I just got back from some serious desert adventuring with my sister! We had an amazing time and met many kooky people and had many fabulous adventures that I plan to blog about as soon as I get two seconds. But in the meantime…..
My beloved trusty pop-up camper is on its last legs, so if I want to cruise around this summer having more fun times, I need to replace it!
I am looking to buy a 13′ fiberglass trailer, as seen in this photo. They are usually made by Scamp or Casita, but I’m open to any similar, lightweight trailer that can be pulled by a 6-cylinder Ford Ranger. (I don’t want another pop-up, though…I want something I can just crawl into bed when I park.)
I can buy a brand new 13′ foot Scamp/Casita for around $14,000, but I don’t have that kind of coin lying around, so I need a used one. Since I’m already used to roughing it in a pop-up, it doesn’t need to have a toilet or shower — I just need the bed and the propane stove, mostly. I’m fine buying a junker and fixing it up, so long as it’s structurally sound and the gas line works — that kinda shit is beyond my fixing ability.
But what I *AM* good at is painting and decorating….so when I do finally get one, I plan to gussy it the fuck up, bohemian gypsy style! Then the adventures can truly begin…
So, does anyone have or know of a trailer I can buy? I’ve been checking craigslist, but I figure I’d ask here, too. I am based in Las Vegas, but am willing to drive 500 miles in any direction to pick up. Keep your eyes open for me, will ya??
Where I last left off, I was trying to decide if I should stay in Vegas and do this weird Japanese documentary, or go to Baja California, Mexico, for some kooky off-road race with a guy I barely know. Unfortunately for this blog, I made the responsible decision…to stay in Vegas. FORTUNATELY for this blog, however, a lot of freaky fuckin’ shit went down while I was here!
Now you might wonder why someone with a name like Wonderhussy would ever make a lame, responsible decision about anything. I’ll tell you.
The guy who invited me, as I mentioned, is someone I barely know — I only met him a couple weeks ago, at the Gilley’s mudwrestling thing I participated in. But just because I don’t know someone is no reason to turn down a trip to Baja!
The real trouble is, he’s basically the male version of me: he lives a free and easy life of fun, travel and adventure, financing his fun by working summers at some über-bourgeois swanky golf course in Oregon. Then he spends the rest of the year snowboarding and exploring the desert. No kids, no responsibility…just fun, 24/7/365. We’ll call him Supertramp (since he’s obsessed with Alexander Supertramp a/k/a Chris McCandless, from the book/movie Into the Wild).
the open road, constantly beckoning…..
Well, all of that is well and good, and doesn’t bother me a bit. More concerning was the fact that this guy flips the fuck out when he drinks hard liquor!! I learned this the hard way, the first night I met him — some redneck at the bar in Gilley’s was buying him drinks all night, and the three of us went out after the rasslin’ match was over. The redneck bought us godawful piña coladas from Señor Frog’s at the Treasure Island, and then invited us over to the Mirage for some petroleum industry party that he was in town for. We followed him over there, but meanwhile I was still dragging my little pink suitcase around with me, with all my rassling costume stuff in it. Me and the redneck had to pee, so we left my bag at the party with ST (Supertramp)…but when we got back, ST had flipped out and bailed, leaving my bag stranded! FUCK! That bag had my electric vagina in it — anyone could have stolen it!!! Dammit, I worked long and hard on that vagina!!!
the desert near Nelson
ST’s disappearing act was followed by a barrage of extremely derogatory text messages, so I pretty much wrote him off as a boozer. But the next day he apologized profusely, so I gave him another chance. We went out to the desert a couple days later for a mini road trip/exploration session, and it was totally fabulous — he’s a super cool dude with the same interests as me, so it was a great day. We went out by this lame-ass fake ghost town called Nelson, where come to find out, if you drive way out in the canyons, there’s this awesome area of giant boulders and stuff that is just begging to be a photo shoot location! It was fan-fuckin’-tastic — a great day. At the end of it, I had decided to go to Baja with him and his friend, and was really looking forward to it. UNTIL….
shooting ST’s Winchester 30-30 just because
The next day, we made plans to all meet up downtown and discuss the particulars of the trip — me, him and the other guy who was going. I was out on a photo shoot all day, but the plan was to meet up afterward, around 8pm. I texted him a few times, but no answer…so just gave up and went home to go to bed early. I was fried from my day in the sun at Big Dune, anyway, so I wasn’t that bummed…but I did think it was pretty rude to stand me up like that. I get stood up A LOT, though, so I try not to take it personally (yes…A LOT of people stand me up, shockingly!).
Anyhoo, I was at home just getting ready to take off my makeup and stuff, when I got a random Facebook message on my page from some random chick from L.A.: “CALL ME! Your friend ST lost his phone; he’s wasted and stranded and needs help!” WTF! I called her, and come to find out, ST had gotten so fucked up that his friends had ditched him downtown, where he was semi-passed out at a bar in the new Downtown Grand hotel, incoherent and unable to get home. Apparently he had just enough brains to tell this random couple he met at the bar to look up Wonderhussy on Facebook and get ahold of me that way.
I sacked up, drove down there, thanked the random L.A. chick, picked his alcohol-reeking-ass up, and asked him where I should take him. Between drunken insults and claims that someone had slipped him LSD, he managed to direct me to his friends’ house way up in the ‘burbs, where after much arguing I deposited his stinky ass and then drove home. I’m not ashamed to admit I bawled my eyes out on the way — I’d been having a shitty time lately, and had really been looking forward to a Mexican getaway, however spurious. But just like everything in my life, I’m apparently the only one who has my shit together. D’OH!!!
Well, the next morning I guess he found his phone, because there were more profuse apologies, and an invitation to join him and his Baja friends at the outdoor swap meet that afternoon, so we could finally hash out the trip details. Well, by then I had already decided (with much sadness) NOT to go anywhere with this fool…but I did agree to meet them at the swap meet, since I love that place so much, and I needed to buy a Lucha Libre mask anyway. We met up and he and his friends were super cool…but once I make up my mind, it’s over. I told him I wasn’t going with them, and he was pretty salty, but oh well.
Swap Meet haul, all for $12
Now, you may be wondering why I needed a Lucha Libre mask — well, I’ll tell you! It occurred to me that the photos I took in my electric vagina at Big Dune, in this gold spandex bodysuit, looked a little like a Mexican wrestler — all I needed was a mask, and I could become La Panocha Eléctrica, the most fearsome Lucha Libre rassler of them all!!!! I scored an awesome gold wrestler mask at the swap meet, and am working on customizing it with sequined lightning bolts and whatnot.
Incidentally, if you’ve never been to the Broadacres Swap Meet in Vegas — GO!!! It’s the most amazing, bizarre-O place this side of Tijuana — acres and acres of booths selling shitty clothes and old crap, with religious figurines and cheap jewelry thrown in for good measure. 98% of the population is Latino, and there’s always good tuba music playing and stuff like that. It’s one of my all-time favorite places in the world!!!
So anyway, now that I had decided to stay in Vegas, I was pretty disappointed and pissed off, but whatever — I sacked up and got on with my life. ST sent me a salty text or two on his way out of town, letting me know what I was missing out on — but I already knew, motherfucker.
I was so pissed off about the whole scenario that I figured it was time for a change. I’d been in a funk since I got sick in mid-December, and to make matters worse, I was still nowhere near making my monthly nut for February. I couldn’t get a break to save my life! It was time to change that shit, so I did what I always do in that situation…I bought a magic candle to break the spell 🙂
The Magick Shoppe
There’s this super freaky olde-tyme Magick Shoppe down the street from where I live, called Bell Book & Candle. Please take a moment and read my Yelp review of the place — it’ll help you understand why I go here. Anyway, whenever I’m in a funk that lasts more than a day or two, I head here and have the wizard make me a Jinx-Breaking candle — one of those 7-day jar candles that you light and leave burning until the spell is gone. It always works, so the day my friends left for Baja, I went over and got a new one. And guess what? IT WORKED!!
Thanks to the magickal healing powers of the candle, my business started picking up right away, the moment I lit it. I made my February nut with a few hundo to spare, and the gigs kept piling up, on into March…which is off to a fabulous start 🙂
Most of the gigs were the usual photo shoots — I even drove all the way down to Kingman, AZ for an all-day shoot at the Holiday Inn Suites down there, LOL (video below…lots of pancake-eatin’ and twat-flashin’, FYI).
But there were also a couple fetish shoots that really stood out! One day, I finally got around to shooting with the fabulous Kayla-Jane Danger and her foot fetish site, MyDollParts.com. This bitch is a trip! Apparently she’s a very business-savvy little minx, as she runs her own full-time fetish empire and has a closet FULL of spike-heeled platform Christian Louboutins and the like…all paid for by her immense fanbase (one of her fans even gave her a new dining room table set, LOL). I kinda felt like a loser shooting with her, since she seems to have it all figured out so well and I’m still bumbling along doing gig work…but she was super cool and very simpatico, and I give her MAJOR bonus points for reading a David Sedaris book in the bathtub while I licked her feet for this one scene we shot. (David Sedaris, if you’re reading this…..you need to see that video!! It’s a riot!!!) In fact, she even sent David Sedaris a fan letter one time…and he responded!!
What’s this?! Read on to find out…
Anyway, the shoot was really fun and easy, and basically consisted of me licking her feet, and her licking mine for this one ballet-school scenario. And while I was licking her perfectly pedicured, high-arched little size 7.5 feet, I noticed something interesting — her feet looked familiar!! Then I remembered that back in December, I did a shoot out in the San Francisco Bay Area at this guy’s apartment…and he had a full-size silicone replica of one of Kayla-Jane’s feet on his bookshelf!!! Apparently he was one of her biggest fans, LOL. Small world!
Then another day, I did an even better shoot for TaylorMadeClips.com, run by the fabulously incomparable Ms. Taylor St. Claire, an ex-porn actress who turned to running her own fetish empire after she got out of the porn biz and quit giving a flying fuck. I shot with her once back in 2009 and had a FUCKING BLAST, but for whatever reason lost touch with her until now. Let me tell you something, I have very few heroines in this world, but Taylor St. Claire is one of them — she is just so fucking cool! She lives in a huge, ramshackle old 1970s house full of rescued stray dogs, and pads around filming everything in pajamas and slippers, no makeup, with her luscious ginormous tits barely restrained by a spaghetti-strap cami top. She has a sort of blowzy, don’t-give-a-fuck manner that I found immensely appealing…I love this woman!
Initially, we were to film an overeating clip where I would pig out and get “fatter and fatter” (Taylor has her special FX tricks, don’t you know)…so she asked me what I liked to eat. Now, I like to eat cake, pie, ice cream and cookies…..but in the interest of my waistline, I said “Umm, soup or fruit or veggies or something healthy would be best.” LAME! Thankfully, she had booked another model for the shoot — a fabulous BBW starlet by the name of Kimberly Marvel, well-known in the fetish world for her luscious curves and ginormous tits and ass. So now the plan was, I would simply feed pie to Kimberly, as she grew bigger and bigger!
photo courtesy @fredflate (Twitter)
Let me tell you, this shoot was a dream come true. I sat on the bed beside Kimberly, who was all propped up on pillows, wearing a gorgeous purple velour stretchy tracksuit, and fed her bites of this delicious peanut butter pie. But this wasn’t just any pie! It was a magic pie, guaranteed to make her gain 200 pounds by sundown!! And boy howdy, did it work. Her stomach, ass and hips swelled up to gigantic proportions — if you want to see it, you’ll just have to download the clip here (not sure it’s been posted yet, but plenty of other fabulous overeating clips to entertain you there in the meantime).
