Memories of a Fanilow: Part Deux
April 7th, 2010
(In Part 1, my friend Karen and I go to the Barry Manilow concert in Las Vegas. Here’s all of the fun that happened next.)
9:00 p.m. The concert over, I’m trying to decide between a rhinestoned Manilow tee or a silk Manilow pillow case at the Paris gift shop. Karen pulls out her camera and looks at the pictures she took of Barry. “Oooh, here’s one of Barry smiling!” she says. “And here’s one of him…grinding his pelvis? I don’t remember that, but…”
Suddenly a short woman with a Pixie hair cut—wearing what appears to be the JC Penney version of Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat—sticks her finger right on the camera’s screen. “No pictures allowed!” she snaps. “Didn’t you see the sign? BARRY doesn’t like photographs at his shows. You need to delete those now!”
We stare at her, open mouthed, until Karen jams her camera into her purse. “That isn’t BARRY in those pictures,” she snottily tells the militant Fanilow, “It’s my nephew…Ethan. So, good-bye to you, you lady!” Then she turns to me, hisses, “Get your Manilow crap. NOW!” and hotfoots it past the blackjack tables to the safety of the mini-Arc de Triomphe. I quickly pay for my Manilow wine glass and wonder if the crowd at Bon Jovi is this dangerous.
My Wine Glass: I use it every chance I get
(Note: From here on out, all times are approximate.)
9:30 p.m. We’re safely outside on the Strip, and while the entire night has left me feeling drained, Karen is now amped up from the Fanilow confrontation. “Let’s go fist pump at a club!” she yells as we pass drunks carrying two-foot long margarita glasses. “Just like those orange kids do on that show!” Since dancing like The Situation is about the last thing I want to do ever, I distract her by offering to buy her candy at Caesar’s. She agrees, but makes me throw in a $14 martini, too.
10:00 p.m. I’m still desperately trying to avoid “clubbing” (which I know for a fact I’m too old to do because I use air quotes whenever I say it), so I tell Karen we can get free drinks if we gamble. While we sit at the loud, flashing machines waiting for the cocktail waitress to show up, she pouts a little, then tries to help me win.
Karen: Save your Jack!
Me: No.
Karen: Save your Queen!
Me: No.
Karen: Save your King!
Me: No.
Karen: You’re never going to get to 21 at this rate. You suck at Blackjack.
Me: That’s because this is video poker, dummy.
10:30 p.m. Back on the Strip, the crazy energy of the crowd is making Karen act younger as the night progresses. Unfortunately, it’s having the opposite effect on me as I’m rapidly turning into a cranky Senior Citizen mourning the old Vegas. “That’s where the Desert Inn used to be,” I rasp, “right where that pack of douchebags now stands. And the Tropicana was that way. I saw the legendary Gallagher perform there once. And down the street you could get ten shrimp cocktails, a porterhouse steak and a shot of whiskey for just 99 cents…”
“Knock it off, Charo,” Karen huffs as we pass men handing out escort service business cards. “It’s not like you were hanging out with the Rat Pack. You’re nostalgic for 1995. Now let’s find a club before you break a hip, grandma.”
11:00 p.m. We decide to stop for a drink in a dark Bellagio lounge packed with herds of 20-somethings on the prowl. Guys who think they’re Vince Vaughn from Swingers, girls wearing the equivalent of a man’s black sock turned into a tube dress. I sit there with my Manilow fan club credentials in my purse, nursing my white wine spritzer, and feel like I have “PTO Loser” stamped on my forehead. This is later confirmed when the cute bartender calls me “ma’am” and refuses to check my ID despite my repeated requests.
11:30 p.m. During a restroom visit, we see a leather-clad woman with 5-inch long fingernails who we suspect is talking to her pimp on her cell phone. “SHE’S A SHOOKER!” Karen whisper/slurs. “Do you think she’s one from the skanky business cards?”
“Maybe,” I whisper/slur back, “but back in my day, it was more sophis…sophis…classy. You got your shookers from a taxi driver.”
While we not-so-subtly watch the maybe-hooker reapply her lipstick, Karen launches into a long, convoluted story about a girl we knew in high school who’s now allegedly a Vegas escort, too. “But I don’t think she’s a very good one,” Karen opines, “because her prostitution territory is the Excalibur buffet. This lady looks like an A-List hooker! Whooo! Good job, you shooker! Norma Rae!”
We’re beginning to get really good at making fast exits.
