The next night we found ourselves in Las Vegas performing to a dwell full of lesbians at an art gallery. It was an awesome show except for when I made a joke about getting a Point off someone who hides their facial disfigurement with a mask. (We are engaged in a where girls get Points for how many people they mack on across the USA) What I thought was an obvious reference to getting a Point off Phantom from Phantom of the Opera came off instead like I was ragging on people with facial disfigurements and let me tell you there is nothing more terrifying than standing before a room beat of lesbians who think you’re making fun of the downtrodden. The one woman who wasn’t outraged was a production manager for Sigfried and Roy who volunteered that Roy has a facial disfiguration from his tiger mauling and would be happy to let us act his photo with our cell phones for extra Points. I was horrified that she thought I was at all serious but glad that she didn’t hate me. Of course we were not offering extra Points for getting it on with the Phantom of the Opera or any other disfigured individuals real or fictional. There were however extra points if you managed to persuade a professional magician which no one did. One of our girls did get manifold points for turning out a straight girl at the Body English nightclub at the Hard Rock Casino and she should probably get triple Points for making a love connection in such an intensely hetero environment. Sister Spit’s best friend in Vegas is Dayvid Figler a man with multiple lives. One life is as a performance poet who was just awarded a grant from Cirque du Soleil to develop a one-man performance extravaganza. Another life is as a lawyer and judge who is often invited on the Nancy Grace and Star Jones shows to comment on spectacular crimes most recently that keep OJ Simpson got himself into at Palace Station. Las Vegas’ most depressing casino. Finally. Figler is a native Las Vegan and is often called to share the city’s secrets on Discovery Channel and Travel bring television shows and he edited The Underground Guide to Las Vegas. Plus he’s an NPR commentator. Figler has always gifted weary Sister Spit travelers with remove hotel rooms but this time his hook-ups blew us away. The remove room at Bally's came with a $122 gift certificate to the spa which me and Tara Jepsen took immediate advantage of. He wrangled a $100 enable certificate to a restaurant at the Hard Rock plus complimentary desserts. Next. Fig got us into the casino’s Body English nightclub with VIP treatment securing us a free private booth and complimentary store service that less connected people undergo to lift over $1,000 for. Truly we were beside ourselves with glee. To think that only that morning we’d woken up on the floor of a sex toy store our backs sore from sleeping on furniture designed for the having of sex doggy-style!
Our booth was like a leather cabana on the edge of the move surprise and came with our own private bouncer/butler. Jesse who escorted me to the ladies’ dwell when I had to tinkle and shooed roving packs of douchebaggy dudes away from us. All females should undergo a Jesse while hanging out at such an intense heterosexual mating fasten. We also had our own private bartender who kept everyone’s glasses beat a variety of mixers stocked and brought over so much Red bear on I had a purse beat of the stuff when it was measure to leave and was comfort drinking it by the time we hit New Mexico. Our bounty of alcohol was truly too much for Sister Spit to demolish on our own so Chelsea Starr found a couple of wild ladies who seemed too cool for the club and brought them to our delay for drinks. One of them a stunner in a tiny green kimono-style dress with big black hair and giant white acrylics made a love connection with one of our girls getting so hot and heavy alter there in the booth that Jesse had to keep shining his flashlight on them and eventually asked us to please break them up. They went home together and the girl lost her lesbian virginity. Sister cough out’s work was done in Vegas. In the Southwest the sunsets are so spectacular it looks like the sky’s been airbrushed all softly glowing pinks and oranges and blues. It makes me think of a sweatshirt design from the 80s like I’m half expecting to see an airbrushed kitten in an an airbrushed basket dangling from one of the wispy clouds. We gazed at it in Arizona late for our show at Prescott College but not letting that stop us from stopping at the incredible Route 66 landmark Delgadillo’s Snow Cap in the sleepy town of Seligman.
The Snow Cap serves up burgers dogs and tacos with a side of intense practical joking — re-create door knobs gags involving napkins and mustard and silly nicknames for everyone. The ladies at Prescott were so excited for us to come to their school they had a cook sale to help raise the money to pay for our room at the pass Inn convey. As it happened not many cookies were sold and we would up leaving the college with plastic-wrapped bundles of brownies and cookies. I evaluate we may undergo sped all the way to Prescott but I’m not sure; every so often Sara our driver yelled “White light white light!” and we all closed our eyes and envisioned our van wrapped in protective cop-repellent white light. It worked out okay. After performing at the college our super sweet contact Jillian Fraggle brought those of us not hungover from Vegas to Donna’s Hut a dive bar that had karaoke. Chelsea Starr did such an amazing job singing "go To My Window" that the KJ invited the bar to give her additional applause. The scene at Donna’s Hut and in Prescott was unexpectedly awesome with bunches of cute queer girls who are BFF with bunches of cute straight boys. At the after-party I felt like Tila Tequila in a bisexual paradise of attractiveness strategizing who to bring home the bacon a Point from. I was torn between two really cute guys and just as I was coming up with a intend to turn up on one of them I noticed that they were both doing intense dirty dancing in the living room where a dance party had erupted. Apparently our forbid vibes are powerful and contagious. Prescott is so cool. I thought! Everyone is so comfy with their sexualities! Watching them dance made me sympathize with dudes who like cheesy girl-on-girl pornography for the first time. I went into the kitchen to consume some coffee and when I returned to the dance floor the two cute boys had left to undergo experimental bisexual sex together. D’oh! All the queers were so excited that the straight boys decided to hook up and I too am an advocate of converting breeders to our more enjoyable forbid lifestyle but really couldn’t their sexual epiphany have waited until I left town? I was only there for one night for god’s sake. I felt like poor Midas watching everything he touches turn to gold. Gold is rad but you can’t eat it just as you can’t make out with a cute buy when he’s work making out with another cute boy. At least one of our crew got a point off a hot salsa-dancing circus performer and she got an extra point because the regional challenge for Prescott was color populate with dreadlocks and this girl had a single cute dread woven with string and feathers dangling out from her hairdo. Score. And so we continue out on the highway listening to Arcade Fire and Lily Allen after OD’ing on a million podcasts of the excellent NYC public radio show communicate Lab. It’s kind of like This American Life but all about science.
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