Happiest Place on Earth

Even though my bank account was getting dangerously close to "E," when Natalie asked me to accompany her to Las Vegas, I knew I'd find a way out there. Something about a hot 22-year-old blonde asking me to accompany her to Sin City just struck a chord within me -- probably in my pants.

And when she told me she'd never been to a strip club and wanted me to take her to the Crazy Horse Too, I sounded just like Jules Winnfield: "Shiiiit, ne-gro, that's all you had to say!"

I was in my normal Saturday morning daze when Natalie showed up. We hit the bank to withdraw the remaining pennies from my account and began our journey listening to Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger." A montage of previous trips to Vegas played in my mind while we talked and took turns playing DJ.

It was a beautiful day and it would soon turn into a beautiful night when the booze was flowing, the cards were being dealt, and the strippers were taking my remaining dollar bills.

We made pit stops at Del Taco in Upland and Bun Boy in Baker (home of the World's Tallest Thermometer!) before descending upon my favorite city in the world. Like a football player going through his pre-game rituals before the Super Bowl, I, too, have certain things I do before hitting Sin City: singing along to Tenacious D, eating the exact same meal at Del Taco (cheeseburger, two tacos, chili cheese fries, small Mr. Pibb), and popping in the Swingers soundtrack as soon as we roll into town. I'm glad Natalie hasn't been scared off by my Vegas road-trip idiosyncrasies. At least not yet.

At the Excalibur, we met my cousin and Natalie's friends. I was feeling a bit antsy, seeing that almost 30 minutes had passed since we'd been in Vegas and I hadn't had a cocktail or made a single bet.

Luckily, before I passed out from a lack of drinking and gambling, I found myself in the Excalibur poker room. It's a new and spacious room, obviously put together in response to America's recent obsession with poker. The lighting wasn't that great, but the service was excellent. Within seconds of sitting down, I had the first of an endless stream of vodka tonics.

The cards weren't falling for me and while I'm not winning money, I'm not losing much, either. That's poker. I was having a good time with my fellow players, who were a mixed bunch of locals and tourists. The drinks were flowing, the laughs were plentiful, but I knew I had to eat soon before I ended up plastered and face down in some random Vegas gutter. Again.

My cousin and I grubbed down some fast food before kicking it at the bar. We caught up on each other's lives: life had thrown some curve balls at us, but we were still in the batter's box, taking our swings. And even though we hadn't seen each other in a few years, our brother-like bond had us joking and laughing like no time had passed at all.

We pounded a coupla more cocktails before heading to the greatest strip club on the planet, the Crazy Horse Too. I don't care what Disneyland says; for my money, the Horse is the Happiest Place on Earth. Whenever I'm here, I have a smile on my face that goes on for days and days. It only disappears when I check the dozens of ATM receipts from the night.

We kicked it near the bar before Natalie and her friends showed up. We're short a chair and I asked the guys next to us if I could take one of their unused ones. They said yes and as I'm moving it to our party, I recognized one of the guys as John Dolmayan, drummer for System of a Down. I've seen plenty of celebrities at the Horse, but he's the only one I felt the need to say "I'm a big fan" and shook his hand.

Adhering to Strip Club Etiquette 101 (Thou Shalt Not Talk To Guys Who Aren't Your Friends For More Than 30 Seconds), I left him alone and returned to the party. Soon, Natalie and I moved to center stage for a better view of the action. We were making references to the strip club scene in Beverly Hills Cop when Vanity 6's "Nasty Girl" started blaring through the sound system. We were cracking up and I checked to make sure nobody was wearing trench coats inside the club, although I doubt the Horse's security force would have any problem handling any two-bit crooks that showed up.

The dancers were showing Natalie a lot of love, among other things. As I threw back drinks and watched stripper after stripper grind, fondle, and lick* Natalie for her dollar bills, I'm reminded why I love this town so much. The World's Tallest Thermometer might be in Baker, but that night, it was in my pants.

Like a Jedi Master's pride in his padawan learning how to use The Force, I'm beside myself at how quickly Natalie had taken to her strip club lessons. She knows when to tip, but, more importantly, she knows how to tip. Anyone can toss singles onto the stage, but she'd already mastered the art of tipping with style by stuffing dollar bills down her shirt, where the dancers had to be a little more, uh, creative in retrieving them.

