Michele Lewis

On Wednesday afternoon, Lacey Jones and I went to the NHL Awards.  As we were leaving the Palms, I explained to her how much I disliked wearing a dress and heels in Las Vegas because I often found myself assumed a hooker.  It’s not an insecure assumption and despite some suggestions… it’s certainly not a bragging right.  It’s simply an insult from actual experiences.  Not to mention, it’s a sad case of humans who probably fight against racism, yet in turn, assume make-up, heels and a dress are somehow related to paid-for-sexy-time.

As we were leaving the NHL after party, a well dressed man (possibly a hockey player or NHL exec) overheard me tell Ms. Jones “…and I’m not a hooker.”  He laughed and asked “Did you just say you’re not a hooker?”  I assured him he heard correctly and he kindly returned an affirmation that I didn’t look like a hooker and said I was funny.  I told myself “Michele, you’re obviously having a moment of insecurity or feeling overconfident that you’ve combed your hair.  So simmer down now and let it go.”

Ten minutes later, Lacey and I were walking into the WSOP at the Rio, when a guy shouted “Hey, Ladies.  I love these ladies.”   Naturally, I assumed he was a fan of Ms. Jones so I indulged him with a high-five.  Big mistake.  Apparently, his definition of a lady was actually a whore because his next line was “Hey, how about $300?”  If only my ex-marine, now Deputy friend John had been there…that guy might have ended up with less teeth than some of the hockey players we had seen earlier in the evening.

While it’s possible he was angry we didn’t stop to chat, the female in his group was full of laughter when she yelled ”Oh, I just love your dresses, Ladies.”  Relieved a woman was speaking on our behalf, I turned to say thank you but was greeted with the cattiest eye roll this side of the Mississippi.  I had hoped she would look me in the eye so I could give her the shaming mom stare, however, her eyes looked us up and down then returned to rolling.  I quickly debated whether or not I should (as an unlicensed professional) provide her free psychoanalysis on her behavior, but I chose to say thank you instead.

Ah, but just before the door closed behind us, in the presence of about 100 people, the guy screamed “Hey!   Hey, hookers!”     So, I did what any other normal WSOP media person would do when asked to engage in illegal activity in exchange for $300… I closed my fallen jaw and tweeted. Sadly, this guy doesn’t realize how lucky he is I didn’t contact security and tell them he was soliciting prostitution on Harrah’s property.

But wait! There’s more…  Later that evening, I discovered WCP had labeled the eye roller as Rhino Girl.  Coincidentally,  she was rooting for John Dolan at his final table when ML’s favorite cool cats made her a girl on the rail.  Then, while I was whispering my favorite rhetorical Blaise Pascal question (Did he go to Heaven or Hell?) to Ms. Jones, those crazy entities snapped naughty looking photos of us.  While the photos could possibly imply sexual not-misconduct, Ms. Jones was laughing at what she believed to be my funny and oh-so-witty humor.  Take that, Benjo.

Lacking irony, were my friends who were insulted by the $300 remark rather than the occupation.  Nonetheless, Benjo (who says I’m not funny) made me laugh by saying “Zree hundred?  Zats booshit.   You, MeeShell LooWeez, could charge 2k and Lazey could charge 10k.”  Have I mentioned how much I love Benjo’s direct honesty?  He went on to say something about how I could charge more offering up my mind for intellectual conversation, however, I was busy thinking… hmmm, Benjo said I’m not funny and I laughed at his joke.  He’s winning.