I have gained 15+ pounds since I have been back in Los Angeles from Christmas break.
NOT CUTE.
I have eaten everything but my shoes it feels like, and in case you are wondering, yes, I did indeed, eat that cake icing yesterday. I went to Ralph's at 2 in the morning and pretended that I was on the phone with someone so the sole cashier wouldn't talk to me about my purchases. I made my mock conversation sound like I was in a hurry, and picking up the icing for my friend who had just broken up with her boyfriend, and needed comfort food.. I know, pathetic.
So I can not tell you how concentrated of an effort I am making to drop this spare tire. I know that this sassy attitude and set of Betty Grable legs is enough to make any one check me out twice, but I mean, how am I ever supposed to walk the red carpet with a 6' blonde with piercing eyes and a sparkling smile, if I am carrying my baby weight around?
No fast food, no sodas, nothing. Water, lettuce and some of whatever killed Anna Nicole Smith, God Bless her soul.
I guess this is a post New Year's Resolution? I don't know, but to hell with it.
PS I need everyone to be on the look out for my "6' blonde with piercing eyes and a sparkling smile"...please send out some feelers. And if you perchance find one, send in pics!!
looooving you!
xo
William
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Ponies and Angels.
It is going to be a great day friends!
It's Superbowl Sunday, I don't know much about who is playing...the Ponies and Angels? I am not sure, but they both have great colors! And Superbowl Sunday means beer! BEER BEER BEER!! I will keep you all updated on what happens!
xox
William
It's Superbowl Sunday, I don't know much about who is playing...the Ponies and Angels? I am not sure, but they both have great colors! And Superbowl Sunday means beer! BEER BEER BEER!! I will keep you all updated on what happens!
xox
William
Pooches.
Last night we had a little rendezvous at our house. There was a rousing game of King's Cup that led to sex talk and a craving for pizza. Jacqui and I tried on a series of hats from my costume collection, and it was about the time that we started to walking around in the street with mixing bowls on our head that I knew it was time to call it a night.
As I was laying in my bed this morning, surprisingly not that hung over, it was raining, and I could hear the water hitting the pavement. I was curled up in my down comforter, completely relaxed, and thought that the only thing missing was someone lying next to me to enjoy it. While a 6'2 well built Brazilian man with straight teeth and a strong jawline would have done the trick, what I really wanted was a dog.
I know, I know. I can't afford one, I don't have the time for it, but put the brakes on it, I am not going to buy a dog, but I did have an epiphany while basking in my 700 count sheets.
I am going to become a dog walker. Not professionally, but I am going to volunteer. I think that this may be the best substitute for my longing for a dog, temporarily, or at least until I can afford one. I looked up a local shelter, and decided to give them a call. It is called, Rover Rescue (http://www.roverrescue.com/) and they are very credible for the humane and loving treatment for their animals. I am excited to soon be the hottest thing on the beach, with 4 dogs in a pair of Yves Saint Laurent Tribtoo's , and maybe, just maybe, I will end up like J.Lo in "Monster in Law" and run into a shirtless doctor who has a beautiful personality, a trust fund and a lavish mother. One can dream.
Dr. Charming will one day come, but the dogs are calling for me now! I am hoping next weekend I can start.
I am watching possibly one the worst movies right now, The Women, the 2008 version. While the writing is somewhat witty, I can't believe that with the amount of talent that each of these actresses possesses, how short it falls in this film.
I think that my TV is oozing estrogen, because now I want cake icing...
Loving you all.
xo
William
As I was laying in my bed this morning, surprisingly not that hung over, it was raining, and I could hear the water hitting the pavement. I was curled up in my down comforter, completely relaxed, and thought that the only thing missing was someone lying next to me to enjoy it. While a 6'2 well built Brazilian man with straight teeth and a strong jawline would have done the trick, what I really wanted was a dog.
I know, I know. I can't afford one, I don't have the time for it, but put the brakes on it, I am not going to buy a dog, but I did have an epiphany while basking in my 700 count sheets.
I am going to become a dog walker. Not professionally, but I am going to volunteer. I think that this may be the best substitute for my longing for a dog, temporarily, or at least until I can afford one. I looked up a local shelter, and decided to give them a call. It is called, Rover Rescue (http://www.roverrescue.com/) and they are very credible for the humane and loving treatment for their animals. I am excited to soon be the hottest thing on the beach, with 4 dogs in a pair of Yves Saint Laurent Tribtoo's , and maybe, just maybe, I will end up like J.Lo in "Monster in Law" and run into a shirtless doctor who has a beautiful personality, a trust fund and a lavish mother. One can dream.