Meanwhile, between takes we were all eating that fucking pie — me and Taylor and her assistant/prop guy, Fred Flate. It was delicious!!! I fucking LOVE peanut butter pie…we all beat that thing into the ground!
photo courtesy @fredflate (Twitter)
After that first clip, we shot another one in Taylor’s creepy Mad Scientist Laboratory set — Kimberly and I played friends who had come to see the famed Dr. Fred Flate for a cosmetic procedure — I was too skinny, so Kimberly wanted him to suck out some of her fat and put it into my tits and belly. Well, kooky fucking Dr. Flate came out (I can’t even describe it, you have to see this clip), and hooked us both up to this weird machine, then left the room. And that’s when shit got fucked-up! I won’t give away all the details, but let’s just say the procedure went horribly wrong, and I got much fatter than I bargained for. IT WAS AMAZING!!
photo courtesy @fredflate (Twitter)
The last clip we shot was a superhero wrestling thing, where Kimberly (as supervillain Fat Cat) and me (WonderHussy) fought each other before being devoured by a giant, furry monster. This one was a lot of fun too, except that Kimberly got carried away in the fight scene and accidentally punched me in the jaw for reals, so my face was sore for a couple days. But other than that, it was an amazingly fun shoot, and an awesome day. I <3 Taylor St. Claire…and Kimberly Marvel and Fred Flate too, for that matter!!
Anyway, after all of that, there was also the little matter of the Japanese TV show that had me in such a tizzy about the Baja trip in the first place! Here’s how that went down.
So this Japanese documentary crew contacted me, asking if they could film me busking on the Strip in my showgirl costume as part of a travelogue they were filming about roadtripping from Vegas to Bryce Canyon (you know how the Japanese love cosplay). The only lame thing was, it was a “family” show, so I couldn’t wear my real busking outfit (the marijuana showgirl)…or even my new Electric Vagina costume, which I am thinking might make an awesome busking opportunity come summer 😀
The Japanese invade my closet/dressing room
Instead, I had to put on my regular-ass old traditional showgirl costume, and we shot for about three hours: first, they “encountered” me at this fantastic old costume store in downtown Vegas, Williams Costume Co., where I “invited” them back to my house, to see my costume collection. OMG, I’m here to tell you, you haven’t LIVED until you’ve had a Japanese film crew in your closet. It was amazing!!!
After they got enough footage at my house, we cruised down to the Strip and they shot an hour or so of me standing around in front of Ballys, hustling tourists for cash. It was embarrassing because business was really slow, for several reasons: one, it was windy as fuck, and my headdress and stuff kept blowing around. Two, it was mid-afternoon, so no one was really drunk enough yet to pony up cash. And three, there are already about 500 showgirls lining the Vegas Strip, posing for photos with tourists….so me in my shitty homemade costume didn’t stand a chance!! That’s why I made the marijuana showgirl costume in the first place — to stand out from the fucking crowd!!!!!
But whatever — it was TV, so they made it work, I ended up making a few bucks, and then they paid me and gave me an awesome souvenir Japanese toenail clipper as a parting gift (!!!). They were super nice people, and I’m really glad I did it — but I didn’t have much time to dilly-dally, since I was already running late for my next adventure — the MOST AMAZING adventure in a week FULL of amazing adventures!!!
There was no way I was missing Rummelsnuff’s U.S. debut, so as soon as the Japanese film crew dropped me back at my house, I packed up my stuff and hauled ass for Wonder Valley. It’s about a three-hour drive from Vegas, through some very remote country — you basically have to cut through the middle of the Mojave National Preserve, which is a fabulous place, but it was pitch black for most of my drive, so I just drove as fast as the pot-holed road would allow, in order to get to The Palms in time for the show.
Inside The Palms
I made it just in time to change into my slutty cowgirl chaps from Sturgis — Rummelsnuff’s First Mate, the guy I called Franz in last year’s blog, told me they’d beat up a thrift shop in Twentynine Palms for performance costumes, so I figured I’d better dress up too. And then the music began!!
There were about 5 bands playing at The Palms that night, and every single one was AMAZING! I can’t believe all the talent in that little godforsaken corner of the Earth — it was really incredible. There were a few artsy hipster types in attendance, but there were also a lot of good old-fashioned salt-of-the-Earth desert types there, too — picture a dusty desert dive bar in the middle of nowhere, and that’s the kind of crowd it was. Sort of Mos-Eisley-Cantina-meets the Bagdad Cafe — WEIRD! Rummelsnuff and Franz were really nervous to go on, fearing the locals weren’t ready for their particular brand of craziness….but guess what?!?!? THEY KILLED IT!!!! Here’s a brief video I shot of their performance:
The crowd ate it up!!! It was truly amazing, and they did five songs to very enthusiastic applause, hooting and hollering. YAY!!!!!! I swear to you, I love that fucking place. After Rummelsnuff, some other acts came on, including this one amazingly incredible guy who played THE MOST AMAZING version of Pink Floyd’s “Us and Them” on a hammered dulcimer:
I swear, I’ve never heard anything like it!!! I’ve been on a Pink Floyd kick lately, and plus I was high and pretty buzzed, so it was really transformational for me. And as if that wasn’t enough, the last act was the headliner — the Field Hollars, an AMAZING two-man band that had the most incredible energy level of anything I’ve EVER SEEN! It was basically just a cherub-faced redheaded drummer and a crazed singer/guitarist in hillbilly overalls…but they dredged up a well of intensely fierce passion from somewhere that had the entire fucking room going CRAZY!!! The whole scene was like the end of Cheech & Chong’s Up In Smoke — I’m pretty sure everyone in there was baked (I know I was), and everyone was getting the fuck DOWN! IT WAS AMAAAAAAZING! Here’s a brief clip:
After the show ended, we were all totally spent. I hung out in the backyard for awhile at this bonfire, talking to some of the locals — apparently they have bigger music festivals down there on occasion, and people camp out in the desert behind the restaurant, where there was another stage set up. What a magical place!!!
My cozy bed in the Cat Ranch’s guest house
Then after awhile, I followed Rummelsnuff and his First Mate back to the Cat Ranch (a/k/a the Wonder Valley Rave Shack), where we had a nice relaxing soak in the neighbor lady’s Jacuzzi, under the amazing desert stars, talking over the amazing night’s events and smoking some more weed. Incredible! Around midnight, we got out and drove back over to the Cat Ranch and got ready for bed. Franz thought I might be more comfortable staying in the neighbor’s guest cottage, because it had indoor plumbing and running water…but I preferred to sleep in the Cat Ranch’s fabulous guest house, out in the back of their compound — rustic, with no amenities…but very cozy nonetheless!! Fuck indoor plumbing!!!!
Breakfast in Wonder Valley
Despite the fact that I was super cozy and had a sweet setup there, I suffered a miserable sleepless night due to my shitty insomnia, and finally gave up around 10am, got dressed in this fabulous psychedelic robe I just fashioned, and went out to join the boys for breakfast in the main cabin. We sat on the porch in the desert morning sun and had coffee, avocados and mangoes (Rummelsnuff is a health fiend), and I wanted nothing more than to stay all day…but alas, I had a photo shoot booked that night in Vegas at 6pm, so I had to leave them around noon. Before I went, I gave them some magic mushrooms as a parting gift….and then drove off through the sagebrush, leaving the two of them tripping balls in the desert sunshine. Lovely!!!!
the magnificent mojave
I drove back to Vegas through the Mojave National Preserve, and it was beautiful — it had just rained, so the smell of the creosote bushes was extra-intense, and the skies were sort of overcast and magical. I LOVE THE DESERT!!!!!!
photographer unknown; he hired me as an afterthought because he mostly wanted to shoot the other model
But before long, I was back in fucking Vegas, buck-ass naked in some dumb hotel room at the MGM with one of my fellow Goddess Collective models, pretending to hump each other for the pleasure of yet another photographer. The Oscars were on in the background, and it was a very surreal scene..in a totally different way than the previous night’s scene. But the bills have to be paid, and I need gas money to go back to Wonder Valley next weekend…..so it was totally worth it!!!!!
Electric Barbarella, trapped on the Planet Dick photo by MG Imagery
This past Saturday I finally got around to exploring a spot I’d always been curious about: Big Dune, about 100 miles northwest of Vegas, just off U.S. 95.
I pass this thing every year on my way to Burning Man, but I’m always so loaded down with costumes and drugs that I don’t want to stop — and on the way back, I’m always too tired.
So I was extra glad when my friend MG (read his blog here) came to town from Phoenix, and proposed an excursion/photo shoot to check it out. As a bonus, I had just finished making my Electric Vagina codpiece, so thought this might be a good opportunity to get some pics in it. It totally was!
slightly washboard, but totally passable road in
It takes about 2 hours to get to Big Dune from Vegas — basically the same as going to the other dunes in the area, Kelso and Dumont. But the drive to Big Dune is super easy — just right up the 95, a few miles past the Alien Brothel Travel Center (the old Cherry Patch Ranch, re-branded to lure in tourists). At the Big Dune sign on the left, you turn off onto a dirt road for the last 5 miles, but it’s a decent road. MG’s SUV was able to take it at 45mph with no problem.
There’s a hard packed dirt area all around the dunes, where people camp out and park their cars (look for the message board as an idea of where to park), but unless you have a quad/sand rail/dune buggy/hardcore 4WD vehicle, you can’t get closer than maybe 1/4 mile to the base of the dunes, or your car will get stuck in the soft sand.
MG and I parked his car on the hard packed area and just hiked in with all our gear. Though it was only mid-February, it was already around 75 degrees, with no shade…and hiking through sand is tough! So be advised, if you want to do a photo shoot here…either bring a quad, or be prepared for a workout.
don’t drive into this soft stuff!!
The other thing to look out for here is people — since Big Dune is fairly convenient to Vegas, lots of rednecks party here. Moreover, there’s no entrance fee (unlike Dumont), so it’s a cheaper class of redneck.
We were there on a Saturday, so there were quite a few people out there….including a whole encampment of Boy Scouts! D’OH!!! One of the scout leaders came over and asked/admonished us to stay away from the boys (since I was nude), so we agreed to hike way out into the dune field and mind our own business. God forbid those little fuckers should see a naked twat, ya know? Meanwhile they’re not allowed to be gay, either. Poor cloistered fuckers.
Boy Scouts perving in the distance…pic by MG Imagery
Wouldn’t you know it, though…despite the fact that we hiked waaaaay out away from their camp, a couple of scouts came snooping around anyway. Oh well — let ’em get their Merit Badge in Perving! It’s bound to happen sooner or later 🙂
Ironically, on our way out at the end of the day, we noticed that the scouts had built a wooden effigy to burn later that night, Burning Man-style. Their leader even told us they were calling it the Burning Scoutmaster!
