live in 2 weeks' time, complete with a poolside VIP afterparty with the band.
This is in addition to the free Playboy Standup Comedy and Chippendales shows last weekend (courtesy of Zombie).
I love this city.
Now, to wash this smiley face hand stamp off my wrist. Mmm, tequila.
Waking Up in Vegas
By Katy Perry
One day I should work up the energy to write something here. Especially since I have had two kickin' Vegas-type weekend in a row that were really, really fun.
Until then, there are new, shiny things in the sidebar.
For the Record: 41 Number One Hits
By Garth Brooks
Serenity (Widescreen Edition)
Staring Nathan Fillion
Firefly - The Complete Series
Staring Nathan Fillion
I finally had a Saturday in Vegas that was close to what a Saturday in Vegas should be like. It involved a lot of good food, cops, the Strip, getting preferential treatment because we were chicks in a convertible, and tequila. And it almost involved Tom Jones and Criss Angel. Separately, of course,
More on that later today, after I get back from seeing the Star Trek movie, which I will probably not understand anything of, because I have never, ever seen an episode of the series in any of its incarnations.
As soon as he learns to fire that thing, I'm done for.
Tim Burton's Corpse Bride (Widescreen Edition)