A Drugged-Out Desert Party and Another Fake Seizure

What a DAY! It all started much too early, at 8am. My insomnia has gotten worse of late, and I finally decided I’ve had enough, and it’s time to get serious about curing it. For the last 2.5 years, the only way I’ve been able to get a decent night’s sleep is by eating a heavy-duty-dose marijuana cookie before bed (I have a medical marijuana prescription), and then hitting my bong as needed when I wake during the night. But I’m sick of being a nasty-ass stoner! I want to be able to SLEEP ON MY OWN — withOUT drugs!!!

One of the most effective therapies for insomnia is called cognitive behavioral therapy — basically, you re-train your brain to associate bed with sleep. Only use your bed for sleeping and sex, keep the room dark and cool, no TV, and get up at the same time every day, no matter what. They also recommend creating a “sleep debt” by limiting the number of hours spent in bed to the amount usually slept — you’re not supposed to lie there dozing, or trying to sleep a little bit longer, no matter HOW tired you are. Since I used to get about 6 hours total when I clobbered myself with marijuana, I decided to set 6 hours as my nightly time spent in bed — I’ve been going to bed at 2am, and getting up at 8 every day. I haven’t been sleeping well at all, and I am EXHAUSTED…but I’m desperate, and all accounts swear that this approach is the most effective way to cure insomnia. It’s hard with my crazy life to be in bed by 2am every night, but by golly I’m trying my damndest. I’m on day 7 or so, and it’s not really getting any better…but I’m not giving up. I’m staying with it for at least a month, just to see if it works. The idea is, eventually you will create such a huge sleep debt that you eventually start sleeping the entire 6 hours straight through.

One problem I’ve been having is that I started dating this guy, and whenever we sleep in the same bed, I sleep TERRIBLY. The first night I slept in the same bed with him, I didn’t sleep AT ALL 🙁 I guess maybe I was nervous…I dunno. The poor guy has been a good sport about keeping my shitty bedtime schedule, but it’s a royal pain in the ass.

Now you may be wondering, who is this guy that has tamed the legendary Wonderhussy? Well first off, I haven’t been tamed (read on for more evidence of that)…and second, you may be shocked and appalled to learn that he is a very normal person, no weird fetishes or blue hair or dreadlocks or whatever. Ironically, he works at the same air force base as the last jackass I dated (Sgt. Peanut, you may recall)…and in fact, is also a pilot who sits in a darkened trailer all day blowing shit up 5,000 miles away. What a small world! He doesn’t know Peanut, though…I asked him.

Anyhoo, we’ll call this guy Captain Crunch, and he is awesome. I never expected to date a military guy (let alone two in a row)…but he’s really good people. I spent quite a bit of time hanging out with him this week, but I also had plenty of time for random hi-jinks…to wit:

As I was saying…WHAT A DAY! It started at 8am, I went to breakfast with Captain Crunch, and then went over to do a focus group on AAA Roadside Assistance. If you don’t know, focus groups are when they pay consumers for their honest opinions on the products and services they use — I know a lot of freelancers who do them to make extra cash, and some of these people are SHAMELESS! They lie and say they use everything from lite beer to tampons to goat cheese, just so they qualify for more groups.

Worse, the companies that STAFF the focus groups are just as crooked! They get a commission for bringing in qualified participants, so when they call to ask you if you can do a study, they pretty much shamelessly coach you on what answers to give. I remember I did one about slot machines once — I RARELY gamble, usually only when my friend J.R. is in town, and I told the lady at the staffing agency a perverted version of the truth, that I gamble “on average” about $40 a month. “Well, couldn’t you say you sometimes gamble $40 a WEEK?” she asked. “Uhhhh…I guess so…sometimes.” I HATE lying! But I qualified for the group, and spent an afternoon designing my “dream” video slot machine with a roomful of other lying degenerates. WTF! How are marketers supposed to figure out what the fuck people really want, if everyone’s just lying to get a paycheck?!!

Anyhoo, the group today was pretty straightforward, since I really DO use AAA roadside assistance — a LOT! My truck is always getting flat tires and whatnot, due to my desert traveling, and I am a huge fan of the AAA service. I would get my car insurance through them, too…but alas, my driving record is waaaay too abysmal to qualify 🙁

After the focus group, I went home to meditate (part of my relaxation therapy for the insomnia shit), and then I lifted weights and ran some errands. Then I came home and rigged up a nun costume for this photo shoot I did at this creepy Catholic church on Las Vegas Blvd. between the Wynn and the Riviera…and then I did another bachelor party prank!

You may recall how I pranked that bachelor party last month, pretending to have a seizure from too many drugs and all that. Well, one of my Facebook friends saw a posting on craigslist for a similar gig, and forwarded it to me…and the bachelor’s pranking pals hired me based on my extensive experience! I ended up doing the same basic shtick, only I went up to their room and pretended to be a stripper doing a room call. I made the bachelor, a shy young nerdy kid from Rhode Island, sit in a chair while I gave him the world’s most awkward lap dance (I SUCK at dancing and being seductive). Then I went over to snort some “drugs” from a little baggie (again, it was cornstarch)…and ended up having a fake seizure all over the poor kid’s lap!

