"Sin" City -- Yeah...RIGHT

So, you wouldn't think that anything wouldn't go in Vegas, would you? You know their big slogan -- what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? Gives the impression that this place is WILD, baby! Well, I'm here to tell you that you'd be wrong.

The hubs and I got to Vegas in record time...I think it may have taken us longer than anyone else this year. But, we got in, and raced right off to a bar. Because that's how we roll, okay?

So, there we are, in Red Square in the Mandalay Bay complex, having some kick-butt and scary expensive martinis. A couple of fun guys sit down next to us, and soon, it's a party for four -- sharing booze and jokes and generally having fun.

It's a Sunday night in Las Vegas -- the Sunday before Thanksgiving, I must mention -- in the middle of a scary crappy economic situation, so you'd FIGURE that they'd be thrilled we were there, drinking and laughing and generally showing their place to be a hip, happening spot. And you would be wrong.

One of the guys -- who I'll call John, since that's his name -- was telling ribald jokes in a loud and ribald manner. And he was told to keep it down. And to stop cursing. (This just in: Loud voices no longer allowed in Vegas.)

So, he tried. But we were drinking a LOT of vodka, and, well, fun folks get loud, okay? So, he got told, again, to stop talking loudly and, above all, to stop using "foul language". (This just in: Dirty words no longer allowed in Vegas.)

He tried. As God is my witness, he tried. But, you know, the jokes were good dirty jokes and, as will happen when a man is drinking $350 a bottle vodka (no freaking lie), he got loud again. And we were told, in no uncertain terms, to stifle John or get the hell out.

Yes, it's true. The hubs and I were kicked out of a bar in Vegas for being too loud and ribald. And the bar in Vegas kicked out two men who were -- up until our group shunning by the apparently Amish folks running this particular bar -- planning to try each and every vodka in the place. And the place has hundreds of vodkas. (This just in: Making money on the overpriced sale of alcohol no longer as important as decorum in Vegas.)

So, we went to another bar, where the DJ was rolling hot 70's tunes and John and I disco danced and were loud and obnoxious because no one could hear us while the other guy (name protected so his wife doesn't think he was doing anything untoward -- which he wasn't, since he wasn't being loud or using dirty words) and the hubs chatted business (sorta) and the other guy convinced the hubs that dancing with one's own wife is a good way to keep said wife happy.

I had a great time. I loved these two guys...at least, what I can remember of them. We all had a LOT of vodka. My only regret is that our new friends live in Texas and so I can't party with them on a regular basis. (This just in: It's apparently more fun in Texas than in Las Vegas.)

And remember if you're going to Vegas, you behave yourselves and keep the noise, and especially the dirty words, down. Decorum, that's the new Vegas slogan. And above all, do NOT, under any circumstances, order the $350 a bottle vodka and expect to be treated well by the bar staff.

Love,
Gini

Holiday Tip #2: If you buy Gini a bottle of $350 a bottle vodka, she will love you no matter what else you do.

Off...to Las Vegas...

...go north, the hunt is on. (A little something for you Johnny Horton fans out there. You know who you are.)

It's on. The man and I are heading for the City of Lights, the City That Never Sleeps, the City That Takes Your Money -- we're going to Vegas, baby!

I don't expect to win (much), but I do expect to eat, drink and be merry. And then go to SoCal and visit the 'rents and cook the turkey (yes, it's true, they leave the bird to me...why ask why?). And then come merrily home to collapse. And, possibly, write about it.

Conveniently, I need to go location scouting for books, and in both cities, too. So I'm sure this will all be tax deductible, right? Right? ESPECIALLY if we win big. Then that MUST be tax deductible, right? Right? (Of course, the chances of us winning big are in direct proportion to the likelihood that we will gamble enough to make winning a possibility. And we won't. So, for all you CPAs out there, no worries, we're cool.)

So, on the (likely) chance I don't 'see' all of you until after the big day, have a Happy Thanksgiving!

I leave you with Gini's Holiday Tip #1: If you put in enough wine, everything -- the turkey, the vacation, that boring relative who won't leave you alone, driving all over creation with your spouse, visiting your parents, boredom, the dessert -- comes out great. So, live by the motto of, "More wine!"

Love,
Gini

The Creation Agent, Installment 2 - Live

Alert for those of you not on Hook Me Up!

