So last weekend (June 8-10) was EDC Weekend in Vegas. EDC officially stands for Electric Daisy Clusterfuck…because that’s what it was this year, no kidding!
For those who haven’t heard, EDC (really Electric Daisy Carnival) is a huge rave, with DJs and amusement rides and crazy Burning Man art installations, which they used to have out in California until an underage girl died due to ecstasy-related complications a couple years ago. Ever since, they’ve held it in Vegas, out at the NASCAR Speedway — I went last year, and it was fabulous!
Now, tickets to this party are $250, and you know my broke ass can’t afford that kind of mess. Last year, one of my sisters hooked me up with free passes…but she’s no longer dating the guy with the hookup, so this year I was on my own. About a week out from the event, I posted on my Facebook page: “I need an EDC ticket, but I only wanna pay $50 tops!! Just putting it out there…” Well, shockingly, one of my fabulous friends came through, selling me a Saturday AND Sunday night pass for $60 total! I decided to go Saturday night, and sell the Sunday portion to another friend for $40, which means my net cost was only $20. Hehehe…let it never be said I’m not a canny businesswoman.
I put together a FABULOUS custom-made outfit for the party, and cruised up there Saturday night after stupid-ass work. My plan was to meet my friend Phil Connors, who was covering it for the local paper, hang out with him for awhile, then eat some shrooms and party til dawn. It worked for me last year! But this year, everything was stacked against me.
Even though I tried to be slick and take a back road to the event, I STILL got stuck in horrendous gridlocked traffic on the way, and it took TWO HOURS to get there. The route I took wound through a really shitty, blighted part of town, and the crackheads were sitting out on their trailer stoops watching the bean-eating bass-heads crawl past. Seriously! I guess that’s what passes for entertainment out that way…it was probably the most action that neighborhood has ever seen.
Anyhoo, TWO FUCKIN’ HOURS LATER, I rolled into the Speedway parking lot, parked, and made my way into the event. It was SO FREAKING WINDY that my giant white Afro wig almost blew off, and in fact I myself almost blew over because I was kind of unstable in my giant Frankenstein platform boots (I told you my outfit was fabulous). Garbage was whirling around in the mad desert winds, and dust and grit kept getting in my eyes, and it wasn’t very much fun at all. Still, I soldiered on, figuring that a drink would cure my ills.
But as soon as I walked into the Speedway, the music all shut off, and they were evacuating the stage areas!! A loudspeaker was blaring “PLEASE MOVE TO THE GRANDSTANDS FOR YOUR SAFETY,” and it was a real buzzkill. I made it to one of the bars to get a drink, where I met up with a group of middle-aged (50s) douchebag Tommy Bahama-type guys who started hitting on me, telling me I should be in their show, which they claimed was the Folies Bergere at the Tropicana. Give me a break — that lame-ass show closed in 2009!!! Then they told me my tits were too small anyway, but offered to buy me a drink if I showed them my nipple. Well, everyone under the sun has seen my nips anyway, so I gave them a quick flash — but just then, one of the guys realized they had a private table (supposedly) with FREE VODKA waiting on them in the VIP area, and that we should just all head up there instead. FUCKERS! I wasn’t about to follow them all the way up there — odds are I’d be turned away anyway, since I didn’t have a VIP wristband…and besides, I just wanted my free motherfucking drink so I could go meet Phil Connors!!! But those assholes were already on their way, so I flashed them my middle finger and walked away. I had given them wonderhussy stickers while we were chatting, so I can only hope they are reading this blog right now. If you’re reading, guys: FUCK YOU! Thanks for lying to me!
Anyway, after that I spent $10 fucking dollars on a SHITTY, weak-ass drink, and met up with Phil Connors to have a look around. But it was WEIRD — they shut down all the stages, because of the wind (they didn’t want a tragedy like the thing at the Indiana State Fair, where the stage done blew over and killed all them Sugarland fans) and there was NO MUSIC playing! You’d think they could have at least piped in some canned DJ music over the loudspeakers or something — but it was just eerie silence everywhere you went. Meanwhile, all the high kids in their tutus and stupid lens-less sunglasses were wandering around in a dazed sort of confusion, not sure what to do once the oonce-oonce-oonce that drives them stopped. It was like someone had shut off their life support machine, and now their ecstasy-addled little hearts were no longer beating. Sorry, fools!
Phil Connors and I actually had a great time watching the weird, post-apocalyptic scene: almost like a refugee camp in some country where neon fishnets and fairy wings are the national uniform. Half-naked chicks were huddled together for warmth, and everywhere you looked were masses of balls-tripping kids sitting in silent masses on the ground, trying to figure out what had happened to their party. These kids were totally at a loss without their oonce-oonce-oonce…it was a RIOT!
FINALLY, some craftsy kids turned over a bunch of garbage cans and started a sort of drum circle, and some chicks filled empty water bottles with rocks to make sort of primitive maracas. NICE! A social experiment in group music-making — when the power gets cut off, PEOPLE POWER creates new music! I got all fired up and started dancing (you know I love me a drum circle)…but I’m here to tell you, for a bunch of kids who claim to worship BEATS, these kids had THE WORST FUCKING RHYTHM I’ve EVER HEARD!!! It was excruciating — they COULD NOT KEEP A BEAT TO SAVE THEIR LIVES! Listening to them flounder and bang away arrhythmically was like watching the chimpanzees at the zoo when they get all riled up and start banging on their cages with empty cans. Hilarious…but LAME!
