Vegas was increadible. Well, not Vegas itself, but the trip. Vegas met all my expectations:
Ugly carpet, a thick smell of cheap cologne in the casino (we stayed at the MGMGrand), over
priced goods (and by "goods" I mean "bads" like embellished denim and brightly colored high fructose infused alcoholic beverages) and people clinking their glasses together and yelling, "Vegas BAABAY" or "ONLY IN VEGAS." Annoying.
On the bright side, I got to occupy the same small room as a bunch of badass pop stars and musicians. Gwen Stefani and the rest of No Doubt, Mary J. Blige, Greenday... and finally Steven Tyler.
I never imagined I would end up in the Aerosmith dressing room playing with Steven Tyler's 1.5 pound Yorkie, but that's where I found myself on the second night of the Iheartradio Music Festival.
I'll share the abridged version. I'm sitting in the press room backstage, minding my own damn business when I notice Joe Perry enter. So I says to myself, I says, "Holy shite. Steven Tyler is about to round the corner. This is going to be surreal. And I'm totally gonna attempt to make eye contact with him." I immediately regretted that last bright idea, cause I did catch his eye, but then it didn't stop. That dude fuckin' stared me down whilst ignoring his publicist's request to step in the opposite direction and smile for the camera. He walked right up to me, stopped, put his arm around the back of my chair, smiled and asked, "How you doin?"
At this point my face was burning with embarrassment. A room full of people were staring at him wondering where he was wandering off to, and therefore staring at me. I would like to pretend that I said something hilarious and charmingly clever, but I just croaked out. "Well... thanks."
He was ushered back to the spot he was supposed to be and I looked at Jonathan. Who was oddly beaming with pride that Steven Tyler had decided to hit in his wife. It's not that Steven Tyler is particularly attractive to me. In fact, he is older than my father. It's just that he's an American sex symbol, and I've got an immense amount of respect for the man, his career.... and his fashion sense.
Minutes later, we ran into him in the hall... I took the opportunity to ask for a photo. He asked what my story was. I told him I was a pet photographer, slipped my business card in his pocket and sauntered off. Moments later I received a text from his assistant asking if I could come to his dressing room and snap some photos of his dog, who travels with him.
Many of you might not know that Celebrity Pet Photographer is at the top of my list of dream jobs.
So there I found myself. Amongst all the scarves and sunglasses and low rise bellbottoms. On the floor with Butch, his Yorkie.... who was sleeping comfortably in his purple play pen snuggled next to a stuffed T-Rex. Sadly I didn't have my camera (IDIOT), so I did the best I could with my iPhone, got his assistant's info in the hopes to set something up in LA, sat there and looked pretty for about 25 minutes (that's what you're supposed to do, right?) and left with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Jonathan was happy to see that I made it back from the Aerosmith dressing room in one piece.
So that's my exciting "Vegas" story. I played the slots that night and won 100 dollars.
