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Hooked up with a bunch of friends, including one fashion plate friend of mine whose luggage had been temporarily lost with all the crazy orange alert security. Fortunately it was found or shopping would have been the first order of business. Supposedly Middle Eastern psychos had targetted Vegas that week, possibly because of the adult media tradeshows in town, but good U.S. intelligence happily thwarted them. At any rate, once my friend was dressed, Forrest Black, Raven and Jeff from Sexy Couple, the whole Twisted crew, and a bunch of other folks all piled into this ridiculous Hummer stretch limo to go to the Playboy party for real this time. My pals were being such alcoholics that they made the limo driver stop off to buy more booze to drink during the trip from the hotel bar to the open bar Playboy party. They drank gross sweet hard liquor beverages which I passed on, but they appeared to enjoy. The club the Playboy party was at was weird. It included bedrooms you could sneak into if you didn't mind the spooge of swingers past. Rocking good time though.

Then went to bar at Venetian where much misbehavior ensued. My friend Kayla and Miss Bunny almost got 86ed by security, but those two girls just looked too darn hot and sexy making out that they didn't have the heart to kick them or any of the rest of us out.

The next night at the round bar at The Venetian, the bartender named a drink after me. It was this awesome frozen banana concoction that he created when I gave him general guidelines and said surprise me. I got really snockered because, after I tipped really high for the first one because it was delicious and so totally what I wanted, I got a real kick out of being able to tell everyone who wanted to buy me a drink to go order me an Amelia. So I had to keep doing it.

Basically, the day went like this:

Got registered for the convention. Hit the exhibit floor. Got to do oxygen which I like a lot. Especially after flying. Forrest Black and I drove to Vegas, but I still enjoyed some O2 to keep me chipper and healthy. Did some business and had some food. Then we were off for mischief at the circle bar at the Venetian. Ran into a zillion cool people I know and met a ton of cool new people. Had an amazingly good time. Went to a party at V Bar thrown by someone who thought Forrest wanted to kick his ass because he had a conversation with Forrest while Forrest had someone whose ass he did want to kick in his line of vision. Amusingly, the actual potential ass-kickee was at the V Bar party when our friends VIP passes first got us out of the line, but he left pretty immediately when he saw us. Ah, courage.

Hung out with some of the folks who work with the Goth F*ck site. Yeah, it is corporate and nonauthentic, but it is only a buck and a bunch of the people who work there are fun as anything to party with.

We naturally went to the circle bar at the Venetian. Had a really good time. See the pattern emerging. Forrest introduced me to a guy there who was saying he could do a lot to promote Gothic Sluts, Barely Evil, and Rubber Dollies. Then Forrest left me there to go to a party thrown by the evil king of Pierce My Pussy and Drunken F*cks (and apparently a zillion other sites) with one of the Twisted folks. So Mr. Promo is totally pleasant and we are having this totally cool conversation when out of the blue, he goes, "do you have nice feet?" I don't wear shoes much and, when I do, it is boots or sneakers, so my feet are very well formed. Forrest even shot one of my feet for Playboy once. Anyway, then Mr. Promotion opens up a cigarette box packed with buds and starts dumping it out on the bar in the middle of the casino. All Vegas casinos have eye in the sky security and I don't smoke anyway. So I told Mr. Promo, "not my drug" and beat a hasty retreat to the elevators to go meet Forrest and our Twisted pal. Only the promo guy is following me yelling across the Venetian lobby, "do you have a whip to go with those boots?" I'm all speed-walking away going, "nope, just the boots."

Then I'm up in the biggest suite I have ever seen at The Venetian. And even the smallest rooms at that hotel are kinda big. The party is all totally cool people. The host has a pentagram tattoo. Life couldn't be better. Only my cell keeps ringing. Yes, I gave the foot guy my cell number before he asked about what I had inside my New Rocks. And every time the guy calls he has some new pitch. I guess he went shopping downstairs after I said pot was not my drug and he tried to guess what chemistry might lure me back. Apparently he never hit on manners.