12:00 a.m. Much to my horror, someone hands us two “Ladies Night” passes to the club at the Bellagio. Karen squeals “Fist pump!” and giggles happily as we approach the velvet ropes; I look like I’m headed for my annual pap smear. We stand near the front of the line for quite a while, but for some reason, the thick-necked bouncers won’t acknowledge us. Instead, they’ve ushered in Sock Dresses, Japanese high-rollers, and a few guys who look like Ed Hardy threw up on them. Frustrated, Karen taps the bouncer on his shoulder and shoves our “Ladies Night” passes into his face. “Sir!” she yells, drawing the attention of everyone within a 20-foot radius, “We’ve got COUPONS! TWO COUPONS! So let us in! WE HAVE COUPONS!”
For some reason the word “coupons” doesn’t grant us entree into the VIP lounge, so then—in a move that would make her Jersey Shore friends very proud—Karen screams, “I’M A 41-YEAR-OLD WOMAN AND I DO NOT NEED THIS FRIGGIN’ BULLSHIT!” and we stomp away. Thank you, Jesus, there will be no club tonight.
1:00 a.m. Or maybe there will be. Because after wandering aimlessly for a bit, Karen finds a club in the Aria that has even more Tube Dresses and Douchebags waiting in line. She saunters up to the front and tries to charm the bouncers, but once again, no go. I try not to smile as I pat her back to console her and wonder where the Budweiser in my right hand came from.
1:15-1:35 a.m. Unclear and debatable.
1:40 a.m. We’ve decided to head back to the hotel, thank God, but on our way home, we pass one more club. I suck it up and tell Karen we can try again, then I take out my iPhone to call my sister. Suddenly, the phone starts blaring Manilow singing “Even Now” and I realize that I somehow recorded an illegal bootleg of the concert. (And, as I would find out the next day, I also emailed said bootleg to about 25 not-so-thrilled people on my contact list.) The bouncer hears the music, but rather than screaming, “FORTY YEAR OLD FANILOWS—GET ‘EM!”, he gives us a small smile, and unhooks the velvet rope. OMG, we’re in!
2:00 a.m. The small club is completely packed with people nearly half our age, most of them dancing to an ear-blasting hip-hop song that they all know but I’ve never heard before. Karen gets us mojitos, then we plop down on a very low black leather couch near the dance floor. We lean back and begin to enjoy our “clubbing,” but suddenly Karen’s head is rather violently smacked by a shiny, yellow booty that’s shaking to the music like a paint can at Home Depot. I look up at the booty’s owner and scream, “Oh, my God! It’s the chubby Kardashian! It’s Kamilla! It’s Kamilla the chubby Kardashian!” This gives Karen the shakes, and soon we’re laughing so hard that I slip off the slick couch and onto the floor. “Your Spanx is showing!” Karen shouts. “I don’t care!” I shout back and look down at my spandex bike shorts glowing radioactively in the strobe lights. “BECAUSE I’M A 41-YEAR-OLD WOMAN AND I DO NOT NEED THIS FRIGGIN’ BULLSHIT! Whoooo!”
Kamilla Kardashian's booty to the left
2:30 a.m. For some strange reason, the bouncers have decided to pay us a visit. The biggest of the two, a 25-year-old wide shouldered guy with bright blue eyes, tells us that we need to move because we’re sitting at a reserved table. “Is that really the reason?” Karen snorts. “Come on, Bouncer Man. We’re not that naive.” He looks us up and down, and grunts, “Follow me.” We grab our purses, my Manilow wine glass, and our drinks and trail him past the dance floor, past the bar, past the bathroom, past another bar, and over to the darkest, most desolate corner table in the entire room. “Here you go, ladies,” he says. “I think you’ll feel a lot more comfortable here.” Karen and I stare at each other and realize that in six short hours, we went from being the hippest people at the Manilow concert to being banished to the part of the club even the busboys avoid. Nice.
3:00 a.m. At long last, we’re finally ready to leave in defeat, but then Karen declares she has one more thing to do before we go. She slams the dregs of her cocktail, then runs out to the middle of the pack of sweaty, grinding twenty-year-olds on the dance floor. With a huge, crazy grin on her face, she sticks her right arm in the air and fist pumps like a freakin’ Jersey native. She did it.