Obviously, this was the Greatest Night in the History of My Life.

At 3am our stack of dollar bills was gone and although it was still early, we decided to call it a night. After a few hours of sleep I was back in the poker room for breakfast, which consisted of more Texas hold'em and no food whatsoever. Natalie showed up around noon and we said our goodbyes to my cousin and her friends.

It was another legendary trip and, much to my surprise, I'd had a few hours of sleep, I wasn't in jail, and my wallet still had some money in it.

Booze, poker, and boobs: when you absolutely, positively got to have a good Saturday night ... accept no substitutes.

*Okay, I didn't actually see any licking, but a guy can dream, can't he?

NOTE: The Crazy Horse Too is no longer the Happiest Place on Earth, ever since they were busted for having ties to organized crime. It was the worst-kept secret in town, but somehow the Feds finally got some charges to stick. Long live The Horse.

drive-by sex stealers

Hello boys and girls (and girls). It's Friday night and where is Sindy? Home. Alone. WTF? No wait. WTF! Truth be told I'm home by choice. I'm emotionally exhausted and slightly overwhelmed. I mean, I've had erect penises thrown at me left and right for the past week - one nearly caught me in the eye! Momma always said wear protection or get an eye poked out. When are these guys going to learn to serve their erections on a silver platter next to chocolate covered strawberries, chapaign, and $2,000 in large bills? I don't know. Just wondering. ;)

The grass is always greener my friends. When you want to be left alone romantically you never get a moment of peace, but the second you feel frisky - crickets. Well where the fuck are those crickets now? Someone needs to train those little bastards to show up on cue!

I have a few male friends who are obsessing daily about not having girlfriends to the point I just want to blow my brains out. Really. I do. Because every time they say, "Why didn't it work out?" They answer their own question with, "Well she never acted interested in having a relationship with me anyway." Well damn, there you go genius, mystery solved! But no. That answer doesn't sit well with their egos so their going to irraitate me some more with, "But she kissed me when we went out on dates. So she must like me, right?" You know what buddy, in all honesty, I don't fucking know. I told you to dump her a long time ago but hey, what do I know about girls who treat guys like back burners? I'm just a girl. I'm stupid. Fuck. Whatever. Dude. She's gone. She's not into you. Deal with it. But oh no. Why move on when you can irritate the crap out of your friends for another 3 months obsessing, obsessing, obsessing ...

I think certain male friends knocked the sex right out of me. Wham! Drive-by! Sex stealers. I kid you not. Certain male friends irritate me with long irrational emails of "WHY AM I ALONE???" and when I try to help them with feminine advice into the female mind, they tell me I'm wrong. Wha ...? How am I wrong? Instead they defend the girl who doesn't seem to like them very much. What-the-fuck-ever. Look buddy, here's my advice for guys dealing with the same bullshit, if she doesn't call you, fuck you, or slip you some tongue within, oh, 3 dates, she's just not into you. The end. That doesn't make you a loser. Acting like a pussy makes you a loser. Don't be a pussy. No one likes a pussy except for big hairy gay bears who own dungeons - and well now ME. Dig it? Grow your sacks back! Listen to Tom Leykis if you have to, do anything but stop killing my sex drive. I've never even dated you dudes and you're killing my sex drive. STOP. Damn. No wonder you don't have a girlfriend. Shit man. Just sayin' (nothing makes a woman hot like a whiney dude) .... Whatever. Oh, and FYI, girls know after five minutes being with you if she's going to fuck you so, after 3 dates and you get nothing, not even tongue, time to call it quits.

Win big money at your poker game GMP, I might need "professional" help getting my F back. Christ no wonder you don't hang out with these guys.

Sometimes men are their own worst enemy. reminds me of a song.