The Burning Scoutmaster
I thought that was pretty cute.. but also somewhat ironic that a notoriously intolerant organization like the BSA would emulate an all-embracing hippie fuckfest. I hate to tell ya boys, if you wanna play Burning Man, you’re going to have to accept the fact that vaginas and female nipples are a part of life. They won’t do you any harm, they aren’t inherently evil, and the less mystique you impart them, the less complicated and more fun your life will be. That’s the most important Merit Badge of them all!
The beautiful dunes
Anyhoo, if you’re interested in checking out sand dunes near Vegas, Big Dune is a pretty cool place. Although time and distance-wise, if you’re looking to do a photo shoot or just hike around, you might as well just drive to the Kelso Dunes…it’s the same distance, but Kelso doesn’t allow offroad vehicles, so there won’t be any nosy rednecks racing around. (The only downside to the Kelso Dunes is that the roads are slightly worse…but still totally passable in any car.) And I DEFINITELY recommend Big Dune over Dumont — Dumont is always full of rednecks, and has an entrance fee (although it IS where they filmed the original Star Wars…so you might go just for that fact).
This past Tuesday, a longstanding dream of mine came true when I was invited to mud wrestle at Gilley’s, a country-and-western bar inside the Treasure Island hotel. A couple times a month, this group called the Power Posh Girls hosts a mudwrestling night…and they let me join in the fun!
As mentioned in my last blog, I went down there the other week to watch them, and get an idea of what I was in for. The other girls have all developed crazy wrestling personae, ranging from Little Red (riding hood) to Harajuku Hyjak (crazy Japanese anime girl)…so I knew I’d better come up with something amazing to compete with them. But what?
photo by Randy Fosth Shutterbug-Studio
I already knew I’d wrestle under the name Wonderhussy (since why not)…but I had to develop a character and shtick around it. I played off the slutty Wonder Woman angle, ordering a sexxxy Wonder Woman monokini and some thigh-high boots. I didn’t have a Golden Lasso of Truth, so I spray-painted my old bullwhip gold, creating the vastly superior Pussy Whip of Truth (men can’t resist it). And I already had the cuffs, headpiece and cape, so I just embellished those a bit and I was pretty much good to go.
Except for one thing!
My original Electric Vagina, pic by Michael Maze
A long time ago, at the tender age of 17 or so, I came up with the concept of an Electric Pussy — an electrical outlet in place of a vagina, with a giant power drill plugged into it. The ultimate expression of Pussy Power!! When I started modeling, I tried to recreate this idea in a photo shoot with one of my favorite photographers.. but the image (while badass) didn’t quite come out as I had hoped. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to make a sort of Electric Pussy codpiece…but never really went ahead with it until now.
I knew I needed to make an Electric Pussy prosthetic panty for this rassling match. My idea was that my character, Wonderhussy, would come out to the strains of Lenny Kravitz’s “American Woman,” with a power drill plugged into my crotch. Back when I shot the above photo, I had purchased the biggest drill bit I could find at Lowe’s (sales guy: “Ya drilling concrete?” Me: “Something like that”) and I figured I’d attach it to the drill, maybe with an American flag taped to the end. Playing to the crowd of rednecks, I would then drill holes into a communist flag or a photo of Osama bin Laden or something. Boo Ya!!!
The Electric Vagina
Obviously, I’m no electrician, so the pussy outlet wouldn’t really work — I borrowed my roommate’s cordless drill, then attached the cord from an old curling iron I bought at a thrift store so that it would look like it was really plugged in and working. I covered the drill with painter’s tape, then colored it in Stars and Stripes, adding a miniature American flag to the tip of the drill bit.
As for the pussy itself, it was pretty tricky. I spent hours reading all these cosplay blogs for tips on how to make body armor for cheap, and ended up molding the panty out of thick craft foam, attached to an elastic belt like a jock strap. To make it extra-durable, I covered the craft foam with a layer of glue-soaked fabric strips, then a layer of gaffer’s tape and then finally a layer of this stuff called Paperclay, which is basically a quick-drying lightweight clay that you then sand down so that it makes a smooth, lightweight top layer. I then spray painted it gold, popped in an electrical outlet, and added embellishments with electrical tape. When I was done, it looked pretty bad ass!
Now I was ready to wrassle! I was literally working on my costume until right up until the match, so when I finished, I threw everything in a bag and headed over to Gilley’s to get it on. I had been up since 7:30am working on repairing my backyard fence (more on which later), so I was pretty tired…but I was still amped as fuck to fulfill this longstanding dream of mine!
Photo by Kelly Garni
The way mudwrestling at Gilley’s works is, you arrive at 10:30pm and change into your costume, then the DJ introduces each wrestler onstage, one at a time. They play your entrance music, you get up onstage and shake your ass, tits, etc., and then the DJ asks you a few questions before auctioning you off to the crowd: “NOW, who wants to be Wonderhussy’s towel boy???” Basically, you get to swab off the mud and sweat and whatnot, and generally just look like a stud, and the bidding starts at $20.
Now normally, each wrestler gets around $100 from someone to be her towel boy (there was this one chick, Crocodile DDD, who got $400 once). But this past Tuesday was a slow night, so many of the wrestlers didn’t get huge bids. In my case, I (humiliatingly) only got $40!!!! WTF?? I felt pretty shitty about it, but one of the other girls only got $40 too, so at least I wasn’t alone. And at the end of the night we all split the take anyway, so it wasn’t too bad. But I still felt guilty, like I was letting the others down.
photo by Kelly Garni
My opponent was Little Red (Riding Hood), a fierce, sexxxy redhead in a hooded cloak and a red thong bikini. Yowza!!! Other wrestlers that night included Lady GoGo-Get-‘Em, Harajuku Hyjak, Wild Thing, Diablo Diana and Daisy Dukes, among others….there were 8 total, and we wrestled in a playoff format, with the winners wrestling each other until only one was victorious.
Little Red and I wrassled third, and I am ashamed to say she totally kicked my ass!!! 🙁 Mostly because I couldn’t bring my power drill or Golden Pussy Whip into the ring, but still — I just had no idea how slippery it would be in that ring!! Prior to this, my only real wrestling experience was Blood Wrestling at the Sci-Fi Center, so I just didn’t know what to expect. But either way, my towel boy was very helpful and I had a blast rolling around in the muck, which is actually chocolate pudding. (I accidentally forgot, and licked some off my fingers later in the evening….and got severe diarrhea as a result, lol.)
photo by Kelly Garni
Anyhoo, after your match is over you run to the back, where there is a tiny little shower room so you can clean off, wash your hair, and then change into fresh clothes and go back out to mingle with the crowd. They give you a couple free drink tickets as a thank-you, so it was all good. I had several friends show up to watch me, so after I cleaned up I went back out and had a great time socializing. (Incidentally, my waterproof makeup held up astonishingly well — thank you Blinc Brow Mousse! My brows stayed on perfectly.)
photo by Randy Fosth Shutterbug-Studio
At the end of the last match, they divvy up the money and everyone gets her cut, and that’s that. As mentioned, I was reeeally embarrassed at having only gotten a $40 bid, and I was advised to act less confident next time. I had come out onstage waving my drill around, thrusting my Electric Vagina at the crowd like a real bad-ass…when come to find out, next time I should be more sexy and cutesy, and less threatening. They loved my costume and my Electric Pussy, but just told me to be more coy and less aggressive. Now that I think about it, that’s probably the main reason I have a hard time making money in life in general — I come off as too confident/assertive, and don’t simper and pule enough. Lesson learned!!!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaanyhoo, that was wrestling. I had a total fucking blast, and sincerely hope to rassle with the Power Posh Girls many more times! Check out this awesome GoPro footage taken by a friend, and then head over to the Power Posh Facebook page and “like” us!!
Anyway, aside from wrestling I had a pretty shitty week. My troubles all started on Valentine’s Day — I hate that fucking b.s. holiday as it is (I never seem to have a boyfriend when it rolls around, so I always feel left out and weird), but to make matters worse, this year I woke up to find that my new dog Freddy had WORMS! He was acting all weird, whining and fussing all night, and sure as sugar I found all these nasty little grains of rice-looking things on his blanket. GROSSSSSS!!!!
I scrapped my electric vagina-making plans and took him to the vet, where I shelled out $180 for meds, but when I brought him home is when the real trouble started. I don’t know if it was the worms, or the fact that it was a full moon or WHAT, but that little fucker just went BUCK WILD — racing around the house, getting worms everywhere, and generally acting a fool. I spent all day doing laundry and trying to calm him down, but eventually I had to go out and run errands….and that’s when the shit REALLY hit the fan. Every fucking time I left the house, I’d get a phone call from one of the neighbors: “We have your dog!” So I’d have to drop whatever I was doing and race home to get him.
photo by Randy Fosth Shutterbug-Studio
This happened FOUR TIMES — once I was in the middle of lifting weights, and had to bail on my workout! Each time, I would go home, find out where he’d escaped, and block up the hole as best I could. My backyard fence was in a pretty shitty state of disrepair, with a lot of loose boards and stuff, but I kept nailing them tight (or so I thought). Still, the little fucker was SO CRAZED he kept finding new ways to bash his head on the boards and get out. He’d run a few houses down the street, then I’d drag him home. The funny thing was, he was perfectly content to follow me back in the house — but the next time I left, he’d run away again!! It was hell!!!
I was really stressing, because I had shit to do and couldn’t stay home with him. Fortunately, I have one of those dog kennel/crate things, so when I went out the last time, I locked him up in that. But apparently he went NUTS while I was gone, puked all over the inside of the crate, and somehow bashed his way out through the metal grate on the front!!! I’m telling you, that dog was BALLISTIC!!! I tried closing him up in there again that night, but he went BATSHIT, whining and drooling frantically, pawing at the gate so hard I was afraid he’d hurt himself. By this time, I was so exhausted that I got really mad, and resolved to take him to the pound in the morning. He’s really cute, so I have no doubt some family would adopt him in no time — I honestly didn’t feel too badly about it.
photo by Randy Fosth Shutterbug-Studio
But in the morning, he had calmed down a lot, so I gave him a reprieve…..and instead shelled out $600 to replace my fucking fence. A friend referred me this awesome handyman who came over on Tuesday morning (which is why I had to get up at 7:30am….ugh), and I helped him repair/replace the fucking fence. What a LAME ASS way to spend $600, huh? Especially since I haven’t been working much this month.
I don’t know WHY, but as I mentioned last time, all my gigs have dried up lately. One day I was so desperate for cash, I even tested out a new app downtown in exchange for $25!!! Tough times, I tells ya. But I’m slowly clawing my way toward my nut this month…and I might just make it. I should probably go busking on the Strip in my Electric Vagina costume this Saturday night, just to make a few bucks: I could hold up a sign that says “CELL PHONE CHARGING,” and I’d probably do OK. That’ll be my last resort.
on the 702Rox show photo by D’Aaron Mata
Anyway, since I haven’t been working much lately, at least I had plenty of time to get out and about. One afternoon, I was a guest on the 702 Rox radio show, hosted by the sexxxy Miss Foxy Roxy, along with celebrity hypnotist Anthony Cools and this awesome chick who had just won Makeup Artist of the Year at the porno awards!! (She uses a special waterproof primer, so that it’s easy to clean up those facial wads. Gross!!!) Well, apparently I did such a good job on that show, they invited me back as a regular for the month of May — I’ll be reading the world news in a sexy outfit, kind of like those Naked News chicks. Maybe I’ll bring my Electric Pussy along!!