As I’m cheering her on from afar, the Bouncer walks up behind me. “Hey,” he grunts and sticks his big meat paw out for me to shake. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m Brandon and if there’s anything I can do for you…” I stare at him and wonder again what that offer really means. But as he holds on tightly to my hand, I begin to think that maybe I’m not such a PTO Loser after all. Maybe Brandon actually thinks I’m…hot? So I lean over to his huge, bouncer ear and yell, “Brandon, I just want to say thank you for being so nice! You know, to two old ladies!”
Then he drops my hand, punches me hard on the arm and says the words that will forever define my grand adventure in Las Vegas: “Hey, lady, you guys have as much a right to be here as anyone else. Now be safe and don’t get hurt, okay?”
“Okay,” I quietly answer and clutch my purse to my chest so my Manilow Fan Club card doesn’t fall out and get destroyed in the puddle of vodka and glitter at my feet. And with that, our Vegas adventure finally comes to a fitting end.
Looks like we made it.
Entry Filed under: Uncategorized
54 Comments
Add your own1. Jen Anderson | April 7th, 2010 at 8:46 am
Aw, I love Brandon. Sounds like an excellent and exhausting adventure.
2. Cathy | April 7th, 2010 at 8:57 am
Oh my God. I can’t stop laughing. I guess, as a 44-year-old woman who will never set foot in a night club again—ever in what will become the future history of my life—I never knew true compassion like Brandon’s existed in Vegas.
That, and being nostalgic for 1995. Your friend Karen is funny.
3. alexandra | April 7th, 2010 at 9:03 am
Oh, this is so fabulous!!
There are just way too many funny things in there for one post. How do you give it away like that, woman??
I love it…the fast exits, the approximate times….hilarious.
I would milk every one of those episodes as a single post,,,but you just sing it all at once.
You generous soul, you.
Thank you!
4. dg at diaryofamadbathroom | April 7th, 2010 at 9:35 am
Whoa! Karen and Wendi’s excellent adventure.
Doesn’t being the oldest person in the room feel a little like time travel? All of a sudden you are transported into your 80′s, and just keeping your dentures in your head and your depends on straight are all you need.
Sounds like mad fun.
5. Cindy S. | April 7th, 2010 at 9:45 am
“soph…soph….classy” = my favorite.
awesome posts. next time i’m in vegas i’ll find brandon and tell him i’m a FOW (friend of you) and i bet i’ll get all kinds of special hookups.
6. Zee | April 7th, 2010 at 9:55 am
Branden rocks! We all need someone to remind us 40-something old ladies that we have as much right to be here as anyone else.
And we usually have more disposable income!
Thanks for the second installment. Even funnier than usual.
(Fist pump in celebration)
7. rockzee | April 7th, 2010 at 9:55 am
Y’all are hard core. Who knew a Manilow concert could motivate such debauchery?
8. zalaine | April 7th, 2010 at 10:31 am
$14 martinis what is this world coming to? The rest of your adventure makes perfect sense! Love it!
9. marie (mia lisea) | April 7th, 2010 at 11:10 am
“OMG” I am still laughing, and living vicariously thru you girls., Because I felt like I was there, Lisa, I want to commend you on supporting your friend, what a trooper! Keep em coming! whoooo!
10. Kimberly | April 7th, 2010 at 12:12 pm
You guys are totally the “Bowling For Soup” song “1985″…LOL.
I’m also one of those “40″ somethings…and “gasp” a Manilow fan – you have made me laugh uproriously with your VEGAS tale.
Truly don’t think BON JOVI would have brought this much merriment to your world.
Keep writing Wendi! You and your friend Karen aka “SNOOKI” (LOL) sound like a lot of fun!!
11. Libby | April 7th, 2010 at 12:22 pm
Brandon was totally hitting on you.
And I would have been in bed by 11.
12. Cheryl | April 7th, 2010 at 12:59 pm
Yada, yada, yada. Blah, blah, blah. Why isn’te anyone asking the burning question? You know the one. Oh, hell, I’ll do it myself.
Is the Manilow wine glass encrusted with rhinestones? Or some other razzle dazzle? Must. See. Photo.
You rocked Part Deux! *fist pump* *booty smack* *meaty handshake* *shoulder punch* Did I miss anything?
13. Marinka | April 7th, 2010 at 2:03 pm
I’d never wash that Manilow glass and always keep it filled.
14. Maria Butts | April 7th, 2010 at 3:00 pm
Your skin looks so clear in this photo!
15. Lisa Rae @smacksy | April 7th, 2010 at 3:02 pm
“…those orange kids…”
Awesomeness.
Next time, you gals should bring your Rascals. Guaranteed to get you to the front of the line.