Dr. Charming will one day come, but the dogs are calling for me now! I am hoping next weekend I can start.
I am watching possibly one the worst movies right now, The Women, the 2008 version. While the writing is somewhat witty, I can't believe that with the amount of talent that each of these actresses possesses, how short it falls in this film.
I think that my TV is oozing estrogen, because now I want cake icing...
Loving you all.
xo
William
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Living in High School
**NOTE**This entry is probably convoluded and didn't make it full circle, but I guess it is just a random stream of concious. I hope that it may have had some sort of impact?
All I really just want to emphasize that some people suck. And these people are not the kind that I want to associate with. Some of these people include bigots and liars, and others include "that person" from high school who still thinks that he/she is the most important thing to walk the earth. They weren't that important then, and they sure as hell aren't that important now. The funny thing about these people is that they rarely as successful as they plan to be. The once high school pageant queen will probably end up with three kids and a divorce by the age of 27, and the guy who was so sexy and athletic will be paying his child support on the meager earnings as a gas station attendant. The kids who played "Magic" in the cafetria, and the art club girls, who no one seemed to get, will be contributing to society, saving lives, building rockets, and performing open heart surgery.
There may even be some people like Romey and Michelle, the girls who were just trying to fit in, and no one seemed to really give them a chance.
Living in the real world has already taught me one important lesson, high school never ends. Life is just one big high school. Just because we aren't contained in one big cinderblock building and constantly under florescent lighting (can you imagine how horrible), doesn't mean it is going to stop. There is going to be that girl with the bleached flat hair and the eye makeup that was applied way too heavy and incorrectly who thought (thinks) she was(is) all that. There is going a plethora of people that pass you by and you may never get to know. There are always going to be hippy stoners around, some girl who can't stop gossiping, some boy that never gets tired of pants-ing people, the sensitive artsy type, AND there will always be the negative nancy's.If you are in high school, become the person you want to be known as now, because the image that you create now is how you are going to be remembered by majority of the people you graduate with.
Point being: The people in your life that suck need to get a big heave-ho. Toss them overboard, because like any other unnecessary baggage, they are slowing you down. And those people who deserve the recognition, let's give them some. The time is now. Don't make excuses.
Loving.
William
All I really just want to emphasize that some people suck. And these people are not the kind that I want to associate with. Some of these people include bigots and liars, and others include "that person" from high school who still thinks that he/she is the most important thing to walk the earth. They weren't that important then, and they sure as hell aren't that important now. The funny thing about these people is that they rarely as successful as they plan to be. The once high school pageant queen will probably end up with three kids and a divorce by the age of 27, and the guy who was so sexy and athletic will be paying his child support on the meager earnings as a gas station attendant. The kids who played "Magic" in the cafetria, and the art club girls, who no one seemed to get, will be contributing to society, saving lives, building rockets, and performing open heart surgery.
There may even be some people like Romey and Michelle, the girls who were just trying to fit in, and no one seemed to really give them a chance.
Living in the real world has already taught me one important lesson, high school never ends. Life is just one big high school. Just because we aren't contained in one big cinderblock building and constantly under florescent lighting (can you imagine how horrible), doesn't mean it is going to stop. There is going to be that girl with the bleached flat hair and the eye makeup that was applied way too heavy and incorrectly who thought (thinks) she was(is) all that. There is going a plethora of people that pass you by and you may never get to know. There are always going to be hippy stoners around, some girl who can't stop gossiping, some boy that never gets tired of pants-ing people, the sensitive artsy type, AND there will always be the negative nancy's.If you are in high school, become the person you want to be known as now, because the image that you create now is how you are going to be remembered by majority of the people you graduate with.
Point being: The people in your life that suck need to get a big heave-ho. Toss them overboard, because like any other unnecessary baggage, they are slowing you down. And those people who deserve the recognition, let's give them some. The time is now. Don't make excuses.
Loving.
William
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The Turmoil of a Twinkie
I was once in a play, "Peter Pan in Neverland",it was the same story line as the original, basically just a cheaper version,(Peter Pan flew with the aid of a florescent orange extension cord), obvi a low-budget budget production. I had done previous shows with this company, and I was very excited to return to the stage with them, and just knew that I was going to be a lead maybe playing Peter, or Mr. Smee.
Was I?
No.
They cast me as "Yummy". Who is "Yummy"? That is a very good question, I am glad you asked. Yummy is the fat Lost Boy who eats cake all day, and my only line was "Mmmmm, YUMMY".