Then another night, I did an amazing photo shoot with my good friend Randy Fosth, Shutterbug-Studio. He shot my in my rassling outfit, but alas my Electric Pussy wasn’t finished yet, so he didn’t get any pics of that. But the good news is, he’s working on a book of our best photos…so look for that to be coming out soon! You won’t want to miss it!
the astonishingly emotional crowd at the Britney Spears show!
Meanwhile, another good friend was in town — a classic liberal elitist journalist pal from New York City who comes out here fairly regularly to write about Vegas for various national magazines. Since they’re always schmoozing him with fabulous dinners and offers, he always invites me along as company, and as a result I’ve gotten to see some very intense shit which I would normally never be able to afford. This time, they hooked him up with tickets to the Britney Spears show at Planet Hollywood…so I went along out of curiosity. It turned out to be AWESOME! You can read my review here…but if you’re too lazy to click the link, basically it was awesome because it was so cheesy and unpretentious, and the room was full of gay guys and homely chicks bawling their eyes out while Britney waddled around the stage in wedge-heeled tennies and a sequined sausage-casing. Plus, because they were schmoozing my friend, we had front-row seats with bottle service — free vodka and candy served by a bangin’ hot Thai bottle waitress. FUN!
After the show, he had to go over to Beacher’s Madhouse to interview Jeff Beacher, so I tagged along there, too. If you haven’t heard of it, Beacher’s Madhouse is basically a nightclub with a stage show featuring wacky/bizarre acts like a woman who smashes watermelons with her giant tits, etc. They also have all these furry mascots hanging out, dancing with the crowd, as well as a bunch of celebrity look-a-likes and the world’s only flying Little People bartenders — basically, if you order a bottle of vodka, this dwarf comes flying out on a harness to deliver it to your table. It’s shtick, but it’s fun…even though it is, at heart, just a sort of frat-house nightclub melee. And to be honest, the wackiness feels pretty forced — I feel like a better m.o. would be if Jeff Beacher fired all his wacky staff, and just went out on the Strip every night at 10pm and hired 20 wackos, Home-Depot-style, to come in and do their shtick. God only knows you can find MUCH weirder weirdos hanging out on the sidewalk in front of Planet Hollywood any night of the week…including, I’ve even heard, some random bitch with an Electric Pussy!!! (Hmmm, maybe I should hit up Beacher for a job….)
At Tecopa Hot Springs with some hippie friends, earlier in the week. Photo by Joe Tabor
Then another night, my same journalist friend got invited to the one-year anniversary party for this über-pretentious “hip Asian dining” joint at the Encore, named after Steve Wynn’s new trophy Frankenhag, Andrea. The party was chock-a-block with the “Who’s Who” of Vegas Society, meaning it was basically a roomful of Botoxed, collagen-lipped, fake-titted designer-label-wearing society whores and their wizened, pervy old husbands (many of whom probably jerk off to this very blog). UGH!!! If it hadn’t been for all the AMAZING free sushi, I couldn’t have handled it — plus, there were all these gorgeous babes standing around passing out free champagne.
That’s right, to balance out all the old Botox hags they had hired a bunch of sexy young models to come hang out at the party — only they weren’t really paying them; they just forced all the new hires for pool season to come to the party for no pay. I learned all this talking to one of them, this beautiful tall blonde from out of town. She had driven five hours to be at the party, and had to be back home again to work in the morning…but if she didn’t, she’d lose her coveted upcoming gig as a bottle waitress at the Encore’s pool club this summer.
Our camp at Tecopa…we hung out all day, and had a bonfire at night. Photo by Joe Tabor
I had always been curious as to how these pool babes get their gigs — I know there is FIERCE competition for those bottle service jobs, especially at the pool clubs. They’re always posting audition notices at my gym, and the girls have to show up in bikinis, with headshots — waitressing experience not important. Well, come to find out this poor blonde bitch drove up here from 5 hours away to audition at several pools this year, and it was intense! Hundreds of gorgeous girls shivering in bikinis in the bowels of ginormous hotel-casinos, waiting for hours until called up to walk down a runway in front of a table of judges. Creeeeeeeepy!!! Then the lucky ones get hired, and presumably make an ass-ton of money serving drinks to rich assholes and drunk douchebags in the hot summer sun. They also have quotas to make, a certain number of girls they have to bring into the pool each week, and table clients they have to book — it sounds like a lot of stress and I’d never want to do it!! But apparently, chicks across America flock here to try it…so what do I know? I think it goes back to my unwillingness to simper and pule.
Anyway, talking to that chick was the most interesting part of the party, and explained why there were so many babes in slutty bebe dresses and Christian Louboutins milling around. They were extra-thick at this one table, surrounding this miserable-looking old-ass pervert who kept stroking the legs of the miserable-looking blonde bitch beside him — apparently, he was some kind of mega-high roller ancient Mafia guy who had to be placated with bimbos to keep him from exploding in a geyser of dago rage. WOW! Who are these people, and what the fuck are their lives all about?!?!?!
For the people-watching alone, this party was amazing. Andrea Wynn herself mingled about the room with an industrial-strength binder clip at the back of her head holding her face taut, god only knows what kind of horribly pretentious babble spewing from her trout pout. Her blind old husband was nowhere to be seen, probably off banging an elbow through a Moldovan hooker’s eye socket. The best part of the entire party was when this alleged Grammy-winning blonde chippy sat at the grand piano and played an ÜBER-pretentious Norah-Jones-style version of Nancy Sinatra’s “Bang Bang.” The whole room of idiots stood by spellbound, as if it were the most amazing, groundbreaking artistic interpretation since Crispin Glover covered Charles Manson’s “Never Say Never to Always.” GAHHHHHHHHH!!!!! SOMEBODY PASS ME ANOTHER GLASS OF FREE CHAMPAGNE BEFORE I SHIT IN ANDREA WYNN’S MARTINI GLASS!!!!!!
And this, dear readers, is why I will never write for a mainstream Vegas publication: I simply can’t/refuse to play the game. I gotta call a spade a spade….or in this case, a Frankenhag a Frankenhag. And the saddest/funniest part of the whole thing was, all those slutty young chippies in the bebe dresses were just Frankenhags in waiting. AND THAT, my friends, is what Vegas is all about!!!! (Also, let me tell you something — those bottle waitresses may look pretty, but a very close friend of mine was hired to create a spreadsheet for one of the pool clubs, to ensure that no two waitresses are ever at adjoining tables two days in a row — they have to do this to make sure the bitches don’t collude and figure out a way to sheist money from the club. As if they’re not already making enough!! Like I said…who ARE these fucking people?!?!)
Anyway, you can see why I desperately need to get the fuck out of town!! I’m waaaay overdue for an adventure, and thankfully, a new friend I met has offered me the perfect getaway: roadtrip down to Baja California for some crazy off-road race at the end of the month. Apparently, thousands of speed freaks and beach bums gather in San Felipe each year for this race, and my friend has invited me to come along and camp out on the beach, eat shrimp tacos and drink cheap Mexican beer. How could I say no to THAT?!?!
FUCK YES! It’s caftan weather again, at long last 😀 Photo by Joe Tabor
But meanwhile, I still haven’t made my monthly nut. And wouldn’t you know it, some Japanese TV crew contacted me yesterday, wanting to shoot footage of me busking on the Strip for a documentary they’re filming about Vegas — the same weekend as the Baja race!!!!! Fuck. Which should I do??
The Japanese crew is only paying $100, so it’s not really about the money — AND, they also tell me it’s a “family” show, so I can’t wear my Electric Vagina outfit or even my weed showgirl costume :/ I’d have to wear my regular showgirl outfit, and that is L.A.M.E. But still, I could be on Japanese TV!
On the other hand…I could also get the fuck out of town and go to Mexico, where I’ve never been, and get high as fuck with a bunch of hippie freaks and gearheads. Decisions, decisions. Which path do YOU think I should take????
I’m no stranger to censorship. My entire Facebook profile was deleted back in 2009 because I posted a few art nudes — despite the fact that no nipples/vagina were showing, the fact that I was naked was reason enough for them to delete my profile, and refuse to reinstate it (I appealed, and they actually emailed me back saying NO). One of the main reasons I started this blog, in fact, was so that I could post whatever the fuck I wanted to, without fear of being flagged or deleted by some dumb Puritanical website.
I learned my lesson — nowadays, I’m cautious about what I post on Facebook. But I never thought I’d have to worry about Model Mayhem, the modeling networking site I use! They don’t allow you to use a topless or nude photo as your avatar (unless you’re male, in which case topless is fine…OF COURSE), but other than that, it’s pretty much open game over there. UNTIL NOW….
Yes friends, I am shocked to announce that I have now had a photo removed from Model Mayhem!! Fuck, all I need is a Twitter ban, and I’ll have a trifecta :-/
pic by Shutterbug-Studio
<– Here is the photo in question. Apparently, it violates this section of Model Mayhem’s terms of service:
“The following represent image types that are NEVER allowed to be posted on Model Mayhem:
– any and all penetration of vagina or anus”
Which, apparently, means: No hookah hoses allowed inside holy holes!!!!
When I uploaded this pic to Model Mayhem, I didn’t for a second think there’d be a problem. It’s obviously a kooky, tongue-in-cheek joke photo — there’s nothing erotic about it at all. But, one of the MM moderators contacted me yesterday, informing me that they had removed it.
OK, fine. It was no big deal, since I had shot a PG-version of the same exact photo anyway, so I just uploaded that, instead. But the whole situation IRKED me anyway.
Model Mayhem is mostly an amateur site — amateur models and amateur photographers…some more amateur than others!!! You see all kinds of awful shit on there, but…art is subjective, so who am I say what’s awful? As long as it’s between consenting adults, who cares?? My beef is mostly with the fact that Model Mayhem censored MY innocent little hoo-hah-hookah pic, while allowing the following photos to slide:
Looks like there’s a rope in her vagina to me….. photo by Dark Fantasies
It’s OK to show this…but god forbid you stick a hookah in your junk. Pic by Michael Helms
Ted Bundy porn is cool…just so long as you’re not inserting any hookah hoses Pic by Dark Lair Productions
Torture = okey dokey Pic by Johnny T
LOL………hey, whatever gets you off. So long as it’s not a hookah hose in your twat. Pic by Ken Marcus
To those of who not familiar with Model Mayhem, these are just a few examples of the THOUSANDS of fucked-up photos people post on that site. There’s a HUGE market for “Damsel in Distress” photos of terrified-looking chicks tied up and gagged…lots of people are really into that.
Again, I’m not saying the above photos should be deleted from MM — as long as it was between consenting adults, who cares? First Amendment, already.
I’m just saying that I really don’t find my hookah hoo-hah photo to be any more offensive. What do you think?
self-portrait I did one night while drinking wine and listening to Wendy Carlos music!
