Well, hell week is over. And it really was hell week – especially because at the end of it all, my truck was broken into, and the fruits of the entire fuckin’ week were stolen 🙁
As mentioned last week, CES was in town (the Consumer Electronics Show, a/k/a NerdCon 2012). This show has been coming to Vegas for over 30 years, and it’s the biggest trade show of the year – just about every bimbo in Vegas gets a gig working in one booth or another. As previously mentioned, I despise working trade shows, and the last couple of years I bailed on CES in favor of working the Adult Expo, which is held the same weekend and is way more fun.
This year, however, they scheduled the Adult Expo for the following weekend…so I was free to pimp myself out at CES L I really didn’t want to, but I need the cash pretty bad, so I took a gig working for a high-end audio company. I got the job through a photographer I once shot with, who was friends with these guys and arranged for me to work their exhibit.
The good news was, the high-end audio exhibits weren’t in the main convention center (which was a total zoo and a parking nightmare) but in some suites up at the Venetian. So instead of battling traffic, I was able to cruise right in every morning and head up to the 30th floor with relative ease. The bad news was, I was stuck standing in the hallway on the 30th floor…ALL DAY LONG, for 4 days. BOOOO-RING!
I was supposed to greet all the conference attendees as they walked by, and lure them into our suite with the promise of hearing some “really great tube audio.” WTF?! Tube Which? I had no idea what I was talking about, but over the course of the show I learned more about audio than I ever wanted to know. Apparently there are two types of amplifiers, tube and solid state (transistor)…and any audiophile worth his salt prefers the sound of the former to the latter. Trouble is, most equipment nowadays uses solid state technology, and tube amp systems are really expensive and pretty much the exclusive domain of audio snobs and old-time fanboys – which is what I dealt with all week. You know that nerdy comic book store guy on the Simpsons?! That’s the kind of guy who came to this part of the show.
The client had requested that I dress business-sexy, so I’d gone to the mall and bought a few things in preparation – but then at the last minute I was told to channel Pippa Middleton, of all people, from the royal wedding (for those of you with a life, Pippa is the sister of Kate Middleton, who just married Prince William, and at their wedding she wore a very prim-yet-form-fitting dress that accentuated her “perfect” ass, and it was all over the tabloids for some dumb reason): “What was right about her dress? Nothing. What was wrong about her dress? Everything!”
Using these inexact guidelines, I cobbled together a few sexy-yet-classy-ish outfits, and was thusly positioned in front of the suite to lure in passing audio geeks. It was pretty easy work, since many of these guys had probably never spoken to a woman, and a simple, “Hey, come here” worked wonders on their submissive psyches. Or maybe they were just genuinely intrigued by my promise of “high-end tube audio that sounds amazing!” Either way, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.
The company I was working for designs super-duper –mega-high-end tube audio gear; so high-end that the system they were displaying at the show cost something like $60,000! They make a $25,000 turntable, for Chrissake. Everything was designed by the founder, a kooky eccentric Englishman who has done audio systems for many British rock stars. This guy was a NUT! Super-tall, super-skinny, balding and liver-spotted, with a wispy gray Amish-style beard and the finest decaying English grill I’ve ever seen. He was/is SUPER smart and SUPER eccentric, and he was one of those really smart, kooky types who just don’t give a fuck. Apparently he’s a legend in the audio biz, so all week long star-struck apostles would stop by to shake his hand and kiss his ass. Meanwhile he stood around picking his nose without a care in the world, politely thanking them but not really giving a shit. He was AWESOME!
Anyhoo, I posted up outside the door to the suite allllll weeeeeek loooooong, until I thought surely my brain would atrophy and my feet would fall off from standing in high heels all day, every day. Even worse, my hours were 10am-6pm, and then I had to be at my photographer job across the street at another hotel by 6:15. I had to literally RUN down 30 flights of stairs to the casino level, then dodge and weave, Frogger-style, through hordes of conventioneers and drunks in the casino to the parking garage, then speed around the back way to Caesars Palace, where I then had to run down to THAT basement, get changed into my uniform, and go back up to work taking photos til 11pm. IT. WAS. EXHAUSTING!
To make matters worse, my sister was in town for the same convention (she has a legit job working for a tech company that exhibits at CES every year), and her husband came along because he’s never been to Vegas, so they wanted to hang out. At the same time, these crazy girlfriends of mine from Arkansas were also here for another show (they sell stun guns and bear spray, and were exhibiting at a hunting show that came in after CES), and they wanted to go out as well. And at the SAME time, a Spanish photographer friend had invited us all to dinner and a nightclub with him and his Swedish colleagues – but he wasn’t able to get dinner reservations until 10PM!!! So even though by Friday I was basically dead on my feet (seriously, I almost physically couldn’t get out of bed by Friday morning), I had to sack up, put on my happy face, and go party.