16. Francesca | April 7th, 2010 at 3:04 pm
Any girl worth her salt in Vegas comes home with a very good story. I am glad that you are no exception.
Oh, and thank God for Barry Manilow and all that he gives to the world. Would have loved to have seen said magical glass.
17. Francesca | April 7th, 2010 at 3:30 pm
Ha! That wine glass was worth the repeat click back to your site. Thanks for adding it. Totally made me laugh.
18. Gail | April 7th, 2010 at 4:11 pm
Funny, funny stuff. Another 40-something fan LMAO.
19. Stefanie | April 7th, 2010 at 4:27 pm
Now that? Was worth the wait.
20. Heather | April 7th, 2010 at 6:46 pm
O.M.G!! I am crying from laughing soooo damn hard!!!
21. Gretchen | April 7th, 2010 at 7:07 pm
I’m almost speechless. Almost. This truly reminds me of my trip to Vegas several years ago with my cousin Teri. Only our evening, which began with roulette and a large quantity of tequila shots, ended by being driven home by our other cousin, Sean, who is a Vegas cop. We talked him into turning on his siren and pulling over innocent drivers so we could giggle and watch him do stuff with his gun.
22. sandra | April 7th, 2010 at 7:09 pm
Wendi, you are just so damn brilliant. I could visualize the entire evening! Almost like I was there w/you…minus the hangover! xo
23. Chelsea | April 7th, 2010 at 8:11 pm
Is there really such a thing as a Kamilla Kardashian or are you just making that one up??? And before you give me any crap I am only 33 and I totally rock the fist pump at every possible opportunity.
24. karenfrommentor | April 7th, 2010 at 8:12 pm
I was at the other end of this a week or so ago- I went to see a band at a club w/a friend. Turned out it was a different kind of club that I imagined. There were 80 year olds dirty dancing. NOT even kidding.
[still gouging my eyes-but I just can't stop seeing it....]
From now on I’m getting a DEFINITION of “club” before I agree to ANYTHING.
But the band was good.
Loved your adventure. :0)
25. K M | April 7th, 2010 at 10:17 pm
such beauty:
“wearing what appears to be the JC Penney version of Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat”
26. Sophie | April 7th, 2010 at 10:23 pm
When I grow up, I want to have your capacity for booze. You are my Goddess, Wendi!
27. Aunt Becky | April 7th, 2010 at 10:34 pm
WHY didn’t you BRING ME? I am so MAD that you didn’t INVITE me.
28. Leila | April 8th, 2010 at 2:37 am
please tell me you got Brandon’s number, you did get his number, right??!!!
29. Candy | April 8th, 2010 at 7:02 am
Reminds me of a recent trip to Miami. “Clubbing” is not my forte. (as evidenced by the air quotes) Especially in the land of the almost-naked beautiful people. But if you would like to do a regional comparative study of the clubbing experience of the 40 something, let me know.
30. soccermom | April 8th, 2010 at 7:50 am
This totally sounds like a movie deal to me. You two ROCK! I agree, tell me you got Brandons digits?
31. ShallowGal | April 8th, 2010 at 8:19 am
I can’t believe shouting “we have coupons” didn’t work. It always works.
32. Patty | April 8th, 2010 at 8:22 am
I know a Karen. Her name is Kathy, but she is Karen’s sister in every way. Alas, I remember most of the hideously embarrassing, frightening and insane escapades in spite of being (in my husband’s words) “screaming, puking, snot-slinging, toilet-hugging drunk.” The wine glass is beautiful, by the way. So are the contents.
33. Jen | April 8th, 2010 at 10:23 am
Again, that completely cracked me up. You two are my heroes. As a 41 year old woman that routinely gets called ma’am and is never carded anymore, I feel your pain. Not entirely sure how you managed to stay up until 3 am as it’s all I can do to make it to primetime. I may have to visit Vegas yet. Must pass on the Manilow action.
34. ann | April 8th, 2010 at 11:50 am
I agree with Soccer Mom–start working on the screen play.
Or at least a pilot.
35. Tammy Moore | April 8th, 2010 at 12:42 pm
Too stinkin’ funny!! This has to be one of the best Vegas stories ever. LOL!! Thanks for sharing, and don’t worry, we’re laughing with you, not at you!
36. Meredith | April 8th, 2010 at 12:55 pm
THIS was the perfect start to my weekend, which begins in exactly 66 minutes. Absolutely pitch-perfect awesome!