Today marks the 422nd day of my life as a totally independent badass — it’s been that long since I quit my lame-ass job, and went full-time freelance. As you can see, I’m eating well, paying all my bills and having more fabulous adventures than ever….so I guess you could call my experiment a success! If you too are stuck in a loathsome dead-end job, dear reader…I definitely recommend quitting. It was the greatest move I ever made!
enjoying my extra-dank private grow
Now, that’s not to say it’s been all smooth sailing. I have a strict budget, and a monthly income quota that I try to hit — I know it costs me precisely $70/day to cover all my expenses and put some savings aside, and sometimes it can be tricky finding enough gigs to crack my monthly nut. This month (February) is especially tricky — not only do I have fewer days to hustle, but my gig stream sort of dried up lately, inexplicably. I’m still on track to make my nut (in fact I’m a few days ahead)…but I have very little stuff lined up for the rest of the month. I know from experience that random shit always pops up last-minute…but it can still get a little nail-bitey at times like this! Fuck, I even answered an email I got from some random dude asking how much I’d charge to come over and dye all his body hair in the shower ($100; he never answered back). ARRRGH!! Thankfully, if all else fails I can always put on my marijuana showgirl costume and go busking for tips on the Strip…but I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that!
Pic by Shutterbug-Studio
To make matters worse, what gigs I *HAVE* had lately got all screwed up due to a massive brainfart on my part. Since my life is kinda crazy, and my work is all over the place and at different times and on different days, I keep three different calendars to keep my schedule straight: one in my phone, an appointment book in my purse, and a big desk calendar at home (this is why you have to give me plenty of notice if you want to hang out).
Well, despite my triple diligence, I somehow fucked up and penciled in this convenience store convention on the wrong days! I was supposed to wear a mascot costume at the show for a popular antacid company, and I had it down as being Thursday and Friday. So on Wednesday morning, I was in my bathroom, leisurely drinking coffee and setting my hair in rollers for a pin-up photo shoot I had booked later that afternoon…when my phone rang: “Where are you?!?!?!” FUCK!!!!!!!!
pic by Shutterbug-Studio
Thankfully, I had already called the client a few days prior to confirm the gig…so she had my cell number, and called me directly (instead of calling the agency and ratting me out). I told her I’d be there in 15, and hauled ass to the MGM Grand Conference Center as fast as I could — since it was a costumed mascot gig, I didn’t have to fuck with makeup, thank dog, so I basically just finished rolling my hair as fast as I could, jumped into some leggings, and raced across town (I had to finish the rolling part, since I still figured to make the pinup shoot afterward, and wouldn’t have time later on).
By the time I got there, though, I was an hour late….and I was mortified. I *HATE* disappointing people, and I have never, EVER spaced out on a gig before — I just felt really ashamed. I apologized profusely to the client, but they didn’t seem too bent out of shape, so I just got suited up as quickly as possible and tried to make up for my tardiness by busting my ass. Normally with a mascot gig, you wear the costume for 20 minutes, then take a 20 minute break for fresh air and to rest your back — 20 on/20 off for the entire shift. Well, in penance for my sins, I wore that costume for an hour each time, and made sure to bounce around with extra enthusiasm while inside. It was one of those inflatable costumes, with a fan inside to keep it inflated…so it wasn’t really hot, but the battery pack that powered the fan was pretty heavy, and my back was killing me after the first set. But I did three or four of them the first day, just to kiss ass.
Once the show ended at 4pm, my stress still wasn’t finished — I then had to haul ass home and get ready for my pinup shoot, which was supposed to have already started!! Thankfully, the photographer was a friend with whom I’ve shot many times in the past, so I had already alerted him to the fact that I was running late…and he had also hired a few other models for the shoot, so he had them to work with while they waited for me. But I still felt terrible — again, I *HATE* letting people down!!
pic by Dan P, editing by Instagram
Anyhoo, I busted my ass, got home, spackled on makeup, did some quik Victory rolls in my hair and threw a bunch of pin-up clothes into a suitcase, then raced to the El Cortez, where the shoot was taking place — in the Cabana Suites, which I wholeheartedly recommend to any photographers seeking a unique place to shoot. These rooms are super-affordable (I think ours was around $40-45 for the night) and very funky and photogenic — colored walls, artsy furnishings and decor, and they even let you shoot in the lobby if you want!
Interestingly, the photographer had initially planned to shoot at the Artisan Hotel…but they quoted him something like a $500 shooting fee, PLUS the cost of the rooms. Fuck that noise! I mean, the Artisan lobby is kinda cool — full of unique, funky antiques and stuff — but the rooms themselves are dark and shitty…I know, because I’ve shot and stayed there in the past. That hotel used to be a Travelodge, and you can totally tell — they basically just slapped on some black paint and added a bunch of artsy oil paintings. Shitty, for sure…plus, they’re assholes: the
In the lobby of the El Cortez Cabana Suites Pic by Dan P.
bartenders will overcharge you at every opportunity (again, I speak from experience; I was once charged $40 for a $24 order). To top all that off, they deleted my bad review from Yelp! So…fuck ’em!
But anyhoo, the El Cortez Cabana Suites are the shit…so keep that in mind if you’re looking for a cool room to shoot in here. Not much natural light, though…so bring your equipment!
Aaaaaaaanyway, once the shoot was finished I went home and passed out, making sure to get up in plenty of time to make Day 2 of the convenience store convention. I got there like 20 minutes early…which was good, because I ended up forgetting to bring socks with me, and had to run into the MGM Grand to buy a pair from the gift shop (Logo: “What Happens in These Socks…Stays in These Socks.” I’m not kidding.)
Inside the mascot suit
But once the sock crisis was resolved, the rest of the day went fine. I wandered around the expo hall bobbing and dancing and high-fiving various convenience store franchisees, and it was great. Again, I wore the costume for an hour at a time, still making amends for the previous day’s tardiness — I really like doing mascot gigs, and didn’t want the client to give me a bad review in case the agency refused to ever book me again.
Being in a costume at that show was actually a blessing, since it prevented me from shoveling into my face all the horrible crap convenience-store food on display — but even then, on my break I managed to snarf down all manner of junk, ranging from salted caramel Cracker Jack to Jack Links to breakfast sandwiches, stuffed hashbrowns and plenty of coffee drinks. Blecccchhhhhhh!! WHY do I have such a hard time turning down free food, even when it’s basically poison?!?!?
From a recent hike to the fabulous Goldstrike Hot Springs, near Hoover Dam
The other interesting thing about this show was, unlike previous convenience store shows I’ve worked, the exhibitors were not allowed to hand out bags to the attendees. You may recall that the last convenience store show I worked basically devolved into a free-for-all worthy of a Sudanese refugee camp, as attendees literally clawed and crawled over each other to grab free handouts at the end of the show, many walking out with overflowing shopping bags full of food-swag. Apparently, some of the more unscrupulous franchisees collect all this free shit, then turn around and sell it in their stores to make extra money! So they put the kibosh to that at this show — no bags allowed! But that didn’t stop people — you saw them walking around with boxes salvaged from the trash, overflowing with collected crap. Oy, vey!
This is what we do to bananas around here… pic by Shutterbug-Studio
Anyway, at the end of the day the client let me go a bit early, since the show was basically dead anyway. But the costume needed to be shipped to the next city, and the MGM in-house shipping department wasn’t able to come get it for another two hours. Rather than make them wait around, I offered to drive the client to the nearest Fed-Ex, on my own dime, and help her ship it out so she didn’t have to wait. I was still trying to butter her up so she wouldn’t tell the agency I was late the first day…but alas, when I dropped her back at the hotel, she still signed my timecard to reflect my late start. Boooooo! 🙁 Oh well, lesson learned….from now on I am keeping FOUR calendars, and am double-checking my dates on EVERYTHING!!!
Either way, after those exhausting two days, I was definitely ready for a night off…and thankfully, a very good friend was in town, and we had a special outing planned for that Friday!
Now, as you know, pretty much ALL Vegas shows are cheesy, unimaginative tripe. ALL of them — especially the “artsy” ones! The only way to make them bearable is to take some sort of psychedelics beforehand, and that’s just what my friend and I are wont to do. We’d already been to Absinthe, Penn & Teller and Rod Stewart under the influence of magic mushrooms…but now we wanted to see the granddaddy of them all: the Beatles LOVE, a trippy, psychedelic Cirque du Soleil interpretation of the Beatles’ music that is actually a pretty good show even sober…but undoubtedly even better under the influence!
Me and my fellow Goddess-Collective member, Miss Jill V Pic by SW Images
Well, I’m here to tell you that I was right — it was amazing!!! We had front-row seats, which normally is too close to see all the action (I’d already seen the show 3 times, from various distances, and the middle is best). But being on shrooms, the front row was awesome, since it felt like you were right up in the middle of all the craziness — all those kooky, colorful characters dancing around right in front of you! Amazing, and HIGHLY recommended. We had the time of our lives, then walked over to Caesars Palace for some drinks in the Seahorse Lounge until our buzz wore off. All in all, a fantastic night…and just what I needed to recharge my batteries!
After that, it was back on the hamster wheel. First up was the Super Bowl — thank dog I hate football, because I’ve ended up working that Sunday every single year since I started doing gigs back in ’08. At first it was dumb shit like Miller Lite or Bud Light Girl — walking around various casino parties handing out koozies and crap. But the past few years I’ve worked this one ginormous independent party as a showgirl — walking around posing for pics with guests, that kind of thing. It’s super fun, and this year I got to bring along a buddy, who happened to have two matching showgirl costumes for us!
After the Super Bowl, the pendulum swung back to “BORING:” the Homebuilders’ Show. But that was only two days, and then it was back to fun gigs: I did a photo shoot as a vampire, where the photographer let me keep the custom-fitted fangs he’d bought (!!!), then I danced in a music video for this awesomely nutty act called Kingdom of Wonderland, and then some out-of-state friends came to town and hired me to accompany them to dinner at the ever-fabulous Rose.Rabbit.Lie. If you haven’t heard of this place, read my review here…basically it’s just a WEIRD-ASS supper club/lounge/interactive theater experiment where performers are all around you, all the time. What was especially cool was that I got a totally different experience this time,
My new fangs!!! Fang you very much, Mr. Photographer!
compared to my last visit: this time, we had drinks before dinner in the Music Room…and as we were sitting there, this chick came along and asked to “borrow” us, then took us into this weird little closet room where a naked hot dude was taking a bath in an old-fashioned claw-footed bathtub, reading sheet music and pontificating to a bunch of other kooky characters hanging around. His butler brought out a punchbowl, and played a drinking game with us until we were all totally wasted, at which time the hot dude got out of the tub, got dressed, and we all went back out to the bar. FUN!!! Then after that we had a sick-ass dinner, and some after-dinner drinks in the Study…overall, another fantastic night, and you should definitely check out Rose.Rabbit.Lie next time you’re in town!
Doing some home improvement work…its not ALL fun and games!
Now, that was all the gigs I’ve done lately — well, I’m here to tell you that the most fabulous gig of ALL is yet to come!!! The other girl that I did the Super Bowl party with runs a mudwrestling night at Gilley’s, the country-western bar at the Treasure Island…and she said she’d book me as a wrestler at their next event!!! DREAMS DO COME TRUE — I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO MUDWRESTLE!!!!!!!!
The best thing about this mudwrestling gig is that it’s totally campy shtick, a la the old Gorgeous Ladies Of Wrestling (G.L.O.W.) back in the day — the girls all have crazy costumes and personalities, and it’s all very theatrical and over-the-top. They’re called the
The next day, I tried it in a different outfit, to see if it went any better. It did not.
