Normally, the atmosphere here in Vegas is thick with poseurs, whores and douchebags. But in July and August, we have what’s called a monsoon season…and now the air is also thick with moisture, suffocating barometric pressure and the smell of ozone. These massive thunderheads roll in and it gets really humid and crazy, with ultra-dramatic lightning and stuff like you see in the movies.
The climate here is usually hot, but very dry… so this monsoonal shit really sets me on edge. To make matters worse, there was a huge forest fire raging just northwest of town, which added ash and drama to the already volatile mix. Anyway, as you’re reading about my hijinks this week, keep in mind that all this shit was going down in the background!!
First off, an update on the neurofeedback procedure I underwent earlier in the month, to help me sleep: I hate to jinx myself, but I am cautiously optimistic that it may have worked. I underwent treatments for five days with no real immediate results, other than that I started dreaming again. Ever since my insomnia set in back in 2010, I had hardly dreamed at all. But around the fifth day of the neurofeedback, I started to dream again. Nothing out of the ordinary — some weird dreams, some bad dreams, some about working, etc. The usual shit, for most of you! But it was a big deal to me, because I’m telling you — I didn’t dream at all for the last three years!
Then, about 5 or 6 days after my last neurofeedback treatment, I did start sleeping again. I still wake up after a few hours, but I am now able to fall back into deep sleep, whereas before I wasn’t able to get back into anything more than a restless doze. Now to reiterate, I went into this brain training shit with a very skeptical attitude, fully expecting it to fail — it seems very woo-woo and full of shit, so it’s not like I convinced myself it was gonna work. But even if I did, and it’s all some placebo effect — who cares?! I’m sleeping, and that’s all that matters to me!
Now meanwhile, I’m still on the wagon — I was told not to smoke weed or drink booze for three weeks after my last treatment. So I’m sure a lot of you are thinking that that’s why I’m able to sleep. But, I don’t think that’s the case. When my insomnia first set in, in March 2010, I did not regularly smoke weed. I didn’t start using it until about 6 months into my insomnia, when out of desperation I began using it to help me fall back asleep in the middle of the night. (I was so loath to use it, in fact, that I remember I wept when I looked at the clock one night and noticed I was getting high at 4:20 a.m.!!!) Likewise, one of the first things I did when first suffering insomnia was cut out booze (and caffeine). It made no difference.
More likely, I think my ability to sleep may be caused by the fact that since I’m not drinking, I’m not really going out anywhere or doing anything exciting. I’ve been going to bed at 11pm every night and watching Mad Men, then waking up around 8 or 9am. I’m keeping very boring old-lady hours, and if anything, I bet that’s what’s helping me sleep better.
But if I have to choose between living and sleeping, guess what, motherfuckers?! I’ll choose LIFE! I’m hoping it doesn’t come down to that, though — my plan, once I can drink again, is to sort of keep to some sort of middle ground. I’ll keep to my old-lady schedule as much as possible, but if I get any really amazing opportunities, I’ll break routine.
The real test is coming up on August 2nd, when I fly out to Sturgis, South Dakota, for the big motorcycle rally. I’ve always wanted to go, so I got a job working at the Knuckle Saloon as a shot girl, and will be carrying on and partying with bikers for ten straight days. Not only will I be drinking (hopefully in moderation), but I will also be sleeping on the floor in some strange dude’s condo with a bunch of other models. If I can sleep through all that, then I’ll KNOW the neurofeedback worked!!
So, the end is in sight. I only have to be sober for ten more days — I planned all this out so that my first drink will be a Bloody Mary on the flight out to South Dakota (yes, I know…I wanted to ride out there on the back of a biker buddy’s Harley; but unfortunately he has lymphoma, and has to get a bone marrow transplant instead). I don’t know how all you recovering alcoholics do it — I would be miserable if I knew I could never have a drink again. The only thing keeping me going here is the light at the end of the tunnel. Now I know that makes me sound like a terrible alcoholic myself, but I was never one to binge drink — I’m talking about a glass or two of wine five nights a week. A “binge” for me is four drinks.
Anyhoo, sobriety is ruining my life in more ways than one — it already cost me this amazing gig in an anti-alcoholism PSA I was supposed to shoot!! I can’t really give too many details here, but the ad was basically to consist of me actually getting wasted on camera, and when I told them I couldn’t drink, they let me go. IRONIC, isn’t it? I got fired from an anti-booze campaign for not drinking!!!