Let me just tell you, I hate the f***ing word "yummy". It grates on my nerves and makes me want to drop kick whoever says it in my presence (other words that have the same effect as "Yummy" are "Supper" and "jolly"). And what do I hate more than having to say "yummy" a total of 29 times in the course of a 90 minute musical? The fact that I was force fed twinkies the entire show in order to make my character more authentic. I HATE TWINKIES. And I know that that may be hard to believe given my curvy stature, but trust me, I can't stand them.
Even though I wanted to pull my well curled eyelashes out one by one every time I had to say 'yummy' and started getting anxiety every time someone mentioned processed cream filled pastries, I stuck with it. I had to, my mother wouldn't let me quit. She always told me that I could do whatever I wanted, but once I started, I couldn't quit, until it was over.
This is something that I am glad my parents enforced, it has taught me a tremendous amount of responsibility, as well as, the great life lesson of sucking it up. The point of this being, there are always going to be things that we don't like, or agree with that we have to do. And I know that this sounds like such a preachy entry, and it is, kind of, but when I get down and out about a situation I like to remember this calorie infested play. It reminds me that if I had quit, I would have missed out on one of the greatest happinesses I have ever know, my first love, one of my best friends, and a constant supporter of mine who always fills my heart with sparkles, Brandi. Even though she broke up with me over email in the 6th grade, we still have a very amazing relationship.
Opossums, I am going to wrap this, but I am just trying to say that I know that our lives suck sometimes. We break up relationships (or, God forbid someone breaks up with us), we doubt ourselves as parents, we goof up at work, we drop our phones in the toilet, or we are force fed Hostess snacks. Whatever your "F*** My Life" moment is, something good is going to come from it, you will always get 'a Brandi' in the end.
I love y'all.
Will'yumm'.
Sparkles!
Was I?
No.
They cast me as "Yummy". Who is "Yummy"? That is a very good question, I am glad you asked. Yummy is the fat Lost Boy who eats cake all day, and my only line was "Mmmmm, YUMMY".
Let me just tell you, I hate the f***ing word "yummy". It grates on my nerves and makes me want to drop kick whoever says it in my presence (other words that have the same effect as "Yummy" are "Supper" and "jolly"). And what do I hate more than having to say "yummy" a total of 29 times in the course of a 90 minute musical? The fact that I was force fed twinkies the entire show in order to make my character more authentic. I HATE TWINKIES. And I know that that may be hard to believe given my curvy stature, but trust me, I can't stand them.
Even though I wanted to pull my well curled eyelashes out one by one every time I had to say 'yummy' and started getting anxiety every time someone mentioned processed cream filled pastries, I stuck with it. I had to, my mother wouldn't let me quit. She always told me that I could do whatever I wanted, but once I started, I couldn't quit, until it was over.
This is something that I am glad my parents enforced, it has taught me a tremendous amount of responsibility, as well as, the great life lesson of sucking it up. The point of this being, there are always going to be things that we don't like, or agree with that we have to do. And I know that this sounds like such a preachy entry, and it is, kind of, but when I get down and out about a situation I like to remember this calorie infested play. It reminds me that if I had quit, I would have missed out on one of the greatest happinesses I have ever know, my first love, one of my best friends, and a constant supporter of mine who always fills my heart with sparkles, Brandi. Even though she broke up with me over email in the 6th grade, we still have a very amazing relationship.
Opossums, I am going to wrap this, but I am just trying to say that I know that our lives suck sometimes. We break up relationships (or, God forbid someone breaks up with us), we doubt ourselves as parents, we goof up at work, we drop our phones in the toilet, or we are force fed Hostess snacks. Whatever your "F*** My Life" moment is, something good is going to come from it, you will always get 'a Brandi' in the end.
I love y'all.
Will'yumm'.
Sparkles!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Franzcia Fiasco.
Never drink wine out of a box. You will regret it.
I don't know why the term "Wine from a Box" wasn't a clear enough indicator for me.
It tasted like nail polish remover or paint thinner and was as clear as water.
YOWSAS.
The results of this mistake involved calling the boy that I have been in love with for the past 2.5 years, who hasn't come out of the closet yet, but is very much a homosexual, and telling him that I am perfect for him, and the sooner he realizes that he is supposed to be with me, the better. Oh yeah. That happened. I also told him that the girl he was interested in was heinous (she totally isn't the most attractive thing, but I am sure she has a great personality, and I shouldn't have said anything anyways) and that she was a "beard". If you are someone who is wondering what a beard is (Nana Sherrell, if you are reading this, pay attention), beard is a term used to refer to a girl who is used by a closeted homosexual man, to make it appear as if he is really into women. When, in fact, he is only thinking about one thing..mmhmmm..