I finished the convention at 4pm on Friday, then met up with my sis and brother-in-law for some drinks and chit-chat over at the Cosmopolitan. They left to go to a show around 9pm, and I sort of hung around until 10pm, when I met up with the Spaniard, the Swedes and the Arkansawyers at TAO, this trendy, douchey Asian restaurant back at the Venetian. Everyone hit it off swimmingly, a good time was had by all, and afterward we all went over to one of the douchebaggiest nighclubs of them all, XS at the Wynn.
Now, as you probably know by now, I despise nightclubs. XS is a particular non-favorite, because they’re such exceptional assholes over there – the door staff is insufferably rude, the drink prices are exceptionally extortionary, and the clientele consists of hordes of desperate white guys hitting on whorey Asian girls. Before you accuse me of being racist, I’m just stating a fact: at least 70% of that club’s client base is Asian girls…and on this night, they were all wearing identical skintight bebe dresses, barefooted and sloppy drunk. Asian, white, whatever — I despise that club not for its clientele so much as its staff and its lameness. One time they yelled at us for even standing in front of the nightclub, as we dithered over whether or not we should pay the $20 cover to go in (I’m a walking vagina – you should be paying me to go into your club, assholes ! You’re just using me to attract guys anyway!!!). “You can’t stand here,” they told us – so we left. Fuck you, XS!
Aaaaaanyhoo, I was dragged back into this shithole last Friday, and it was OK at first – the Swedes had a table, so at least we were able to sit down. Sit?! I was basically forced into Party Mode, since I had to make sure my Arkansas girls were having fun, and the Swedes were having fun, and the Spaniard was having fun, and everyone was having FUNFUNFUN! So even though it felt as though my feet were about to rot off at the ankle from fatigue and edema, I made myself get up on the table and dance, dance, dance on this lame stripper pole they had up there, just to set the mood and show everyone how much FUN I was having!
Meanwhile, I had to be up at 6:30am the next morning to meet these electricians I’d hired to do some work for me, so I was miserable. I just wanted to GO HOME TO BED! But every time I tried to leave, my one girlfriend started sulking, “Come on!! STAY! All you have to do is take photos tomorrow, big deal!” So I gritted my teeth and stayed — I felt obligated to party hearty. I hate that about myself – I’m a fucking people pleaser, even when it’s to the detriment of my health!
Finally, around 3am I had had ENOUGH, and left, despite the pleading and whining of my girlfriend. They ended up staying out til 6:30am, swilling Dom Perignon and shoving Adderall pills into the face of one of the poor Swedes. Listen people, I FUCKING LIVE HERE! DO YOU SERIOUSLY THINK I WANT TO BE PARTY TO YOUR DESPERATE EXCESSES?!?!?!?! (Well, sometimes, maybe… 🙂
So I dragged myself home and was unable to sleep as I awaited the electricians – who STOOD ME UP ANYWAY!!!!! Apparently they were sick, but the dispatcher forgot to call and tell me they weren’t coming. So I got up early for nothing L
Meanwhile through all this, I’m still on pins and needles waiting for my fucking bank to approve my short sale, so I can get the fuck out of my house! I found a new place to live (hence the electricians), but I don’t really wanna move until I’m free and clear of the other place. So it’s been a VERY stressful few weeks, and I haven’t been able to sleep for shit. My eyes are so swollen, wrinkly and puckered up they look like two assholes, and my face broke out like a 13-year old. It’s bad. I have never lived through a period like this.
THEN, to make matters worse, I was ROBBED! This was the icing on the cake, and I’ll admit I sobbed like a little bitch when it happened – it was the final straw, and it was too much to handle.
I had been out running errands all day, preparing for my eventual move, and I ended up having to go straight to work from there. I had a bunch of crap I was carrying around with me, so before I went in to work I cleaned out my bag and left some stuff in my truck, rather than carry it around with me all night. I took out my sweaty gym shoes and socks, stuffed them in a cardboard box on my passenger seat, and also left behind an old notebook I had rubber-banded together with some receipts and stuff. Then I went in to work.
That night it was a special benefit show to raise money for Sickle Cell Anemia research, so the show started and hour late and I didn’t get out til midnight. When I went out to my truck in the parking garage, I found that someone had broken in and stolen my stuff!!!
