Hit Me Bee-otch!

DISCLAIMER:  Today’s blog is NOT for everyone.  It’s full of all manner of debauchery, sexual inuendo and R-rated, if not X-rated content.  If you can handle that, read on.  Otherwise, see you next week!  It was so good to see you, if only for a moment!  Mppphhhuhhh!

As a follow-up to my What Happens in Vegas  post, I just have to tell this funny little tidbit from a friend of mine who just returned from The City That Never Sleeps (Wait.  Is that New York?) 

She’s my hair stylist, and ladies and gentlemen, THIS girl knows how to have fun.  She’s a chick with loads of a little trait I call pizazz.  She’s my “party girl” idol, I tell ya – always going on trips with big groups of girls and tearing things up along the way.  My own sisters and I use to do that, but I can’t get them to commit to it any more, so I live vicariously through Scissor Sister (oh yeah, you better believe that’s her name).

Well, Scissor Sister and a group of her girls were in Vegas for the weekend celebrating her 40th birthday.  They partied like rock stars.  “So much so,” she said, “that we were kicked out of one place.” I was chuckling along with her story, til I heard that. It totally took the wind out of my sails.  In Vegas?  I said out loud, incredulous.  Sin City?   How could it be?  I was losing my faith in the whole system, when I turned to her,  doe-eyed, with that look of desperate hopefulness and anticipation one might expect to see from someone wanting to be enlightened by their own personal guru.

Listen.  Of course I was doe-eyed, looking to be enlightened by Scissor Sister. I’d just returned from a trip to Vegas with my twelve year old son, where of course I didn’t participate in any sort of shenanigans, but I can dream can’t I?  I was trying to LIVE vicariously – not fizzle vicariously.  I needed to hear it was a mistake! If not, I needed to know the WHOLE story.

She elaborated. “Well, we were having sooooo much fun, you know? One of my girls had so much fun, we had to carry her home.” Hello.  I can relate.  Been there, done that.  New Orleans, 2002.  Not a pretty picture, and the hangover – Oh My God.  But I digress. 

“So, it was pretty cool, the way they did it.  The bouncer was really cool, and said he liked us, but we had to leave.  But we were pretty shocked.  MAYBE it had something to do with us getting really roudy and yelling “HIT ME, BITCH!” to the dealer all night.” She laughed. 

“No Way!” I said.  You got kicked out for saying “Bitch? In VEGAS?” 

“Yeah, right?  Ya think it was a little off?”  she said.  “They let us stay there as long as we were losing, but we started to win! And the dealer was totally cool!  She was laughing and she totally liked dealing to us.  Then they gave us some staunch Asian dude.  It totally sucked.” 

So, I had to ponder it.  How on earth did they get kicked out for saying “Hit me BITCH!” in a city like Vegas where prostitution is basically legal, and you can carry your cocktails from place to place? 

One might state the obvious here, that perhaps the better question is why do I care, and why am I asking?  You have to realize, I was born into a whole family of women that do this.  Don’t ask me why, but whenever faced with a dilemma, quagmire or problem, we MUST solve it.  I hate that I do this, but I do.  So, there it is.  Even if we AGREE with how it all worked out, our genetics don’t allow us to leave the situation alone.  We have to figure it all out.  We are driven by that gene making us unearth the beastly thing and show it to everyone.  Sad, I know.  Even if the “problem” is how some sleazy greasy dude, who likes to get cozy with little boys ended up working at an elementary school!  If you have this gene, you will come up with all manner of excuses in support of the obvious weakest link, like “Well, maybe he was thoroughly rehabilitated, or perhaps he got castrated and they thought it was safe!” Okay.  We don’t really go that far.  Ewe.

So I thought about it.

1)  Maybe it’s because of the strippers.  Strippers get called “bitch” all the time, and it hurts them.  This is Vegas’ way of protecting its own.  What if a stripper hears it and thinks it’s directed toward them? Strippers out their strutting their stuff, crying and blubbering does not look good?! Ya know?

2)  It’s the old people.  They were inadvertently gambling at the Senior’s Center, and the 90 year old lady next to them kept falling out of her chair every time they yelled.  Their insurance wouldn’t allow for that, so it was the 40 year old SAUCY girl and her friends or their license to operate. If you were the bouncer, you’d kick them out too.

3) Misery Loves Company.  They were surrounded by a bunch of lonely, boring people who were jealous that these girls were taking no prisoners while they ravaged the city. 

Okay, I will spare you any more.  It’s an illness. 

So, since my last trip to Vegas was somewhat (more like “very”) mundane by most of your standards – aside from the ever thrilling roller-coaster rides – I decided that “Hit me BITCH!” should be my new THANG.  Don’t get me wrong.  My trip was actually one of my all-time favorite times ever.  Riding those coasters with my son was priceless, and soon enough he won’t want me to do that!  I had a great time with some really great memories, that no one can take away.  But I just got a kick out of that whole “Hit me BITCH!” business.  

And of course, you know I had to solve THAT problem as well:  How does a bouncy, blue-eyed, blonde, blogging babe get away with saying “Hit me BITCH!”??  After pondering, I came up with a few scenarios. I’ll tell you.

1)  I take a lover that likes dirty talk.  If he doesn’t mind being called “bitch” I can say it when I want a little spanky.  hee hee!

2) I reserve it for times when my girls and I get together for drinks at someone’s house.  I have a cocktail, and slurp it down.  When they ask if I want a refill, I say —–  hellowwww? “HIT ME BITCH!”

3) I go to Vegas and Tempt Fate.  I play black-jack, and when they ask if I want to hold, or whatever, I yell it out – then quickly regain my composure, and sweet little ole innocent me bats my eyelashes at the bouncer nearby, and looks with a frown at the frigid girl next to me, as if SHE said it!  (just kidding.  I would never do that.  If I did, that frigid girl probably would take me up on my little phrase and HIT ME!)

Anyhoo – just wanted to fill you all in!  It’s been a fun one this week!  I hope you had as much fun!

Stay tuned for next week’s essay full of big words like “antidisestablishmentarianism.” You’ll be enlightened, and I won’t even ask you for that doe-eyed, innocent look.

Have a FANTASTIC weekend, would you? And wear sunscreen! (That’s the mommy in me).

Love you people!  Mmmmmphhhuuuhhhhh!


Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious 

Ms. Cheevious is the alter-ego of Lisa Jey Davis (former publicist, and television talent manager, current award-winning writer & author, & health and fitness pro). Though Ms. Cheevious has become known for humor via the blog and social media, offering a lighter and brighter look at life… the blog was originally a precursor to Lisa Jey's long overdue book "Ms. Cheevious in Hollywood" which offers a fabulous, funny peek into what really goes on behind the scenes in Hollywood… a Hollywood with Lisa Jey and her funny “serendipities” in it. Think Lucille Ball meets Chelsea Handler meets the girl next door (with a little chocolate and vodka). It depicts with hilarity the innocent mistakes Lisa Jey made when launched back into the big, bad single jungle, as an unassuming single-mother in the City of Angels. It’s also about the beautiful, interesting life she led while her loving, incredible sons kept her grounded and sane amid fantastic events, new friends, parties and field trips. It also shows the turmoil and heartbreak that comes with dating and single mom life. All blog content © 2015 Ms. Cheevious aka Lisa Jey Davis

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