37. Lulu and Moxley's Mom | April 8th, 2010 at 10:51 pm
I just want to make sure you aren’t sometimes making of fun of Jersey people. My being one and all. I was orange in high school and well into college (I was then in Ohio but the orange takes a while to wear off).
But, regardless, I forgive you because this is hilarious.
38. InvaderStu | April 9th, 2010 at 5:21 am
This whole thing was like an epic buddy movie story. You should call Hollywood :p
ps – Mistaking Electronic poker for blackjack is not that bad. I was once so drunk that I mixed the rules of blackjack and strip poker up… I lost at strip poker.
39. Cara | April 9th, 2010 at 7:40 am
I admire the fact that you made it to 3:00 a.m. Did you take a nap before you left for the concert?
40. Jessie | April 9th, 2010 at 7:59 am
it’s amazing what vegas will do to you! sounds like a blast
41. Anna Lefler | April 9th, 2010 at 10:31 am
I can’t BELIEVE I wasn’t on the list to receive the Manilow bootleg.
[sniff]
And I miss the old Vegas, too.
Awesome tale of two non-orange kids in the city!
XO
A.
42. Plano Mom | April 9th, 2010 at 11:19 am
This is such an awesome story. I am so envious. And my philosophy on partying old women? We may be old and gray, but dammit we tip a helluva lot better.
43. Lara | April 9th, 2010 at 2:49 pm
A true Fanilow probably needs to own a Manillow:
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=44286876
Does Bon Jovi have his own pillow? No. No he doesn’t. Suck it, Bon Jovi!
44. Kate Coveny Hood | April 9th, 2010 at 4:44 pm
I guess that my aversion to concerts might work in my favor now? I would have enjoyed seeing the Lolas though. Great story!
45. Mommy on the Spot | April 9th, 2010 at 5:52 pm
I totally envision that scene from Knocked Up when they are trying to get into the club – HILRAIOUS!
I love that the spanx were showing, too!
And Brandon, yes, Brandon will look back at that comment one day and realize what he really said. . .
46. the mama bird diaries | April 9th, 2010 at 8:27 pm
So hilarious.
I love this… 1:15-1:35 a.m. Unclear and debatable.
And your fanilow glass has put my elvis champagne glass to shame.
Nothing like a night out to make one feel so god damn old.
47. Dana Marie | April 10th, 2010 at 11:25 am
I’m 43 and so much of this made me laugh and shake my head in agreement – especially “clubbing.” I can’t believe that someone beat me to the Manillow as well! That’s the first thing I thought about. The last time I was at a club, I sat there glowering at all of the young, horribly dressed women and wanted to tell them to go home and put some actual clothes on. And then I embarrassed myself by shouting “Yes! I actually know this song!” when the DJ started playing Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard. Yep. Great night. Never going clubbing again unless it involves beating the DJ over the head with a club.
48. Ivan Toblog (aka IT) | April 10th, 2010 at 3:13 pm
I saw this and immediately remembered parts one and two.
I know you’ll thank me.
49. Margaret (Nanny Goats) | April 10th, 2010 at 3:24 pm
I just want to thank you for “clubbing” for the rest of us forty-somethings so we don’t have to.
Also? This was hilarious.
50. Lisa @ Boondock Ramblings | April 12th, 2010 at 2:56 pm
That’s right, old lady! You have every right to be there with all those young whipper snappers. And you didn’t even break a hip. Good for you! I think I would have reminded him to call his mother. . .
51. Tara Anderson | April 14th, 2010 at 1:25 pm
Is it bad that I’m 34 and I have the EXACT same experience every time I go to Vegas?
Although in my case, I couldn’t actually afford the Manilow concert but could actually afford the Manilow pillowcase. Let’s just say that everyone who stays in my guest room now gets to brag that they’ve slept with Barry Manilow. (I don’t even charge them!)
52. Loz | June 27th, 2010 at 4:12 pm
I’m 24 and I wouldn’t have had the balls to do what you guys did! Rock on!
53. Julie | October 10th, 2010 at 8:33 am
Just happened upon your blog post – I’m a 48-year-old Fanilow who just saw his Vegas show last weekend and your post made me laugh out loud! Thanks for bringing a smile to my face and for reminding me how awesome Barry’s concert was.
54. w@rper | October 12th, 2010 at 9:19 pm
” . . .I look like I’m headed for my annual pap smear.” The visual imagery in this is amazing. I must go to Vegas. : )
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