Power Posh Girls, and I went down to watch them the other night, to get an idea. OH….MY….GAWD! I can’t wait!!!! I already have a BAD ASS character planned: WONDERHUSSY, a sort of slutty all-American superheroine with a very special twist that I’m trying to make in time for the next event, on February 18th. If I can rig up this special prosthetic in time I’ll have a special entrance song to match, but if not, I’ll have them play “American Woman” when I enter the ring. Boo-Ya!!!
Speaking of this special prosthetic, trying to build it has led me to some very strange cosplay websites — cosplay being this weird subculture of dorks who spend hours and hours, and hundreds of dollars, making superhero costumes out of duct tape and foam and all these weird plastics with names like Worbla and Wonderflex and Friendly Plastic. WTF!!! It’s bizarre! But I’m enjoying building this costume so much that who knows….I may end up becoming a big cosplayer myself!! NOT!!!
Either way, it’s good that I’ve been home lately working on this costume, because I also recently got a new dog, and I have to keep the poor little fucker company!! That’s right; this chick I worked CES with read my blog about my old dog Stubby dying, and asked me if I wanted to adopt this stray that showed up near her trailer in the desert, down in Arizona. Apparently she lives down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, and assholes abandon their pets there with some frequency — well, this bad-ass chick takes them in and tries to find homes for them when she can! What a cool lady!!
Freddy Got Fingered!
This particular dog had been running around the desert for about a year, roaming free and knocking up all the bitches in the area and generally living the life of Riley. Well, she roped him in and started feeding him, and sent me a photo, and he looked pretty cool: about the same size and stature as my old dog, with the same short lil legs. I think he’s a Basset Hound mixed with an Irish Setter or something. Anyway, I drove down halfway and met her near the Hoover Dam to pick him up, and he’s a real sweetie. I kinda feel sorry for him, though, because I took him from his free-ranging desert life and dragged him into the city, with all the noise and pollution and sirens and shit…and the first thing I did was cut his hair off, and his balls off, and now there’s no more banging bitches and running around freely. But he doesn’t seem to mind it very much — I’ve had him a few weeks now, and he’s been pretty chill, only peeing in the house twice and not chewing anything except a leash (he HATES to be tied up). The girl who gave him to me was calling him Thorin Oakenshield, after the Dwarf King in Lord of the Rings (because he does look like a little dwarf) but I couldn’t get used to saying that, and ended up naming him Freddy. Awww!
I love asking my fellow Las Vegans what brought them here initially — more often than not, the answer is a variation of “I got stuck here because [X],” or “I ended up here because [X],” and ends with “but I’m moving as soon as I can get the fuck out of here.” It seems like few people actually choose to move to Vegas — and even the ones who do, only plan to stay long enough to make a crapload of money, then get the fuck out. In my experience, not many people move here planning to stay and make a life, or build a real community. (This has begun to change over the past few years, thankfully.)
Well, I actually chose to move here…because I thought it seemed like an interesting place. People tried to talk me out of it, telling me I’d regret it because Vegas is a “second-chance town” full of losers who couldn’t hack it anywhere else: single moms with multiple baby-daddies, divorcees, convicted felons, addicts…basically a city full of people with sordid pasts. In addition, uneducated assholes flock here because even a dimwit lacking the most basic education can make a decent living in the service industry: strippers, valet attendants, doormen…you know what I mean!
But I moved here anyway, and have been here for 13 years. And I love it!!! In retrospect, I think I was drawn to Vegas because it was dumb — less intimidating than New York or L.A., with fewer intellectual or creative expectations. But rather than sit here and psychoanalyze my lame-ass motivations, let me tell you about the magnificent journey that brought me here.
this life sucks ass!!!
I had recently graduated college and found myself mired in a miserable desk job in the bowels of a gray concrete building on the IBM campus in San Jose, CA. I had to get up at 6am and spend my days drinking coffee from a Cathy mug and kissing executive ass — not really what I had in mind for life. I wanted adventure!!! And I especially wanted to never have to get up at 6am EVER. AGAIN.
As mentioned, Vegas had always seemed like a super interesting place to me. But keep in mind, this was back in 2000, during one of those in-between periods when Vegas wasn’t really a hot spot — the “family-friendly destination” phase was just ending, and the “upscale nightlife douchery” phase hadn’t yet begun. Vegas was kinda down-and-out…just the sort of aesthetic I dig! I had seen the movie Swingers, where the guys pick up that cocktail waitress and go back to her trailer-park home, and I just thought that seemed so funky and weird and awesome that I had to move here and try it for myself. So I did.
I want a backseat big enough to fit the entire cast of Goodfellas!!
As with everything, I did it in pimp-ass cinematic style: the first thing I did was ditch my practical, boring wheels in favor of something much more Vegas-worthy…which in my mind meant an obscenely huge, vintage All-American gas-guzzler. I didn’t want to be too stereotypical, so I bypassed the usual 60s and 70s suspects and went straight for the biggest, squarest American-made beast I could find, which turned out to be a 1986 Lincoln Town Car. I specifically chose this make and model because it had zero curves on it anywhere — I hated those aerodynamic, fuel-efficient pudding blobs that were popular back then, and I wanted angles.
The Chairwoman of the Board
With the help of a friendly used car dealer in San Jose, I found an ’86 Town Car at a police auction, but it was a totally pedestrian, un-Vegas shade of blue…which simply would not do for my fabulous new life in the desert! So with the same dealer’s help, I had it painted bright, pukey Pepto-Bismol pink (ever the contrarian, I refused to go the standard pale-pink Cadillac route. I’m different, by gum). Then I had the interior redone in virginal white
(I actually was still a virgin when I moved here, shockingly).
While I was waiting for the car to be pimped out, my sister and I drove down to Vegas one weekend to look at apartments. In those days they had these bizarre free apartment-finding services — I think they’re still around, but not sure if it’s still free. Anyway, you went in, told them how much you wanted to spend and what part of town you
freshly arrived in Vegas, wearing clear heels already!
wanted to live in, then they would give you a map with a few complexes marked on it and have you go pick one. I told them I wanted to live right on the Strip and pay less than $500 a month — which was possible back then, but you would have been in a really shitty part of the north Strip, and the lady steered me away from that. So I ended up picking the first place she sent me, right off Sahara Ave. across from the Palace Station (the north side, behind In-N-Out Burger…not the shitty-ass south side). It wasn’t right on the Strip, but it was pretty close, and it was a nice, quiet complex with lots of trees and shit.
So after I signed the lease, I drove back to San Jose, packed up my meager belongings, and loaded them all into my freshly repainted Lincoln, which I christened “The Chairwoman of the Board,” in honor of Frank Sinatra. And then I hauled ass for Vegas, never to look back! (Well….rarely, anyway.)
Near Area 51, in Rachel, NV
Now when I first moved here, I didn’t really know anyone in town — except I had sort of been chatting with a guy on some seedy sugar daddy Yahoo! group (this was back in the day, remember), so that was my only connection here. In those days, I was under the misguided impression that it would be super-glamorous and fun to have an older sugar daddy, so that’s what I was angling for. It didn’t really work out, but he was nice enough and did help me out here and there, though not so much financially…he mostly just showed me around town and took me to dinner, stuff like that, until I got a job.
Now speaking of that, my goal upon moving to Vegas was to become a cocktail waitress at Caesars Palace, the most fabulous of all the Vegas hotels. I was obsessed with those little mini-toga dresses they wear, and I could think of no more glamorous job in the entire world. I figured I’d waltz in, get hired, and be rich in no time. How wrong I was!
Back then, Vegas was a big union town (even moreso than now), and you couldn’t just get a job because you were hot — you had to work your way up the ranks. So I went down and signed up at the Culinary Union…but when I discovered I’d have to schlep drinks at some shitty pisshole for years before they’d even let me set foot in Caesars, I bailed. Fuck that noise! I didn’t move here to serve drinks at the El Cortez, motherfuckers!!!
with some crackhead colleagues at the MGM photo lab
Meanwhile, my “sugar daddy” had a friend whose crackhead daughter worked as a camera girl, taking souvenir photos at the Wayne Newton show. He told me I should look into that, since back then the camera girls made pretty good money (this was before digital cameras really became popular, let alone iPhones). It sounded cool to me, since I had an art degree, so I went down to the Cashman Photo office and applied. They hired me on the spot, and put me at the MGM, taking photos at this godawful family-friendly spectacular called EFX.
At this point I had lived in Vegas for about three weeks, and I was pretty much set. My job paid enough to cover my bills (my rent at the time was only $560/month, and I had bought my car outright, with ca$h money saved from my IBM job). I was able to ditch my poor “sugar daddy,” who went on to marry a Filipino woman who I’m sure made him very happy….and so I went about living the fabulous Vegas life I’d always dreamed about.
Late-nite chicken fried steak
The “fabulous Vegas life I’d always dreamed about” basically consisted of sleeping til noon, then going out boozing after work and eating chicken-fried steak at a different coffee shop every night, with forays here and there to places like Area 51, the Liberace Museum, Siegfried & Roy’s show, the Caesars Palace pool and the Bellagio, where I eventually finally lost my virginity. Occasionally I would go out to the clubs of the day, which were pretty much just Studio 54 at the MGM and raver-paradise Utopia…but for the most part I preferred to booze at casino bars, where the music wasn’t so fucking loud and I could actually carry on a conversation with all the interesting weirdos and down-n-out freaks of Vegas.
still enjoying my pink car
Anyway, I had many interesting adventures and met many wacky weirdos, which I wrote about in a blog I had back then…but after a year or so it got old, and I started thinking about leaving Vegas. And then the whole September 11, 2001 thing happened, which killed tourism dead for the better part of a year…so I did bail on Vegas, and moved back to California.
But I had a similar experience to many who try leaving Vegas: I missed it! You get used to the 24-hour weird energy and all the freaks and kooks and hustlers and whores…so after only about 5 months, I came back. This time, I took a weekly rental at the Holiday Royale next door to the Hard Rock Hotel, then went back to the apartment finding service to look for a permanent place, ending up pretty much in the same part of town as before.
back before I started working out
It took a while, but Vegas eventually recovered from the September 11 slump…and came back with a vengeance. This is when all these douchey megaclubs started opening — and when the concept of bottle service came up. Nightlife became a big thing, and I remember it was such a scandal when Tabu at the MGM opened, and they were only hiring “models” to work there. WTF!! Models?!
It took me another 4 or 5 years before I worked up the balls to try being a model myself — I just assumed you had to be 5’10” with blonde hair and big tits, so I had never been so presumptuous as to think I could do it myself. But eventually I started doing conventions and promotions and that kind of shit, and before you know it I was running around naked and eating donuts and shit for money. Progress!
from my first “modeling” shoot
But between the time I moved back here in 2002, and the time I started modeling, in 2006…it was a long, lonely stretch of meaninglessness. I hated living here, and in fact I was one of those people who couldn’t wait to leave Vegas. I just didn’t know where else to go/what else to do, so I stayed….and I’m glad I did, because now I really dig it here.