Installment 2 of my website-only serialized novel, "The Creation Agent" is up. Click on Expanded Universes and enjoy! And feel free to give comments and feedback on the blog.

Happy reading!

Love,
Gini

Gini's Spyder Web

So, I went to test drive the Y-factor. Which is marketing hype for a 3-wheeled motorcycle, called the Spyder.

We have Kawasaki Ninjas (mine is a 250, my husband's is a 600), but I'm still riding down the streets and highways going, "Ahhhhhhhhhh!" in my mind. The entire time. Every ride. I think I'm too aware of how easy it is to die on a bike.

I'm also too aware of the fact that I dropped my bike the first day I had it. Going 3 mph.

Of course, it dropped because I was going 3 mph. But, still, the healthy fear is there. And every corner said healthy fear rears its head and goes, "Gini...you're gonna die!" What can I say? My healthy fear has a life, and a big mouth, of its own.

I know that dropping the bike is my biggest fear. I also know that I love riding. So, the big motorcycle show was in town, and I decided to test drive a Spyder. A three-wheeled, traction-awesome, you-can't-drop-it, nor-can-you-flip-it bike.

The difference between a Spyder and a tricycle is that the two wheels are in the front on a Spyder, hence the Y-factor thing. The Spyder also looks like a modern Batcycle. It's very cool. You don't look stupid or scared on it, you look like you're about to go to the Bat Cave and change into your Kevlar Batsuit and then go fight crime in a totally cool manner. So, obviously, I like the way the Spyder looks.

I had a few challenges, of course. I mean, nothing can be easy, at least for me. I wanted to test drive their semi-automatic and essentially forced them to bring one to me for the mini-test. Because I panicked and went totally blank and could not, for the life of me or anyone else, remember how to shift. But, once that was past, I was good. Terrifying the instructors and salesmen, but still good. Slower than everyone else, but still good.

Hey, I feel the need for speed just like everyone else, but we were testing on city streets and the police force were out and cruising. About the last thing I wanted to do was get a speeding ticket during this test drive. I'll save that for when I get one and let 'er rip on the open road.

The big test, of course, wasn't the power. This thing has, easy, triple the engine power of my Ninja. I needed to catch up to the rest of the test driving herd, so I just revved it and flew, almost literally, through the intersection. No, power is not an issue. Neither is handling. Some of the guys testing with me felt it was bulky and didn't handle like their bikes. I was going, "I can't drop it!" I loved the way it handled. Especially around corners.

Oh, the corners. I was fine on most of them, but there was one right turn where I was going far too fast and I knew it. Had I been on my Ninja, I probably would have wiped out. But I felt the Spyder go, "Oh, she's taking this one too fast. Better slow us down a tad and engage the traction control. There we are, little lady. All safe, sound and speeding along." The Spyder also told my healthy fear to shut up and leave me alone. It was like driving the motorcycle version of KITT, only the Spyder has a sexier voice.

Needless to say, I want one. Preferably in black. Or silver. Maybe even the red. But the black is the coolest, and the most like Batman or Robin would drive. However, the yellow one is out. After all, I want to be Batgirl, not the Yellow BumbleBee.

Love,
Gini

P.S. Check out my Playlists page to see a picture of me on the Batcycle.

15 Minutes of Fame

Got to do something really fun the other night -- I got to lead a table topic at my RWA Chapter (Desert Rose) meeting. And no, it wasn’t on how to properly pick the right Aerosmith album to listen to while writing (though I could do that one in my sleep).

No, it was about networking at writing conferences.

And, before you scoff and snicker, I’m actually very good at it. It’s how I landed my most awesome agent. Well, I had good books, too, but I got in a strong position to share them with her by utilizing my networking skills.

It was great fun to share my experiences with the gals at my table. They had a lot of good questions, too, which is always great when you’re a speaker -- no one wants to present to the Silent Zombies. So, I had fun and got to impart some actual wisdom, so a good time had by all and all that.

Of course the real test isn’t how well it went with a group of writers who are already dedicated to the art and professionals in their own rights.

No, indeed. The real test is going to come next month. When I get to present to a full classroom…of high school students.

I'm sure it'll be fine. After all, to paraphrase my favorite line out of "Real Genius", the young folks love it when I get down with them verbally.

And maybe I can convince some of the nice gals who were at my table at the Desert Rose meeting to come with me as plants in the audience...hey, they were all fun and youthful, it could work...

-- Love, Gini