Webmasters sure can party though. The next night I had trouble getting up in time for a delicious steak dinner a friend of mine was throwing. Fortunately he invited all chicks. Mostly delightfully vain ones. So I was still the first to arrive. Even after the Venetian's laughable anti-terrorist security checkpoint took forever. I was supposed to go to an awards show afterwards which a cool friend of mine had scored me tickets for. (You can fill out the sexuality survey at her site.) Only I made the mistake of taking a nap. My friend was all looking for me and asked a group of folks from online if they had seen me. When asked what I looked like, she started to describe me when a picture of me and Junk Princess designer Jovana flashed on the screen and all my friend had to do was point. Apparently this shot in the slideshow repeated over and over, so at least I was there in spirit. I woke up from my nap at like 8am the next day with my cell phone voicemail full. Apparently I missed some great parties, but the human body can only take so much.

The next night, our posse hit a Tiki bar I had always heard cool things about from LA scenesters. I don't know if they were smoking with Mr. Promotion, but this bar was so lame it let ladies drink free but only horrid alcohol and couldn't even sell me a Heineken or a Red Bull and vodka. Plus they charged the guys $20 cover, I guess for theoretical access to drunk girls. At least girls who could get drunk on watered down American tap beer and rubbing alcohol-flavored off-label mixed drinks. Even the presence of Forrest, Szandora, Raven and Jeff of Sexy Couple, Vanilla DeVille, Busty Rachel Aziani, and the rest of the Twisted crew couldn't save this place.

So, big surprise, we headed back over to the round bar at The Venetian. A hottie who turned out to be Anna Malle asked one of my Twisted friends for a light. She was totally hot, so I asked her if I could take her pic. She said okay and then went to pose with Szandora. Some guy behind me tried to shoot the pose and Anna grabbed his camera, made him delete the image file, stuffed his camera back in his pocket, and told him to jerk it to one of her movies if he wanted her pic because she was on her off time and not working right then. I quietly put my camera away. Anna smiled sweetly and told me no no she gave me permission. I get along best with the most dangerous women. Anna and Szandora looked beautiful. You would never know from the photograph what monsters they both are. Then wildcat Anna got going trying to start a fistfight with the entire bar staff of the circle bar at The Venetian.

So we snuck over to the Sports Book where resourceful Forrest had sussed out that there was no line for drinks. I think I took one of my favorite snapshots of the trip there: Szandora licking the pentagram tattoo on our suite party host's arm after he stripped down in the middle of the casino at my request!

The next day Forrest and I picked up long time Blue Blood favorite Scar and hot Blue Blood newcomer Voltaire at the airport. We flew them in to be booth babes with Szandora at the bondage convention where we were exhibiting. Some of the other Blue Blood hotties at BondCon included Darenzia, Vamp Dahlia, Diana Knight, Summer Cummings, Mistress Domiana, Analyn Blue, Lydia Ivy West, Molly Winters, Jax, and Smokin Mary Jane. This might make it sound like the bestest event you could ever attend. Well, this year they held it at The Sports Center instead of the convention hotel. The convention hotel was theoretically The Luxor. Blue Blood paid for our booth babes to stay at The Luxor, but many models for other organizations couldn't afford it and were forced to stay at The Gold Coast. The Gold Coast had no shuttle to the convention and The Luxor was so tense about Bond Con attendees that they put the shuttle service practically in The Excalibur and hotel staff were hostile to inquiries about where to find the elusive shuttle of myth and legend.

Last year, everything was at The Stardust, which is an admittedly down at the heels casino and hotel, but it was so easy to get to every part of the convention from our rooms to the exhibit hall to the demos to the parties to the performances. Did I say performances? Well, last year they had big name performance artists from burlesque queen Dita Von Teese to fetish goddess Summer Cummings. This year they substituted an official convention play party. One with no alcohol. And no nudity.