Because what’s great about Vegas is the fact that it IS a “second-chance town” — and I got my second chance! I eventually found a niche that worked for me — after dicking around with conventions and shit for a couple years, I started doing the nude and fetish stuff around ’08, and now I’m having a blast. I have a ton of weird-ass freaky friends, I go to a ton of bizarre-o events, and I basically take advantage of everything this city has to offer. The weather is great, the cost of living is still pretty low, the tax climate is favorable (thanks to “gaming,” we have no state income tax)….and I NEVER HAVE TO GET UP AT 6AM!!! (Unless it’s for a bad-ass reason like I want to go watch the sun rise over Hoover Dam or something like that. Or, occasionally, for a gig.)
The only real regrets I have are: 1.) I wish I hadn’t pissed away time and money at college, 2.) I wish I would have started fetish modeling earlier, and 3.) I wish I still had my pink Lincoln!!
Unfortunately, an ex-boyfriend talked me into selling the Lincoln back in ’07, because as he put it, it was time for me to get a “real” car. BOOOO!!!
But mark my words: one day, as dog is my witness….I will get another pink car!
Does the title of this post make you uncomfortable? How about the photo?
I bet the answer to both is “yes,” and that’s part of what’s wrong with this fucked-up society. Neither the photo, nor the word “vagina,” are overtly sexual…but because the subject is pussy, people freak out. WHY?
(Note: if you’re freaked out by the photo because it’s bald, you have a semi-valid concern. The fact that I shaved it (for a body paint session) DOES kinda make it pedophilic-creepy. But I’m well over 18, and it’s still just skin.)
I’m as guilty of this as anyone. As a nude model, I have what we in the industry call “limitations:” on my Model Mayhem portfolio, I state that I am willing to shoot anything up to “Playboy-style” nudes — which basically means closed-leg, as opposed to “Hustler-style” open-leg shots.
I consider myself a real free-thinking bohemian-type — what’s so bad about nudity, nipples, etc.? I’m comfortable running around naked all day, every day…but if a photographer wants to photograph my vag, I freak out. It seems like an invasion of a very “private” area.
taste the rainbow
But WHY? What is so fucking private about the vagina? If someone wanted me to open my mouth as wide as possible, to photograph my uvula and tonsils, I’d have no qualms. What’s so magical about the vagina?
To me, it’s just a fount of piss, blood and unpleasant secretions — the most unpleasant of which potentially being the mucous-covered head of a crowning fetus (a catastrophe miracle which, thankfully, has never been visited upon my particular vagina) (yet). But the vagina seems to symbolize a lot more for many people.
To wit: despite the clearly-stated limitations on my Model Mayhem profile, photographers are always trying to get me to SHOW MORE VAGINA. It’s like a fucked-up game with some of these guys, and sometimes it gets so exhausting/tiresome that I give in, in the interest of getting the fucking shoot over with faster: OK fine, have at it. You wanna see some pussy? Here ya go, motherfucker. It’s a relief in a lot of ways — I can stop sucking in my gut, pointing my toes and smiling, and just flop back without having to worry about my facial expression or anything else — because you know they’re already in Macro mode, with no time for anything above the 33rd parallel. It’s easy!!
I finally had enough of this cat-and-mouse and amended my Model Mayhem bio to read as follows:
“…if you REALLY want to photograph my labia minora and other innards, be advised that my rate for clinical, up-close spread vag shots is $700/hour. So go ahead; bust out your most powerful telephoto lens, jeweler’s loupe, what-the-fuck-EVER, and blast away! I’ve been told I do have a very shapely vagina For $700, you too could have 60 wondrous minutes of staring at/photographing it. Although why you would want to, I have no idea! “
apologies to Shepard Fairey
I got the idea from a stripper I once I knew, who told me that some Japanese guy once paid her $5,000 (or some ridiculous sum of money) to simply stare at her vagina up-close, like within a couple of inches, for an hour. Are men really that fascinated by the vagina? Apparently so! Do you guys want to crawl back in, or what?
Alas, however, since modifying my MM bio I haven’t had any takers. Maybe it’s because the pervy photographers on there are too cheap; or maybe they’re just not as interested as I thought. Or maybe they think I’m being facetious. But the truth is, I’m serious!
I will gladly lay down and let you photograph my vagina for an hour — labia majora, minora, clitoral glans, urethra…ALL of it! As long as you don’t touch it/poke anything in it/harass it, I’m fine (I will part the curtains myself, at your direction, in a strictly clinical fashion.
My reasons for doing this are manifold; first, I’d genuinely like to clear up some of the bullshit mystique surrounding La Vagine. Keeping shit under wraps is what leads to all kinds of retarded superstitions — nothing kills bullshit like the blasting rays of the mid-day sun. In this, I’m inspired by Annie Sprinkle and her “Public Cervix Announcement,” a performance art piece in which she lay back and spread open her vagina with a speculum, then let all comers have a look inside (Google it; it’s awesome). (And will ya check out the expressions and body language on the men looking at her…priceless!)
Second, I’d like to make a buck. If I can get anyone to pay me $700 for one hour, that would be awesome. I hereby solemnly swear to donate $100 of any such bookings to Planned Parenthood [amending my Model Mayhem page to reflect this as we speak]!
Third, I’d like to get over my own vestigial hang-ups regarding having my vagina photographed. If it is, as I say, truly just another body part…then I should have no problem putting it on display, a la Sprinkle. Just not in a dumbass cheesy “Come and plow me, Big Boy!” kind of way…more in a “Here it is, what you always dreamed of: the dank, fleshy portal to my uterus.”
I’ve been saying it for years, people…the bush is back!! The topic of pubic hair has been all over the news lately due to these American Apparel mannequins…which have set off a great, sniggering debate about female grooming patterns.
As someone who makes my living being nude much of the time, pubic hair is an important issue to me. When I first started out as a nude model, I shaved everything bald…I assumed that was what most photographers wanted.
It was a real pain in the ass, because the skin of the labia majora and mons pubis is pretty delicate, so you can’t just go shaving it every day, or even every other day, without getting pretty sore and irritated. Everyone is different, but as a brunette I have pretty coarse pubes…and I can only comfortably shave maybe once a week, at most. I get about two or three days of pre-pubescent baldness before the stubble starts to become noticeable…and then I’m in that awkward in-between stage until I either shave again, or until my pubes grow out enough to be sculpted into a passable landing strip.
pic by Shutterbug-Studio
Either way, that basically means I could only shoot for a few days each week. If I had back-to-back bookings, it was awkward — I was forever tearing up my poor delicate bikini area, trying to keep clean.
What’s that you say? There are options other than shaving?? Why yes, I could allow a stranger to spackle hot wax on my junk and then rip the hairs out by the roots. I did this twice, and not only is the waxing itself insanely painful, but so are the ingrown hairs I got when the pubes started to grow back. One ingrown hair got infected, and caused a very unsightly welt that took forever to heal.
And yes, I could allow someone to zap my most delicate area with a laser…but, seriously!! WHY?!
Photo by B. Dugger
Once I’d been modeling a bit, I actually found that most photographers actually prefer at least a bit of pubic hair on a nude model. Reasons I’ve heard include: it looks more “artistic,” it proves that the model is old enough, it provides just enough cover for open-leg shots without them becoming clinical, and it adds an air of mystique/taboo. Whatever the reason, 95% of photographers I’ve shot with were absolutely fine with my rocking a modest, well-manicured bush. (The other 5% ask me to shave, which I generally accommodate if possible.) (And of the other 95%, about 10% ask me to grow my bush out even BIGGER!)
Even if I weren’t a nude model, I’d probably still keep my pubes the same: short and neatly trimmed. A huge bush is kind of messy…who has time to clean all those stray pubes off the bathroom floor? Not me! And I do like to wear bikinis and whatnot on occasion, without worrying about hairs hanging out from the edges….like those American Apparel mannequins!
Exhibit A pic by B.V.
Meanwhile, it’s not only American Apparel’s mannequins — their catalog models have been sporting pubes of late as well! To add to the debate, Cameron Diaz just caused a minor kerfluffle herself by advocating the growth of pubes in her new beauty handbook…and her bestie Gwyneth Paltrow has long rocked what she herself calls a “’70s bush.” So there you have it…us hairy hippies are coming out of the closet 🙂
Anyhoo, like I said, I generally keep my bush trimmed up pretty neatly…but even that sometimes confuses photographers. See Exhibit A…this poor guy wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, and photoshopped it into a sort of fur Kotex!
Pic by Glamourart Studios
Fortunately for my beleaguered pubic area, I haven’t had to pay it much mind lately, as I haven’t been shooting much. I had a ton of shoots the first week of January, and then everything kinda of dried up, nakey-wise. I did spend an enjoyable afternoon in one of the Flamingo’s fabulous Go Suites shooting with a guy from Atlanta, and an enjoyable evening at the Treasure Island with a guy from Seattle….and then another interesting evening at the Hard Rock, being photographed by two older guys in town for the AVN show (they brought a slutty schoolgirl costume for me to pose in…of course). But other than that, my work lately has been pleasantly clothed!
Playing an abandoned bride for the Go Game
I know, shocking — someone actually hired me for something requiring clothing!! Well, it’s true…I actually did three such gigs lately — two Go Game scavenger hunts and a convention. In the first Go Game I played Secret Agent HotPants, and just hung out at a bar in the Cosmopolitan as the players tried out their best pickup lines on me. In the second, I played a bride who had been abandoned at the altar, and had to loiter around in front of the Bellagio fountains as the players tried to woo me back. Can I just say that these scavenger hunts are the MOST fun of any gigs I do?! I only wish I could do more of them!
Now, about that convention gig I worked…that’s right, it was the dreaded C.E.S. (Consumer Electronics Show). Convention gigs can go either way — if they hire you to wear a sexy/goofy outfit and just hang around adding atmosphere, it can be fun! But this wasn’t one of those…I actually had to work, and wear a business suit, no less 🙁 Booo!!
The client was a tech industry behemoth who must remain nameless…but suffice it to say, they had a HUGE exhibit space with TONS of staff. I was actually working for a third-party, conducting interviews with show-goers about their impressions of/experiences in the booth. Don’t ask me why they needed “models” to do this…seems to me they could just use a staffing agency, but whatever! I had to apply for around 20-30 CES gigs before I finally got hired for this one, so I was happy to have a job.
Incidentally, I was starting to feel a bit like chopped liver after applying for all those gigs and not getting hired — what the fuck?! If you’ve ever been to CES, you know that there are a thousand bimbos at every booth, and not all of them are that good-looking — why was I having such a hard time?? Well, I’ll tell you — many of these convention models came from out of town to work the show!!! I worked with girls from L.A., Phoenix and Chicago…damn foreigners, coming here to Vegas and stealing our jobs!!! Why, I oughta build a fence, to keep them bimbos away from our local gigs. Grrrr!!! The ones from L.A. are the worst, always talking about their “career” and what pathetic B-movie their agent is getting them an audition for. Meanwhile they’re so broke and desperate, they come all the way to Vegas to work a stupid tradeshow just for a few bucks! I saw this one particularly pathetic old hag I remembered from CES 2006 (!!!) — an “actress” and ex-NFL cheerleader, who even back then was talking about how she needed to get a “real’ job. Well, here it was 8 years later….and she was still up to the same old shit. Sobering!
nerds at CES
Anyway, as mentioned, my gig was mind-numbingly boring…but the people-watching was the BEST! Hordes of nerds, geeks and dorks, strutting up and down the aisles in their Google glasses (I learned an awesome new term for them: glassholes!) and Dr. Who t-shirts. Meanwhile, every exhibitor in the convention center tried to lure them into their booth with bells, whistles, dancers, DJs and scantily-clad all-purpose bimbos. It was like a circus!