It was priceless — he TOTALLY fell for it! He started yelling “Call 911! I gotta do CPR!” (I rolled over onto my stomach so that he couldn’t start in with any chest compressions — I don’t have a death wish, ya know). But he was checking my pulse and yelling “Stay with me!” and all this shit like you see on E.R. Meanwhile, his buddies pretended to call 911, then ran out of the room all skeered-like…leaving the panicked bachelor with my foaming body (I used 1.5 Alka-Seltzer tablets again, just like last time…I put them in my mouth when I went to take a hit of my “drugs”).

Finally, his boys came back in, like all “Surprise!!! It’s all a joke!” and I spewed a frothy fountain of Alka-Seltzer at the bachelor, like ha ha ha just kidding! But that kid was PISSED! He was so mad he got up and ran out of the room, and his friends were kinda weirded out. I grabbed my cash and got the hell out of there before he came back, so I don’t know what ended up happening…but all’s well that ends well, and now I can pay my internet bill! 🙂

So now I have Alka-Seltzer crusted up on my face, but I’m still writing this. That’s DEDICATION, yo!

Another night, I planned to just lay low and stay in…but a friend texted me that some bikers he knew needed babes to do a bikini bike wash, and would I come down to their clubhouse to meet with them? I’ve never been to a biker clubhouse, so I said sure thing! It was in this creepy kind of industrial area behind the Rio, in this warehouse-type building that had been converted into biker party central, with a stripper pole and a bar and a reggae band, and a big fat Samoan biker out front barbecueing burgers. Come to find out, it was an interracial bike club — which I thought was really cool! Most of the members were black, Samoan or Puerto Rican…with a few whiteys thrown in the mix for good measure. They were cool people!

Meanwhile, I arrived at the same time as these other 3 chicks: a sort of rockabilly/meth-chic Bette Midler lookalike, and two big fat zaftig babes in minidresses…one of whom was Bette’s “wife,” and all three of whom were escorts, hired to service the bikers at this big rendezvous they’re having in June!!! I was like, “Waitaminute, I’m just here to wash bikes!!!!” but the head biker, this compact little dude with a really quiet, raspy voice, took a shine to me and assured me I need not engage in any hanky-panky. Whew — for a minute there, I thought I’d wandered onto the set of a Russ Meyers movie, and was about to get gang-banged and forced into white slavery under the aegis of Madam Midler!!!

After everything was ironed out — me and some of my “sorority sisters” will be washing bikes at the event, while the other chicks will be working the “VIP” area — we all relaxed with a drink and I chatted with Madam Midler — and found her to be QUITE fascinating! Most notably… she has a glow-in-the-dark vagina!!! I’ll be darned….what the fuck will these kids think of next?! She had a bull’s-eye tattooed around her pubis in ultraviolet ink, and intimated that she climaxed when the tattoo artist inked the outline. But when he filled in the ultraviolet coloring….it hurt like a motherfucker. Still, I suppose it was worth it…I mean, who WOULDN’T want a glow-in-the-dark vagina?! I know I would!

So anyhoo, now I gotta round up 6 or 7 other chicks to be my “sorority sisters,” and help me warsh bikes. The head biker wanted me to come up with a name and a logo, so I picked Alpha Sigma Sigma…or ASS for short!!!! It should be a fun event, and great to write about…and in fact, they might also use me for these foxy wrestling events they’re about to set up out there in the lot behind their warehouse! No telling WHAT kind of hi-jinks I’ll get up to with these crazy bikers!!!

Anyhoos, another night I went downtown for this big cholo party some guy was having at the Beauty Bar. For those who don’t know, a cholo is a Mexican gang-banger — you know the type: khakis, Nike Cortez, Pendleton buttoned only at the top button. His female counterpart, the chola, is perhaps better known due to her crazy Sharpie eyebrows and hideous brown lip-liner…so I put together my best chola outfit and headed downtown! I ended up looking more like a guera Gwen Stefani-type poseur chola, but it was all good — I put about half a can of Aqua Net on my pompadour, and decided to ride my bike down there since it was such a nice night, and it’s easier than trying to find a place to park. So there I was, pedaling furiously down the street at 10:30pm on my crazy-ass, pink-duct-tape-covered Burning Man bike…and I’m here to tell you, my hair did not move AT ALL! I arrived at the party with my mighty pompadour still perfectly intact, and enjoyed some vodka cranberries while mingling with other cholos and cholas to the sounds of the Geto Boyz and other classic East-L.A. tunes.