So that night Forrest was the one who conked out and had the get some sleep. He is a hardier specimen than I am, so it took a few more days for his body to be like "sleep now, I mean it!" So the Blue Blood booth crew split up for the evening. Voltaire and I cabbed it to hook up with Szandora and Dying Sunshine at a punk dive bar, while Zoe Zoebaboe and Scar declared their intentions to try out the play party.

At the Doubledown Saloon, a big guy asked for Voltaire's ID and was quizzing her big time on birth year, last name spelling, etc. Eventually he asked for her number and we realized that he wasn't a bouncer or a doorman at all. At least not at that club. Then the four of us hit the round bar at The Venetian because frankly by this point I was addicted to it and the adult video convention had started and was at that hotel.

I embarrassed myself by asking one of the people I was chatting with what exhibit booth he was saying he had to get up early to work at. He said AVN and I was like duh, of course, but what booth. He turned out to be the editor of AVN, as opposed to someone showing at a booth at AVN. Happily, he also turned out to be cool and have all sorts of punk rock cred and he didn't laugh at me too much for my faux pas. I was jazzed to meet him. I was also jazzed when my friend Halcyon introduced me to the Fleshbot editor who had recently listed our sites Barely Evil, Gothic Sluts, and Space Girls.

We were at the round bar for maybe an hour when Scar called my cell and asked if we were still there because the play party sucked. Personally, I don't like parties where ugly strangers feel it is appropriate to touch me regardless, but a play party with no alcohol and no nudity? How would anyone like that? I told Scar, "Hell yeah, come on over." There is no last call in Vegas. So Scar brought her posse over too and much debauchery occurred, especially after the chime of lesbian o'clock. Really terribly mature readers can check it out here.

The next day, I believe we exhibited at Bond Con some more. My zinester friend Editrix Abby Ehmann had the 411 on Paul Nathan's suite party. This was a mixture of rock stars, porn chicks, fetish divas, trannies, the genuinely two snaps up and the merely fabulous. Which are sure hallmarks of an impressive shindig thrown by someone from San Francisco. Paul also did close-up magic which involved my shirt.

There was a watermelon in one of the suite's bathrooms. I went into the bathroom with Scar to show her the watermelon and our host Paul told me that there was no problem at all if I wanted to do drugs but please don't hog one of the only two bathrooms for too long. I told him we weren't doing drugs. We just wanted to take pictures of the watermelon. He seemed so dubious that I couldn't bring myself to ask him if the random watermelon placement was the movie reference I was thinking of or not. I was a little insulted by the drug assumption. I've got good manners. Like I wouldn't offer the host the opportunity to come share. Please.

Anyone get the movie reference or am I the biggest dork up in this mutha? Here is a hint: I am going to be doing a regular travel column for BlueBlood.net when it relaunches and it is going to be called "No matter where you go, there you are." Very very mature, verrrrrrry indecent readers are invited to check these party pix out here.

On the way home, I tried out one of those Aqua Massager things. My opinion to share with both enthusiasts and the curious is it was interesting, but not that relaxing. The way the motion on it worked, though, I was pretty sure I could get off if I just turned over, but it was too difficult to do that while inside and we had to get on the road, so I didn't go a second time. Apparently staying in Vegas that long is hard on a person. Look at what I looked like the last day on the water massage bed vs. what I looked like the first day hanging with the always wonderful Szandora.

The next weekend Scar, Forrest Black, and I went back to Vegas. I love that city. It is the land that time forgot. It is the place where it doesn't matter what is cool, just what people actually like. It is the world where all the six-year-olds who wanted to have castles when they grew up actually got them. I almost moved to Vegas when I moved to Los Angeles. My rationale for not moving there was that I loved visiting too much, loved staying in a different goofy theme hotel every time too much.

Although Vegas is my most frequent travel destination, I am going to be doing a regular travel column for BlueBlood.net when we relaunch. I can't decide where to go next. Should I go to Canada or Mexico? Email me and let me know which you would rather hear about or make a suggestion of a totally different tourist hot spot.