Anyway, since I couldn’t drink or party much, I mostly worked. But thankfully, I got a lot of really interesting, weird gigs to keep me occupied! Mostly, I worked as a PA (production assistant) at this NBA tournament they have out here in the summer, helping the TV crews who were filming the games. My main duties were making Dunkin’ Donuts runs (those guys were from back East, and didn’t do Starbucks) and picking up lunch around town, but I also spent quite a bit of time courtside, watching basketball games. What a trip!!!
I have always had pretty much zero interest in sports, especially basketball, so I had no idea what it was all about. But from an anthropological standpoint, it was fascinating. I was truly a stranger in a strange land, more specifically like Gulliver in Brobdingnag — the land of giants. I never realized how fucking ginormous these genetic mutants are! I had to sit on the floor of the court part of the time, which was utterly surreal, like being a little kid or a dog, at knee-height to all the adults. But even standing up and walking around was weird, like walking through a forest of legs. I seriously never realized how fucking gigantic these guys are — it’s bizarre to me that this many supersized people even exist!
As mentioned, for some of the games I had to sit right on the floor of the court near the baskets, and it was literally terrifying to have this stampede of giants hurtling toward you. Crew members get hit all the time by flying basketballs, and sometimes the players’ momentum carries their 200-pound-plus frames crashing into the sidelines — you really have to watch out! After awhile I got too skeered, and spent the time hanging out back near the bleachers, where I had an even more entertaining view of all the scandalously whorey groupies that had converged on the area to try and catch the eye of a baller.
What these hoes didn’t realize, however, was that most of the players there had eyes for nothing but the ball. These were like showcase games, so that the coaches and whoever could decide whom they wanted to put on their starting lineups, or whatever you call it in basketball. So basically, it was a bunch of young, green kids — albeit giant kids — running around like baby gazelles, desperate to prove their worth to the suits on the sidelines. Like I said…fascinating. Also fascinating, there were all these little kids on the sidelines whose job it was to run around with big mops, and sop up all the sweat leaked onto the court by the players. Like I said, it was humid as fuck out here…and they were all sweating profusely! I accidentally brushed against this one guy when I walking somewhere, and it was pretty gross.
pic by Ben Philippi
The only downside to the gig was, I had to sit through endless basketball games, which meant sitting through endless renditions of the national anthem. You know how all those half-baked singers do it — showing off their skills by wailing and shrieking and getting merry like Christmas? Like, sing the fuckin’ melody, already!! If there’s one thing I hate, it’s listening to some bozo butcher the Star-Spangled Banner. Even that little Mexican-American tyke Sebastian de la Cruz was guilty of this, in his cute little mariachi outfit — you know, the one who sparked all the controversy last month when those rednecks booed him? Well, he was there, and he has a powerful voice and all…but the way he showboated that song was pretty sad. I guarantee you, he has no idea what the fuck those lyrics mean. Moreover, I’d bet good money that 95% of the singers who perform the National Anthem at sporting events wouldn’t be able to tell you what a “rampart” is, or even be able to sum up the meaning of the lyrics in their own words. They’re too busy hitting the high notes, and showing off their shitty vocal technique.
To distract myself from the aural agony, I looked at the crowd instead: everyone standing, about 95% of the men with their hats off, and about 35% with their hands over their hearts (the 10% with their hats off and their hands on the hearts being Super-Patriots). Nevermind that 85% of them were obese, and 70% had nacho-cheese-sauce stains on their chins…they were proud Americans, and true patriots!!!
Speaking of nachos, I had the misfortune of being sent over to the arena’s concession stand a time or two, and it was really shocking and dismaying to see the food they have on offer: not one single healthy item available. Actually there was one — peanuts in the shell. But other than that, it was all pizza, pretzels, ice cream, etc. I saw more obese people toting trays of greasy food into the stands…it was insane. Thank dog the crew sent me out to get lunch elsewhere every day, so were able to enjoy healthy, communist food like romaine lettuce and chicken breast. Technically, we weren’t even supposed to bring outside food into the arena — that place has a lock on what you get to eat, and apparently they want you to be a lard-ass. Ugh!
Now, that event wasn’t so bad because like I said, it was all beginner players, who weren’t really famous yet. They hadn’t had the chance to get all cocky yet, ya know? Well, later in the week, I worked another basketball event that featured some better-known, established players…and boy was that a different story. I had to get this one group of guys to sign some releases, and they were so far removed it was like they were on another planet. None of them even really looked at me, just carried on their conversation about some “nigga” (their word, not mine) who drops stacks of Gs at nightclubs all the time. Krrrrazy!