While talking to him and calling him all sorts of terrible names that he kinda of deserved, I was walking around my neighborhood. BAD IDEA. I started talking to my neighbor that I have never met. She told me if I saw her brother Christopher, to let him know that Mr. Mungo (which I assume is her cat) got home safely. PS I have never met this woman before, and here she is telling me to look for her brother and tell him her cat got home safely. Bitch, it is 11pm, and I am talking to my love interest, I don't give a damn about Mr. Mungo!
Ugh. Then I proceeded to lay down in our hammock in the backyard, this should go with out saying, don't get drunk and get in a hammock. I thought I fractured my skull, no worries, it is ok. I hung up with "him" and felt so sad because he is in such denial, and it haunts me to think that he is so perfect and won't tell me he loves me blah blah blah (this is, keep in mind, heightened emotions due to the Franzcia Refreshing White Wine, and always laugh at the people who do this sober). So what do I do? Call my mother. After leaving a hysterical message on her phone for a good 13 minutes I went to bed. I wake up at 6 craving a caffeine.
I then got in my car and drive to Jack in the Box, which is only a block away, and demand a large coke. Well, this bitch gives me a Diet Coke. And while I love Diet Coke, that is not what I asked for. So I put LaRhetta in reverse and got through that drive thru backwards, tap on the glass, and tell her in SPANISH this time, REGULAR COKE, GRANDE, POR FAVOR. I make it home and get ready for work.
All day I continued to feel HORRIBLE. The worst hangover ever, all because of this damn box of wine.
Moral of Story: Boxed wine should only be consumed by women who live in Reno, who bet all their money on the penny slots and wear shiny gold pants and Donnie and Marie Tour T-Shirts, or by kids in high school who will drink anything as long as they can fit in at "that party".
Just saying..
Love Y'allllll!
xo
Willyummm
I don't know why the term "Wine from a Box" wasn't a clear enough indicator for me.
It tasted like nail polish remover or paint thinner and was as clear as water.
YOWSAS.
The results of this mistake involved calling the boy that I have been in love with for the past 2.5 years, who hasn't come out of the closet yet, but is very much a homosexual, and telling him that I am perfect for him, and the sooner he realizes that he is supposed to be with me, the better. Oh yeah. That happened. I also told him that the girl he was interested in was heinous (she totally isn't the most attractive thing, but I am sure she has a great personality, and I shouldn't have said anything anyways) and that she was a "beard". If you are someone who is wondering what a beard is (Nana Sherrell, if you are reading this, pay attention), beard is a term used to refer to a girl who is used by a closeted homosexual man, to make it appear as if he is really into women. When, in fact, he is only thinking about one thing..mmhmmm..
While talking to him and calling him all sorts of terrible names that he kinda of deserved, I was walking around my neighborhood. BAD IDEA. I started talking to my neighbor that I have never met. She told me if I saw her brother Christopher, to let him know that Mr. Mungo (which I assume is her cat) got home safely. PS I have never met this woman before, and here she is telling me to look for her brother and tell him her cat got home safely. Bitch, it is 11pm, and I am talking to my love interest, I don't give a damn about Mr. Mungo!
Ugh. Then I proceeded to lay down in our hammock in the backyard, this should go with out saying, don't get drunk and get in a hammock. I thought I fractured my skull, no worries, it is ok. I hung up with "him" and felt so sad because he is in such denial, and it haunts me to think that he is so perfect and won't tell me he loves me blah blah blah (this is, keep in mind, heightened emotions due to the Franzcia Refreshing White Wine, and always laugh at the people who do this sober). So what do I do? Call my mother. After leaving a hysterical message on her phone for a good 13 minutes I went to bed. I wake up at 6 craving a caffeine.
I then got in my car and drive to Jack in the Box, which is only a block away, and demand a large coke. Well, this bitch gives me a Diet Coke. And while I love Diet Coke, that is not what I asked for. So I put LaRhetta in reverse and got through that drive thru backwards, tap on the glass, and tell her in SPANISH this time, REGULAR COKE, GRANDE, POR FAVOR. I make it home and get ready for work.
All day I continued to feel HORRIBLE. The worst hangover ever, all because of this damn box of wine.
Moral of Story: Boxed wine should only be consumed by women who live in Reno, who bet all their money on the penny slots and wear shiny gold pants and Donnie and Marie Tour T-Shirts, or by kids in high school who will drink anything as long as they can fit in at "that party".
Just saying..
Love Y'allllll!
xo
Willyummm
a Terrible Tiara Tale...
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.
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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