Now, if you’ve ever seen the Caesars Palace parking garage, you know that it’s ginormous and nasty. Other garages, like those of the Wynn, Bellagio, and other upscale properties get regularly power-washed, and are policed or patrolled. Well, I don’t think the Caesars garage has ever been power-washed — the floors are filthy, coated in piss, vomit, motor oil and amniotic fluids. There have been shootings in there, and I’m sure more than one baby has been conceived within its hallowed confines. Nevertheless, I’ve been parking there for 8 years without incident, so I never really think twice about it.
But this night, some FUCKING ASSWAD had gotten into my truck (due to my insane stress levels, I must have left the door unlocked – or maybe they jimmied it open, I don’t know; there was no damage). At first, all I found missing was my Breathalyzer (which cost $300, dammit!!!! I bought it because I got a DUI last year, and I’m not taking any chances) and this old 1940s Samsonite overnight case I carry around in my truck with spare panties, bikini, flip-flops, etc. Whatever – I was pissed about the Breathalyzer, but could definitely live without the suitcase.
But then I realized my notebook was missing, too – and then it hit me. I had over $1100 in cash in that fucking notebook!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’d stashed all the money I’d earned working all those miserable gigs all week in between the pages, because I hadn’t had time to get to the bank yet. I NEVER carry that much cash around with me, but if I do, I keep it on my person – I certainly don’t leave it in my car. But I’ve been so tired and stressed lately, I forgot – and some fucking asshole took advantage of me and STOLE IT ALL L L L
So I basically worked my fucking feet down to the nubs all week for nothing. It’s allllllllllll gone.
I broke down weeping, from fatigue, desperation, sadness and hopelessness. Will I ever get ahead in this fucked-up world?! I drove around the parking garage in a panic, tears streaming down my face as I searched all the trash cans and dumpsters in the area. My hope was that, once they’d seen there was nothing but dirty old clothes in the suitcase, maybe they’d chucked it along with the beat-up old rubber-banded notebook.
No such luck. I looked ALL OVER the place, even across the street and in the alley by the train tracks – nothing. I went back and filed an incident report with Caesars security, but they were no help – of course there were no security cameras in that shitty garage. It was hopeless.
The next day I woke up with my eyes so swollen shut from crying, I looked like I had Down’s Syndrome. Still, I glopped on some makeup and went down to the police station to report the burglary…just in case they find something out. I doubt it, but whatever. I’m supposed to call back in ten days and follow up, but I’m sure nothing will come of it. I’ll never get my Breathalyzer or my money back, and that’s a sad fuckin’ fact.
My only hope is that at least the stolen money went to a good cause – maybe someone needed to feed their kids or something. Probably not, though – I’ll bet it was some half-witted cholo thug who used it to buy Playstation games, weed and Olde Engligh. ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If I ever find out who did this, I am going to tie the motherfucker down and FLAY HIS BALLS. I will peel back the delicate skin on the nutsack, pin it to his groin like I’m dissecting a frog in high school biology class, then go in with an X-acto knife and carve the Ten Commandments into his gonads. I realize his testes will be far too small to contain all this text, and will probably get shredded like carnitas in the process, so when that happens I’ll scoop the mess out, mush it up like pate and spread it on toast…and make him eat it! Then I’ll stuff decaying dollar-store tuna fish into the empty cavities, sew him back up, tie him to a tree and call in a pack of hungry pit bulls to finish him off.
The worst part is, last week as I was rushing around town running moving-related errands, some old lady ran right into the side of my truck! I roll around in a beat-up old landscaping truck, which is already so banged up and dented that I don’t really care if I hit something or someone hits me. I got out of my truck, assessed the damage, and waved her away: “Don’t worry about it! Just do a good deed for someone else down the road. And maybe I’ll get some good karma from this.”