Now speaking of krazy, my next gig was really krazy — I was hired to work a 7-Eleven convention as a mascot for a well-known cereal brand! I guess every year, all the franchisees who operate 7-Elevens around the country get together in Vegas to order up new stock for their stores, so every half-assed crap-vendor shows up to try and sell them their wares. It was mostly stuff like chips, nuts, Twinkies (they’re back), beef jerky, tobacco products and beer. Ya know, the usual shit you find at a convenience store…with some blunt wrappers and “Night Bullet” potency enhancers thrown in. Ha!!
My job was just to put on this tiger suit and walk around the aisles, posing for photos with people and basically just cutting up and acting a fool. Easy!! I’ve
mentioned before, I loooove mascot work because you don’t need to wear makeup or anything, and can basically just schlep right out of bed to work. Plus, the people I worked for were super cool, and gave me a shit ton of free cereal and stuff to take home.
Actually, I think that was the whole point of the convention: it was only two days long, but no one really did any business. The franchisees mostly just ambled around waiting for 2pm on the second day, when the exhibitors all started packing up to go, and gave away all their samples. Man, you have never seen such a stampede!!!! I thought those NBA guys were scary — they had nothing on the hordes of 7-Eleven owners descending on the various booths, trying to get the last of the free crap!!
There was this one booth that had all manner of cheap Chinese crap on display — stuff like hair ties and plastic toys and iPhone covers and whatnot. The lady in charge said they were giving everything away at 4pm, so my colleague and I went over at 3:30 to get a good position in line. Well, it turned into a true English soccer stadium-style stampede: someone heard a rumor that 3:30 was the new 4, and reached out to grab something, which literally started a mad crush of humanity, screeching and scrabbling and grabbing and clawing and stuffing items into their bags of holding. It was amazing!!! There were some kids in the bunch, but it was at least 50% adults…about half Indian-Americans, too! I managed to grab a thing of hair ties before I retreated to the safety of the booth across the aisle, where I watched the melee, laughing so hard I actually cried. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time — you know how good it feels to laugh til you cry? Well, I recommend going to a 7-Eleven convention on the last day.
I laugh-cried all the way out to my car, too — granted, I had a huge plastic sack stuffed full of junk food and cereal myself, but that was nothing compared to some of these other attendees. I watched this one poor Indian man waddle down the hallway, two bags full of crap splitting at the seams in each hand, so heavy that he had to stop every ten feet or so to rest them. Meanwhile, his pants were falling down around his fat ass, but he couldn’t pull them up without letting go of his precious cargo. It was amazing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Probably the real reason I laughed til I cried was that I was exhausted — after the first day of the convention, I had to shoot a commercial overnight, from 1-5am, and then be back for the second day of the convention after only a few hours’ sleep (but even then, I slept well for those hours). This commercial was the most fabulous thing I did, in a week full of fabulous things. Let me tell you about it!
So awhile back, I auditioned for this commercial that needed a bunch of Elvis impersonators. As you may know, I have an amazing pink Lady Elvis/Stripper Elvis costume, which combined with my awesome moves was enough to win me a part! Not only that, but I got the professional Elvis impersonator rate, as opposed to the wannabe rate. Nice!!
The ad was for a well-known Japanese electronics company (and will, alas, only air in Japan), so one morning I had to go to this hotel room downtown at 10am and dance around in front of a roomful of inscrutable Japanese producers while they assessed me, and decided what outfit I should wear in the ad. I actually have two Lady Elvis costumes, and they picked my black one. But then, when I showed up onset later in the week for the actual commercial, they had rented an ugly-ass, ill-fitting red Elvis costume for me to wear instead. Boo!!
Anyhoo, the filming of the commercial itself was a hoot. My calltime wasn’t until 1am, so I think they ended up cutting most of my part out, since the rest of the pro Elvises had to show up around 8pm, and I ended up waiting around in the wardrobe trailer for a couple hours until they called me to set. Even then, all I ended up having to do was walk down Fremont Street, under the light canopy, in formation with 30 other Elvises. Cake!
It was so surreal, though, as we filmed it; take after take, walking in formation like an army of creepy Elvis invaders. They had a couple black Elvises, and a fat Elvis, and a Chinese Elvis…it was a real sight to behold. This was around 4am, so no one else was down there except a few drunks and crackheads…and boy did they ever freak out! I wish I had more photos, but I’ll be sure to post the YouTube link to the ad, when it comes out.
After that, the sun started to come up, so I got the hell out of there and went home to bed, to catch a few hours of sleep before I had to be back at the 7-Eleven convention. No wonder I ended up laughing until I cried later that day — I was hysterical from exhaustion!!! But it was alllll worth it. And imagine: if my life is this fucking surreal when I’m on the wagon…how much more fabulous is it gonna be when I can drink again?!