You see it all around you
Good lovin' gone bad
And usually it's too late when you, realize what you had
And my mind goes back to a girl I left some years ago,
Who told me,

Just Hold On Loosely, but don't let go
If you cling to tightly, you're gonna lose control
Your baby needs someone to believe in
And a whole lot of space to breathe in

It's so damn easy, when your feelings are such
To overprotect her, to love her too much
And my mind goes back to a girl I left some years ago
Who told me,
Just Hold On Loosely,
but don't let go
If you cling too tight babe, you're gonna loose control
Your baby needs someone to believe in
And a whole lot of space to breathe in
Don't let her slip away
Sentimental fool
Don't let your heart get in her way
yeah, yeah, yeah,

You see it all around youGood lovin' gone bad
And usually it's too late when you, realize what you had
And my mind goes back to a girl I left some years ago,
Who told me,
Just Hold On Loosely,
but don't let go
If you cling to tightly, you're gonna lose control
Your baby needs someone to believe inAnd a whole lot of space to breathe in
So Hold On Loosely,
but don't let go
If you cling too tight babe, you're gonna lose it
You're gonna -- lose control
yeah, yeah, yeah
Just Hold On Loosely but don't let go
If you cling too tight babe, you're gonna loose control
Hold on Loosely, but don't let go
If you cling too tight babe, you're gonna loose control
yeah, yeah, yeah

Word.

Easy

I wanted to blog tonight, but wasn't feeling inspired. I could've written about having dinner with a friend and all of the cute things her kids did at the restaurant. Or about how the Lakers are gonna be the same middle-of-the-road team they were last year, based on their preseason games so far. Or about the latest issue of Playboy and the great interviews with Robert Redford and former UFC champ Chuck Liddell. Yeah, GMP, discuss the interviews in Playboy. That'll have the readers coming back in droves.

Since I wasn't feeling any of these topics, I decided to take the easy way out by re-posting a weeks-old myspace bulletin I'd answered in typical GMP fashion. (Note the third-person routine again. Damn, I gotta get laid). Just a quick cut-and-paste and voila! Instant blog! It's also a great segue into pimping the In Hot Water Myspace Page.

Man, there ain't nothing to this blog-writing business.


10 Random Questions

What would you do if ...

1. You won the lottery:
"I'm rich, biatch!" (honk, honk)

2. You caught your BF/GF cheating on you with your best friend:
Ask myself, "What would O.J. do?"

3. You saw someone hitchiking on the highway:
"I'm rich, biatch!" (honk, honk)

4. You caught a friend stealing from you:
Depends on whether it's a cash game or tournament, our chip stacks, and what my table image is. I'd either fold and wait for the next hand, smooth call and see what to do depending on the texture of the flop, or re-raise to isolate and/or win the pot right there (obviously, a shout-out to my poker-playing buddies. Ship it!)

5. You witnessed a murder:
Couldn't think of a smart-ass answer for this one. I'd make another O.J. joke, but that's just too predictable. By the way, he's guilty.

6. A random stranger offered you ice cream:
If she's hot, I'd lick it off her. If not, I'd have a few drinks, then lick it off her.

7. MySpace is closed:
I have a life again!

8. You learned that there won’t be Internet anymore:
I'd write letters instead of emails, look things up in encyclopedias and almanacs instead of google, and renew my subscription to Hustler instead of, well, you know.

9. You learned your best friend has a crush on you:
Must mean we're in prison together.

10. You found a wallet without an ID and fully loaded with $$$$:
"I'm rich, bitch!" (honk, honk)

Whatever Turns You On, Baby

Normally, it's no pants and no mask during sex, but let's be honest: if it helps get me laid, I'm wearing the mask. And a cape. And maybe Jennifer Beal's Flashdance outfit, if that's what the ladies are into these days.

It's been a long time since the GMP experienced the joys of Naughty Time. The GMP misses it. The GMP misses it so much that he's referring to himself in the third person.

And I can't believe I'm discussing my sex life on the internet. Pardon me while I go shoot myself.

"I want my records back!"

GMP! I gotta know, do you wear the mask when you have sex? I would ask that one 23 year old but she deleted you from myspace. You heart breaker! At least you got your DVD back. I didn't get my stuff back, that bastard.

In Hot Water

Many moons ago, in the land of Myspace, Sindy Slick Booty and I, Grand Master Pants, vowed to entertain and enlighten the blogosphere with our tales of drunken debauchery, excursions into Hollyweirdness, and whatever random shit we could pull from our collective asses.

Thus, In Hot Water was born. A blog inspired by countless emails, text messages, and happy hours. A blog fueled by barroom chili, ice cold Coronas, and Popeye's chicken. A blog written without the use of pants.

And, in case you were wondering: Yes, we are a coupla mushroom-cloud-laying motherfuckers, motherfuckers.