HAH! There’s no fuckin’ thing as karma…it’s just a crutch, to help people get through the misery of our nasty, brutish and short lives…somewhat akin to the whole Christian thing about the meek and the poor. IT’S ALL BULLSHIT, PEOPLE – fed to you by your oppressive overlords, so you won’t complain while they’re fucking your wife and taking the food from your children’s mouths. They promise you a bullshit afterlife, or a divine system of checks and balances that is TOTALLY FAKE. Wake up! I’m an atheist myself, but I still live my life by the Golden Rule: treat others as you’d be treated. I do this not because I’m afraid I’ll roast in hell or end up reincarnated as a turd…I do it because that’s how I roll. I don’t need an excuse…I’m just good for goodness’s sake. Which is more than I can say for the half-baked twat who broke into my truck – I’m willing to bet it was a gang banger or some other superstitious thug who doubtless considers himself a believer. The irony!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaanyhoo, I’m trying to get over it, because a) I have no choice, b) I have another busy week ahead. I was supposed to work the Adult Expo, but that fell through — a friend of mine (well OK, really a half-assed lounge singer/jackass/ne’er-do-well who’s been storing shit in my garage for YEARS without paying me more than $20, and who had the BALLS to write on my garage door “KEEP DOOR LOCKED” [I had a habit of leaving my side door unlocked, since I store nothing of value in there, and apparently he didn’t like that, since he has all this extremely valuable CRAP in there like papers and 1980s Dave Coulier-type shirts])…anyway, THAT guy called me a few weeks ago saying he was hired by some “big time” porn producer from L.A. to film some kind of stupid amateur webcam stuff, and the guy needed a couple girls to walk around the Expo handing out fliers. Because I know a lot of models, my friend asked if I could round up a few more girls to submit to his “big time porn producer” so he could pick who he liked. Well, he ended up picking some of my referrals…and not me!!!! WTF! He’ll be fucking sorry when those beat-up hags roll in. Caveat Emptor, douchebag!
It doesn’t matter anyway – I’m already booked for photo shoots on Friday and Saturday, and then on Sunday I have another gig anyway. So fuck it! I’ll make that stolen $1100 back in no time…without the help of an unemployed asshole in an Uncle Joey shirt.
One last thing: through all this, to make matters worse, I was on my period! I was bitching about having to hide my tampon string for a nude photo shoot, when one of my friends suggested I try the Instead cup – a little plastic cup you jam up your junk to catch the effluvia sloughing off the walls of your uterus. It can be worn up to 12 hours, and most are washable and re-usable. And to think, all this time I’ve been stuffing a piece of cotton bleached with carcinogens up there… these cups are supposedly made of medical-grade silicone, so they are a safe alternative.
I had some free samples from last year’s Adult Expo, but I’d been too weirded out to try them until now. The ones I got are called Instead SoftCups, and they are designed to be worn during sex, so that porn stars don’t have to take time off when they’re on their periods. I guess it fits up under your cervix, out of harm’s way even when a 15” cock is ramming your innards like a chocolate molcajete. Nice!
In the interest of science, I tried one out the second day of my period. And I’m here to tell you: it works exactly as advertised! I didn’t try the sex part (I haven’t had sex since the Sgt. Peanut fiasco back in September), but I wore it all day, for around 12 hours, and it was great. Very easy to insert, and no mess to remove…although it was kinda weird having to reach up inside my vagina to fish it out. But definitely doable – the samples I had were meant to be disposable, so I plan to go online and get a Luna Cup or one of the reusable brands. Let’s hear it for innovation!!!!!!!!!!
Incoming search terms:
- Gross porn pics
- tampon fetish
Funny thing is, I got my got backed into as well this week, and now it’s making squeaking noises, though I can’t find any damage on my car other than a scuff. Must be something in the air this week.
I carelessly forgot your photo warning midway through your entry, and now I need eye bleach. For the merest of seconds, I mistook it for a coffee filter before the horror kicked in. These things…. Why do you post them?
Why do I post them?
Wow. Bad week. Sorry to read that! But yes indeed I’m like you and also do good just for goodness’s sake! You have a big heart and I just know you will be rewarded for it!
Chin up trooper.
The world needs a few more karma-loving stun-gun waving hot bloggers like you.
Must be time to switch to a new drink.
Good idea! I’m switching to drinking pure arsenic!
Make a claim on your home insurance – it covers the things stolen from your truck.
Naw, I already checked with ’em…they don’t cover my car 🙁 And my car insurance is liability-only, due to my abysmal driving record 🙁
They don’t cover your car, but your home insurance has “personal property off premises” coverage, which covers your personal property you have in your car, etc. If you filed a police report, then you should be able to claim your stuff (including money) under that coverage on your home policy.
This is what I do for a living. If you have a regular homeowner’s policy, you have this coverage. Get something back from all of the premium you paid. Since you are giving up the house and going gypsy, it doesn’t matter if you have claims.
Shit, OK….guess i’ll go back and argue with them. She told me flatout on the phone that they do not cover anything to do with my car…but i see what youre saying, and it’s worth looking into!
If you need advice, or want me to look at your policy, please feel free to email me.
I know this bidness, and I’d be happy to advise.
no way! That would be awesome. Email me at email@example.com and I’ll tell you about my policy…
Actually never mind…I called them, and I have a $1000 deductible…so not worth it 🙁