"Now I aint sayin' she a gold digga, but she aint hanging wit no......guy in wing-tips, shorts, and socks?"

The gal can clearly shop (though I'll refrain from critiquing her multilayered ensemble...she's pulling it off...) but her choice in accessories is, shall I say, awkward? Maybe he forgot his "casual, out for a walk with my mail-order bride" shoes, and he had these rockin' high-heeled wingtips left over from the wedding last night, beige socks to match the ensemble, and voila?

Dude, Vegas is a giant mall. Kick off your heels and put on some flip flops.

Do it for your lady, she likes the finer things.

Having an entourage helps people distinguish whether you are an actual hooker, or just a regular no-cost skeezbag.

Shall I start from the bottom or the top?

A la Joan Rivers: "Darling, what are you wearing?"

Hair: "I just did the roadie from Poison last night"

Shirt: "Roy Horn gave this to me after he was mauled by the tiger! Sweet, huh?"

Skirt: "I just want everyone to know I'm not a dude. See? Nothing hanging down here but a few threads!"

Boots: "David Bowie from the Labyrinth, remember? Geez."

And, as always, what goes around comes around. Or turns around. Entourage in tow.

Sneak Preview

You can't keep a lot of secrets in Las Vegas. We can see the desperation in the length of time folks spend sitting at the penny slots, and the length of the ash on their cigarettes. We can see how much money you're spending on your trip if you come down from the Bellagio Elevator or just stroll in from the street. And----what?----damn!----girl, we can see all your lady business in that cut out skirt!!!

Maybe the group counselor at your halfway house told you to be open with people, but that is something that should be closed up, sealed, and maybe you should throw away the key. I'm not going to even ask what that squiggly is on your inner left thigh, and why you felt the need to share it with us. You're obviously on the prowl, and quite possibly "on the job," but damn girl, if you want to work for Heidi Fleiss, put on the rest of your skirt. The indentions those little circles will leave are going to look like polio shots come morning...

Cowboy Ugly

There is a place in Vegas where (as a good friend puts it) "smiles go to die." This place is called the New Frontier Casino. And inside this nest of smoky blue haired ladies and slot machines there is a little country and western "club" called Gilley's. Oh Gilley's.

It is 50% lovely young ladies riding mechanical bulls in bikinis and dancing in cages. The other 50% is a counterpart of this fellow. Middle aged white men in wife beaters tucked into to their Wranglers. Few go in without the ten gallon and the over sized belt buckle. It was a haven of over weight men trying to "lay the pipe."

And if pictures could represent smells, I wouldn't be able to post this at all. The overwhelming smell of cologne cleared my sinuses. But he made up for it with the gold necklace that so delicately laid among his forest of chest hair.

If you do travel to Las Vegas. Stop in and say "Howdy"... if you're in the military. Then it's only $5. If you're a lady, it's the only "club" on earth that will charge you $5 extra.

What?

I have to thank this kid. He was great to pretend pose, while I snapped pictures of unsuspecting individuals through out Vegas. He smiled all the while knowing I would crop him out later. So here's to you Matt!




It's hard to explain this situation, really. I don't know if she was sick or drunk or just nuts? It was 75 degrees and she was wearing thick black tights and a sweatshirt with a terrible faux jean shirt with white lace on the bottom.

She hobbled along as if she were going to fall over. And shook. Not in an Parkinson way, but more of a "I'm about to walk into this casino and show the work who's boss." Very Creepy. I actually didn't get a good shot because I feared for Matt's life.

Has anyone seen my dog? A black show poodle...

I live in Portland, not in the hills of Mongolia. So how could I have missed out on this fashion crisis? This was my first run in with the champion of the boot war. Move over Uggs! At first glance, nothing seems to appear off. Follow the long hair to the down the back and continue on to the boots.

This is one of many, many pairs of this particular type of boot I saw. I thought Uggs were bad! I think she had her poodle skinned and wrapped around her feet. Unfortunately, this is not the worst set I saw. They come in an array of pastel colors. Baby Blue, Pink, Lavender and the Classic White.

In what world is it okay to where a tank top and fuzzy boots fit for snow shoeing?

Ode to Vegas Rump!

Las Vegas, Nevada. Sin City. What goes on in Vegas stays in Vegas. Well, mostly anyway. Too bad for this fashion villian this is too good to keep to myself.

Where to begin... Oh, yes, the jeans. I'm not sure who allowed this tragedy to happen to the golden tradition of american blue jeans. But, some one deserves a slashing for their creation. And two slashes to anyone who purchases them!

On to the top. Yes that is her black bra strap with pink lace. And sadly the camera failed to capture the fact that the yellow part of her shirt hanging off the shoulder is actually a zipper that travels all the way across her back.

With that being said. "Hell yeah sista for letting those stretch marks sparkle in the sunshine!"

(And, yes, the lady in the leopard suite is with her.)