Vegas is for Lovers (Perverts Too)  

I've got a special treat for you guys today; a guest post from Gillian, a girl who really gets around -- both online and off. Be sure to check out her blog FilmFemme, her exemplary work with Guidespot, and you can also follow her on Twitter!

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Hi there loyal Jay’s blog readers. I’m Gillian and boy oh boy, I’m doing a guest post! I have my own blog, but on it I write about movies, not my mundane and crappy life like Jay does. Needless to say, I’m eager to overshare a horrible story from my past here on genius pending (which incidentally I usually read as “genius spending” which doesn’t even make any sense, but I digress). So here it goes, from the annals of Las Vegas.

Thanksgiving 2007, I was still freshly single and myself and two of my girl friends from college decided to go to Vegas. One friend (we’ll call her Charlie) and I head out from L.A. to meet up with another who is flying in from Phoenix. We meet her in our hotel – the glamorous and ultramodern Tropicana. My friend from Phoenix, let’s call her Jo, was already waiting for us in the Celebration Lounge, a really amazing bar in the Tropicana complete with a house band that covered everything from Copa Cabana to Hey Ya. It was already fairly late when we checked in, so we got to exploring Vegas quickly. The details here are fuzzy, but we certainly had a few Amstel Lights (no idea why this was the drink of choice) and somehow ended up back at the Tropicana, desperate to get to the pool. Jogging through the tortuous hallways on the way back to our room (those hallways get CONFUSING) to change, we encountered a young man by himself, lingering. He’s probably not taller than 5’8” and may have resembled handsome, but mostly he was male and he was alone and didn’t seem to understand English. Like, at all. Immediately, he was invited to join us at the pool and the four of us found our way there, two white girls in proper swim attire, one white girl in a bra and panties and one Spanish man in dingy white briefs. Despite the language barrier, he did seem well versed in the universal language as he made out with Jo under the fake waterfall.

Q: How do you say “How do you say waterfall in Spanish?” in Spanish?
A: COMO SE DICE WATERFALL?!?

To which he so charming replied with nothing more than a batting of the eyelashes and an attempt to force his tongue down my throat. Those Spaniards are so charming. Eventually, security came (apparently the pools in Vegas are not open 24 hours) and we were unceremoniously kicked out. Seems the rhetorical skills that had earned each of us liberal arts degrees were useless against Tropicana security.

Our awkward foursome made it back to our room where shenanigans continued. The next thing I remember is our companion emerging from our bathroom wearing nothing but a smile, completely erect. God’s gift to women proceeded to chase each of us around the room, out onto our porch and back inside to the point that Jo, who had originally invited this “man” into our room became so exhausted (or, who am I kidding, so drunk) that she has to lay down. She got into bed and pulled the covers over her head. My other friend had given up on standing long ago and was also in bed. So I’m left standing in our room in the Tropicana with a naked, erect Spaniard and only a very tentative grasp on my high school Spanish. I tried to beg him, nicely at first, to get dressed and leave, meanwhile keeping his less than formidable weapon as far away from me as possible. When this failed and he continued to dance around the room, stepping over the piles of clothes and toiletries that had already accumulated, I got more and more agitated and Charlie awoke to help me. “Get your ropa and GET OUT!” I shouted, pointing to the pile of clothes that I presumed to be his. Still, the only response I managed to garner was for him to wrap our bathmat around his manhood. Out of bed came my friend, echoing my Spangish pleas, but still the Spaniard laughed playfully, unconcerned. Finally, in a moment of brilliance, my friend opened the door and started to take a step out. In his sprightly way, he motioned to follow her and when he was out in the hallway, she slipped back in quickly and we shut the door leaving him in the hallway wearing nothing but our bathmat. A small price to pay. Crisis averted. Temporarily, anyway.

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Interested in doing a guest post or blog swapping with Genius Pending? Send me an email. Don't just fire off a post to me though, in case you suck. I'd hate for you to waste a lot of time on my behalf.

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