An important thing to remember when you are going to an event, especially an event that you have to travel multiple hours/miles to, is this: always note the time change.
Why do you think I am telling you this? Guess. JUST guess. That's right, THAT IS RIGHT, I missed Miss America 2010.
I was sitting here thinking to myself, as I was choosing which shoes to wear to this momentous occasion, how excited my mother was going to be to see her first born on TV when she tuned in at 7pm to watch THE Miss America pageant, and see me in the crowd, cheering, possibly crying because I was so overwhelmed with glee...and then it hit me. If she was tuning in at 7pm Alabama time...that means, it is going to be two hours earlier in Vegas, because of the time change. I panicked and in a whirlwind of chaos grabbed anything that looked remotely like something I would need at the pageant. I was getting hairspray, colognes, all my shoes, etc., and bobby pins, in case the reigning Miss America forgot some when she crowned the new one, I would rush up to the stage and offer my helping hand!
In this mad dash I am not able to get hold of Bex, screaming and running to my car in 6" leopard print peep toe pumps, I fumbled with my 7 bags and car keys, cursing the gay powers that be, for letting me be so stupid. I cranked up LaRhetta, and hauled off to meet her at her house. I text her and told her to be ready to start moving as I pulled into the driveway. As I fought traffic as if someone was chasing me down the freeway, all the while calculating how fast we would have to go to get there, it was possible, if we went at a constant speed of 84 miles an hour.
I pull into Bex's house and I see her, in a full out run, loading up her car, I pause here to make a note that this chick had some rocking hair, she curled it for me because everyone who knows me knows of my obsession with curly hair, and she did it as an extra surprise for me, ANYWAYS, I digress. She is in a full out run, literally throwing her suitcases into her car from across the yard. Without a word, we both, in unison, start to unload my bags and jump in her car. Out of breath, panting and praying for a miracle we sped down the 15 towards the Silver State.
We finally start to talk about how stupid we both were for not realizing it sooner, and laughed it off, I mean, we were making good time , and what else could go wrong?
(NOTE: Never ask yourself, "What else could possibly go wrong". Why? Because God will show you instantly.)
We were right in the middle of the chorus belting out "It's Raining Men", and I heard a sound effect that I had never noticed before. That sound effect sounded oddly like...a police siren.
Yup.
The fuzz. The fuzz was pulling us over. For speeding. Mind you, I never told Bex my theory of the 84 miles an hour, just so it is clear.
We pull over to the shoulder, and we prepare for the State Trooper to let us have it. He comes up to my window, and screams "I PULLED YOU OVER FOR SPEEDING". We informed him that we were in a hurry to get to Vegas and we didn't realize how fast we were going. He asked for ID, registration and insurance. Bex reached across the car to open the glove compartment box, and he instantly reached for his gun and said "Woah!!". When he realized that she was reaching for her papers, that he had just asked for, he felt embarrassed, I think, and then tried to be smooth about it and act relaxed. This is when he saw my shoes. My big ass 6" leopard print peep toe shoes with the 1" platform. I thought he was checking me out, then realized that it isn't everyday you see this, especially in the Mojave Desert, I know he secretly enjoyed my well toned calf muscle in those shoes, because I am sure that his wife has cankles and only wears crocs, so it must have been a treat for him to oggle my goodies. We were asked a series of questions, and then he went to run the plates. He came back with a ticket. Going 96 in a 70. Whooops! So that took up 25 minutes of our journey. Then we hit insane traffic. At this point the pageant has started seating people, and we had barely gotten into Nevada. We finally arrive to the outskirts of Vegas. We make it to the pageant doors, after valeting Dora the Scion, both of us clacking up in our big girl shoes. Then this BEAST OF A WOMAN denies us entry because the pageant commenced 25 minutes prior. I wanted to cry. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I still am actually.
After 10 minutes arguing with this sexually depraved creature in her awful navy suit and totally out of season doc martins, we left. Defeated. I heard the crowd cheering, and it was clear, my dream of seeing Miss America, was still just that, a dream. I wanted to slap that woman in her throat, and punch that cop right in his gonads.
We went to our hotel, Miss Amy texting me all the results as we waited in our check in line at the Flamingo. Went up to the room, and caught the tail end of the pageant. We still had a good time that night, for the most part. I mean, it's Vegas, Vegas always has something to do. I was introduced to Jimmy Buffet's restaurant and Bex and I followed around a lesbian couple, one of them, the short squatty one, was wearing a plaid skirt, that came a shade above her ass cheeks. It was so horrifying we of course, had to follow it, and listened to the comments that people were making about it as she passed them. We drank out of an Eiffel Tower shaped cup.
I am, of course, upset blog buddies, I mean, it was a big deal for me to go see the glittery dresses and teased hair. But this blog isn't called William Goes to Miss America, it is Adventures of a Boy in Heels, and that is exactly what I had. An adventure, and, no, it isn't the adventure I had planned, hoped for, or promised you, but I did deliver you an adventure. I promise that our next trip is planned/thought out better!! I am glad to now have 39 of you loyal readers, and hope that you stay tuned for my next installment, the fun is just beginning...
Loving you always!!
xox
William
PS I totally picked Miss Virginia to win, before I even left for the pageant, I am just that good.
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