My own gig was disappointingly staid — the client was pretty conservative. But watching their booth staff hustle was priceless — you could tell they were all under a lot of pressure from corporate to sell, sell, SELL!!!! They made everyone wear these awful company-branded tracksuits, so that they resembled nothing so much as a team of state-owned Soviet gymnasts, slaving for Mother Widget. They probably made them bunk up twelve to a room, with a $2 per diem! Even funnier, they made all the blonde female employees stand on the perimeter of the booth, like in-house booth babes, trying to lure in more shlubs and nebbishes. Ha!!! Welcome to my world, ladies…aren’t you glad you got that M.B.A.?!
Now, most of the booth staff were fairly young, so you might argue that they were just paying their dues on the way up…but even better/sadder was watching the older staff try and out-hustle the young’uns, for fear they’d be put out to pasture in a youth-worshiping labor market. Towards the end of the day, you could see it written in the lines on their tired faces — did I sell enough widgets to keep wifey in Lululemon, junior in college and little Susie in ballet?! FUCK!
Seriously though, I am so glad I am not stuck on that corporate treadmill — I’ve seen the way it grinds people up! You work your entire life away for The Man, and then when you get too old they throw you out on your ass. No, thanks! I know I can’t model forever, but I still like being self-employed…and I’ll gladly take whatever steadily deteriorating gigs I can get for the rest of my life rather than kow-tow to some bourgeois suited motherfucker dangling a 401(k) on a stick. Ugh!
So meanwhile, I was pretty bored during that convention, to say the least….but I figured out a way to make it interesting for myself, on the last day. The booth I was at featured a display of some bullshit shtick they called “augmented reality,” whereby you can overlay animated cartoon shit over live streaming video…and that gave me an idea. I decided to augment my own reality, with a little help from a friendly fungus…and it was the best decision I ever made!!!
Fear and Loathing at CES
Talk about Fear and Loathing — I wandered around that convention center on my lunch break in a state of blissed-out awe, staring open-mouthed at all the lights and dancers and weird costumed booth babes, navigating my way through a sea of identical glassholes, until arriving at the most amazing thing ever: a three-story-tall 3D HDTV in the LG booth, which was playing a non-stop reel of 3D videos featuring orcas, butterflies, mushrooms and more all flying out straight into your face! I put on a pair of glasses and sat there on the carpet watching it for about 30minutes straight, completely entranced — it was just like being at Burning Man, just with corporate logos! I got so swept up in it that I turned to the guy next to me: “This shit is a trip!!!” Then I realized he was some uptight motherfucker in a suit and tie, cautiously edging away from me. D’oh!!!
After that I wandered over to a sort of lounge area, where some boring-ass speaker was giving a talk about some stupid new widget, and I just sat there in a chair and marveled. It was just like being at Center Camp at Burning Man, half-listening to some bozo rant and rave on the stage while you sit there and enjoy your trip. Really, the parallels between CES and Burning Man were astonishing!
hula babes engaging with a perv
Anyway, one thing I noticed while wandering around was that not every booth babe had a lame gig — there was one booth that had their models dressed like Austin Powers babes, and another had their girls costumed as slutty nurses. Still another booth had a guy in a giant gnome outfit, and then there were the hula babes out in the lobby, hanging out in a Margaritaville-branded Jeep blaring Beach Boys songs. I wish I could make a vow to never do another boring-ass gig again, and only agree to accept fun ones like that — but I’m afraid I’d go broke! For some reason, I hardly ever get the fun jobs when it comes to trade shows. (Although now that I think about it, I am playing a giant piece of candy next week at the Convenience Store Owners’ show.)
why yes that IS a gun safe printed with the U.S. Constitution!
So now that CES is over, “convention season” is in full swing — every week there’s some new show coming to town. Last week was an especially kooky convergence — the SHOT show (guns, hunting accessories and lots of stone-faced Russians) and the AVN show (porn, dildoes and high-school-dropouts). It made for a really freaky mix!!
My Arkansas girlfriends were in town for the SHOT show, exhibiting their stun guns and other personal protection devices — as mentioned, they all work for a man who has the distinction of holding more patents than any man in the State of Arkansas history; he just keeps coming up with new ways to zap attackers! His latest invention was the “Hike ‘n’ Strike,” a hiking stick with a stun gun cleverly concealed in the handle — that way, if attacked by a bear, mountain lion or rapist while hiking, you can defend yourself! LOLZ!
does this blouse make me look like a FOX News anchor?! Pic by Ben Philippi
Meanwhile, my photographer friend Ben was also at the show, working on a TV project that sprang from his excellent and well-received book on gun culture, Gods, Guns & Guts (in which I am featured, being as I am a handgun owner). So even though I wasn’t working the SHOT show, I went over anyways to check it out…because it’s SO freaking fascinating!! Unfortunately I got there right at the end of the show, so I didn’t get to see much…and even though after the whole Sandy Hook thing I vowed not to pose for any more gratuitous gun pics, I just couldn’t resist posing with one or two of the insane monstrosities on display…for anthropological purposes, ya know?
only hot enough to get a $700 bid 🙁
My girlfriends were in town all week, so I spent some time hanging out with them after-hours as well. One night we went to Hyde nightclub at the Bellagio…YAWN!!! BO-ring! The one thing I found interesting about the evening was, my girlfriend had booked a table for us using this new app called PartyPetition, where you basically state your budget and then nightclubs “bid” on your business. It asks you for your age, your budget, and the number of guys/girls in your group…and it has the option for you to add a photo, I guess so they can see how “hot” you are, and bid accordingly. Scandalous!!!!! That kinda shit is exactly why I abhor the nightlife scene. Apparently, my girlfriend failed the application process because all we got was a $700 offer — $700 for one bottle of vodka, that’s it. Say what?! According to the people who run this app, that’s a bangin’ deal — sure, most clubs charge $350-400 for a bottle, but that’s not including tax & tip, which makes $700 (allegedly) a bargain. I’m no mathematician, but that doesn’t make sense to me: say the bottle was $400, and they charged 10% entertainment tax [as per NRS 368A.2009(a)]…that brings you to $440. Add a generous 20% gratuity to that (gratuity calculated on the base price of $400), and you’re at $520. Sooo…$700 is a deal how, exactly??!?!!?
fuck. this. noise.
If you do want to try this app, my advice is to: a) have a female book it on her credit card, b) have her say she’s 21, c) say there are 6 other females in your group, and d) do a Google Image search for a Girls-Gone-Wild bachelorette party, then attach that to your petition. THEN see what kind of offers you get!!!!! I would have tried this out for myself just to see if it worked…but the app isn’t available for Android yet.
Anyway, another night we all went out to the Hard Rock, to watch all the porn industry people hanging out the night before their big awards show. It was amazing!!! I took a small dose of shrooms beforehand, and it really made the scene dreamlike and surreal — everyone talking ridiculous lines of bullshit, drinking, smoking, eyeballing porn “stars” and swaggering mightily. I love watching the porn actresses at these events — it’s their time to shine, and they walk around all dressed up like it’s Slutty Prom, with slavering hordes of guys following them around with cameras and Sharpies. Meanwhile, come Monday it’s back to the grind — they’re nothing but a piece of meat, ready to have dicks poked in every orifice like cloves in an Easter ham. Ahh, Fortuna!
shot at T.I. by Fotosymfony
Meanwhile, during all of this fun, tragedy struck! The local alt-weekly that I’ve been writing a column for the last year or so, Las Vegas CityLife, is going out of business….the way of all other print media 🙁 So, I’m once again out of a job. It wasn’t like I made all that much money writing for them…but it gave me an air of legitimacy, being a print columnist…ya know? Unless I get some other amazing offer, my plan is to finally figure out a way to monetize this blog, but I have less than zero idea how to use WordPress, so it’s gonna be a tough slog. I did sign up for a WordPress meetup.com group, and I’m going to their meeting in a few days to see if I can get some tips. We’ll see!
at the Shriners’ Circus!!!! ZELZAH!!!
Now on a final note, I had to go renew my medical marijuana card (you have to do this every year, at considerable expense). As previously mentioned, the kind people at Dr. Reefer helped me out quite bit with the application process and whatnot, but no matter how many friends you have, you still end up having to go to the damn-ass DMV to get the actual card. Arrrgh!
Having done this several times in the past, I remembered that at least they consider you “handicapped” because you have a medical condition…so you don’t have to wait quite as long, since the handicap line is way shorter. Because of this, I decided not to drive all the way up north to the suburban DMV I usually use (it’s waaaaaay up north…they built it back during the construction boom, when tons of housing developments were expected up there. When the recession hit, the construction stopped…and now no one goes there, so it’s usually a pretty quick in and out).
at the SHOT show
No, because I had handicap status, I thought I’d take a shortcut and just go to the DMV branch by my house — mid-town Vegas. BIG MISTAKE!!!! First, the sour-faced fat-ass at the Information desk refused to give me a Handicap number, so I got a General one — something like G560, when they were only on G400. Arrrrrgh!!! Second, because this DMV is right in the middle of Vegas, all the poor people who don’t have cars or gas money go there — so it’s always a clusterfuck. Third, the place was especially jam-packed the day I went because it was the first day undocumented immigrants were allowed to apply for a driving permit!! That place was WALL-to-WALL with tired huddled masses!! Fuck!!
Not a problem, I said to myself — I’ll just go run some errands, and be back by 4:59pm, when they close the doors. Surely they won’t have gotten to my number by then! So I went out and did my thing, and even checked back around 4pm to see that they were still only on G480. Arrrgh! Meanwhile, I was in the middle of a home-improvement project, so I went home and worked on that for awhile before heading back to the DMV at 4:59.
Go Suite, Flamingo pic by Glamourart Studio
Sure enough, wouldn’t you know it — they had already called my number!!! WTF!!!!! You tell me — how does it take 2 hours to get from G420 to G480….then 45 minutes to go from G480 to G560?!! I’ll tell you how — those lazy government fuckers take their sweet-ass time all day long…but once 5 o’clock hits, they wanna go home. Since they have to serve everyone in the building who already has a number, they finally fire up the engines and start moving!! Of course they always tell you to get to the DMV first thing in the morning for fastest service…but I’m here to tell you, that’s total bullshit. If you live in Vegas, and you REALLY want to blow thru the DMV quickly, here’s my advice: head way up to the North Decatur DMV and get there around 4:30pm (on a Friday is even better, since they all really wanna get home). By the time you go through the Information line and get a number, you’ll only have to wait an hour or less.
Meanwhile, since I missed my number I was shit out of luck, and had to give up and go home. Once you miss your number, that’s it. But when I went back a few days later, I took my own advice and went up north around 4:30pm — on a Friday. The woman up there knew what the fuck was up, and gave me a Handicap number (I knew that other bitch was wrong, but there’s no arguing with government employees), and I was in and out in less than an hour. SO THERE!!! Fuck you, Sahara DMV….you suck fucking ass, and you smell even worse!!!!!