The only bummer was, it wasn’t so much of a costume party as a REAL cholo party….so I was kinda afraid of getting my ass kicked. Back in high school, I went to a school with a LOT of Mexicans, and this one cholo had a crush on me, and used to walk up behind me on my way home from school to pull my skirt up, exposing my 14-year-old-girl panties. Trouble was, this one chola had a crush on him, and was so jealous of me that one day she jumped me and beat the holy living crap out of me in front of all her chola friends! Ever since then I’ve had a deathly fear of cholas…but I’m all about facing my fears, so I soldiered on and went to this party, rubbing elbows with the likes of the girls who beat my ass in high school Yay, me!! 😀

I didn’t have much time to relish my victory, however, because the very next day I was heading down to Arizona for this big Burning Man campout near Snowflake (a tiny town near Show Low, somewhere in central B.F.E. a few hours south of Flagstaff). A friend from L.A. had invited me to come down and work as the mistress of this maze he was building there…but at the last minute he had to cancel, so I just cruised down there with a couple girlfriends, neither of whom I really knew at ALL! We all sort of caravaned down there, and what was supposed to be a 6-hour trip somehow ended up taking NINE HOURS! We got there in the dark, set up camp (I had my trusty pop-up camper with me), and then proceeded to booze and party for three days straight.

The one chick was named Button — so named because she lost a ton of weight one time, and had her excess stomach skin trimmed off. When the doctor asked where she wanted him to place her new belly button, she told him she didn’t want one at all — and ended up

having a tattoo of an old-fashioned button inked where her belly button used to be!!!! LMFAO, what a great idea! I want to get my nipples removed and tattooed…and see if I can go topless THEN!

The other chick was this little 21-year old I met at the blood-wrestling match I did a few weeks back — a fiesty little nutcase who ended up being a TON of fun! We were all three into nudism, so we basically ran around naked most of the time, like a camp of crazy naked Amazon ladies. It was awesome! I participated in a drum circle, a lengthy Balinese monkey-chant session, and a good old-fashioned rave in which I danced with a man in a Civil War jacket and a rubber horse head…but by far the most fun thing I did was march in Mr. Chow’s Birthday Parade. Mr. Chow was a dog belonging to this gray-bearded traveling vagabond, and to honor his faithful companion’s birthday, he organized a parade for all the dogs at the event (there were 500 people there, and quite a few brought dogs…you know hippies!).

Alas, my campmates and I didn’t have a dog, but the little 21-year-old chick reeeeally wanted to participate. At first we were gonna try and make one out of felt (she had brought a bunch of crafting supplies along)…but then she had the idea of being the dog HERSELF! I painted a dog nose and whiskers on her, she made a leash  and collar out of one of her backpack straps, and then she bounded along naked while I walked her in the parade. She was SO FUCKING FUNNY, sniffing other dogs’ asses and lifting her leg on bushes…and at the end of the parade, we all ended up back at the traveling vagabond’s trailer for treats — margaritas for the people, and Pupperoni for the dogs. I’m here to tell you, that girl even ate two Pupperoni sticks — although another dog came up and ate half out of her mouth, Lady and the Tramp-style. LOL!!!!!!!!!

Then the vagabond gave me a tour of his fabulous Scamp trailer — Scamp being the brand name for a certain type of white fiberglass trailer on which I’ve had a lustful eye for quite some time. His rig was SICK — solar panel on the roof powering his fridge and ham radio equipment, propane stove, and even a little swamp cooler to help keep Mr. Chow cool. I swear, if I had a trailer like that I would travel around the country having adventures that would make this blog look like a PBS pledge drive. If anyone wants to buy me one, feel free — I just want the little 10-footer, nothing fancy 🙂

I had a lot of fun during the day at this desert party…but at night, it was the same story as Burning Man: everyone ate ecstasy, put on a big furry coat, and got stupid. BO-RING! I did stumble into a very intriguing, creepy tent across the way from our camp that was doing all these sadistic S&M rituals — and of course, I had to volunteer. Thus it was that I was lit on fire (hair mousse sprayed onto my chest, then lit aflame) and electrified with a violet wand (this creepy fucking device that gives you a mild static electricity charge). It was pretty interesting, but definitely not a turn-on. I’m pretty vanilla when it comes to that stuff – you won’t see ME shoving a cattle prod up my asshole anytime soon!

Anyhoo, I had a pretty good time at Saguaro Man (as that campout was known), but I was definitely ready to cruise back to Vegas on Sunday morning. Ten fucking hours later, I rolled into town…but I have to say, I have the summer camping bug now, and can’t WAIT to get back out and go on the next adventure! Who’s with me?????!

Also, I stopped along the way back to Vegas at some very cheesy tourist attractions…most notably, a corner in the blighted town of Winslow, Arizona that has become a shrine to that godawful Eagles song “Take it Easy.” You know, “I’m a-standin’ on the corner in Winslow, Arizona… such a fine sight to see…it’s a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowin’ down to take a look at meeeee…” Apparently, this town’s economy is so trashed that they spent their entire annual budget on a statue of a hippie on the corner, and a flatbed Ford on the street in front of him, hoping to lure in tourist dollars. It worked — I stopped; but astonishingly, there were no establishments anywhere nearby to spend any money at!!! Come on, Winslow, what the fuck?! At least have a burger joint that plays Eagles music 24/7…don’t you WANT to make any money?!?!?!?! I personally would have DEFINITELY had lunch there!

Incoming search terms:

• saline valley nude