At first I thought it would be like the thing where they say 1,000 monkeys in a room with 1,000 typewriters for 1,000 years will eventually produce a Hamlet manuscript — eventually, ONE of these bozos would start thumping out something resembling a beat, and an organic dance hit would be born. WRONG! It just got worse and worse, until finally Phil Connors and I could take no more, and left.
We headed up to the media center to see what the official word was regarding the event: would it be shut down, or what? The PR lady wouldn’t tell us, but because Phil Connors is a journalist of no little repute here in town, she did let us know that they would be “making an announcement” in 5 minutes. We figured from her facial expression that she meant they would be announcing the festival was being evacuated — and if it had taken me TWO HOURS to get in, imagine how long it would take to get out if all 100,000 people left at once! So we hightailed the fuck out of there, and by some miracle I found my truck in a jiffy and was home in 30 minutes. Poor Phil Connors, however, got stuck in traffic until FIVE A.M.!!!! Fuck!
Well, I was salty as hell over the whole thing because I had already promised my Sunday night ticket to my friend, so I was shit out of luck. FUCK EDC!!! Burning Man is way cooler, anyway…less garbage, less thugs, and less fat chicks in tutus. Well, maybe not the last one…but as MeatLoaf said, two out of three ain’t bad.
Anyhoo, I didn’t have time to fret because I had an extremely busy week ahead of me. Almost every day this past week, I worked two if not THREE gigs — it was insane! The main thing was the Licensing Expo, which I worked last year as well — a big convention where they needed a bunch of losers to dress up in mascot costumes and walk around gladhanding people. Last year I played some weird South American princess character, and this year I was a weird kind of Japanese Anime fox/squirrel/rabbit/???. The costume was VERY unwieldy, with extremely limited visibility and a SUPER-HEAVY head, but thank dog I only had to wear it for 30 minutes at a stretch, so it wasn’t too bad. If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to wear one of those costumes, I made a short video from my perspective inside the mascot costume. Check it out!
Anyhoos, I did that for three 8-hour days, in addition to working at night, taking souvenir photos at a showroom here in town. I was busy, I tells ya! I also squeezed in a nude photo shoot out in the desert, which was a bad idea because it was HOT AS BALLS and I really tore up my butt cheeks scooting around artsily on rocks. I’m serious people — my ass is really scratched up!! I need someone to massage it with lotion, cuz I’m too lazy!
After the Licensing Expo was finally done, I was able to get back to my usual scandalous shenanigans…and Friday was a perfect example of just the kind of fucked-up life I lead. It started with a morning video shoot at the house of Tomiko, a beautiful half-Japanese/half-German local fetish model and wrestler I’ve been wanting to work with for quite some time. She hired me to film some clips for her website, so I cruised over there first thing in the morning…and BOY, was it ever WEIRD!!
The first clip we filmed, I played a drunken schoolgirl who gets picked up at a bar by this gorgeous woman (Tomiko), who buys me drinks til I get wasted, then brings me home, dumps me on the couch, bastes me with spices and herbs, and then feeds me to her giant furry pet worm. !!!!! The craftsy Tomiko made this fantastic giant fur-covered worm/monster thing that she uses for her shoots, and I screamed and kicked and scrabbled around as it “ate” me. FUN!!!
Next, it got even weirder. For starters, I forgot to mention that there was another chick there — Dragonlily, whom you might remember from a few weeks back as this gorgeous Asian chick who has adult-onset accent syndrome, where she mysteriously acquired an Australian accent after falling off a wall as a child. (!!!!) You may recall I met her at another shoot, and now we ended up working together again — the Vegas fetish scene is a cozy group, let me tell you!
Anyhoos, in the next clip, Dragonlily played an evil gypsy named Voodoo, who wants to capture WonderTomi (Tomiko’s superhero character) and get all her secrets. So she creates a clone, called WonderHussy (me, in my trusty Wonder Woman costume…boy that thing sure has paid for itself by now, LOL), and uses me to capture WonderTomi (also wearing a custom-made Wonder Woman costume, haha). The two of us tie her up with her Lasso of Truth, strip off all her clothes, and then torture her with a vibrator! Every time she gets close to having an orgasm, I put a chloroform rag over her face til she passes out…and then we do it again. It went on and on until WonderTomi finally gave up her secrets. I TOLD YOU IT WAS WEIRD!!!
Meanwhile, this was all going on in a nice, normal-looking suburban house in a nice, quiet Vegas suburb. That’s what I love about this city: you never know what the fuck is going on right next door! The weirdest thing of all is that this was a custom-made clip per the request of a fan, who explicitly outlined all the plot points for us. LMFAO!!!
Anyway, I really enjoyed shooting with Dragonlily and Tomiko, and I hope to shoot with them many more times. But after this shoot was over, I had to hightail it across town to another shoot, for Footmode.com, where I again donned my Wonder Woman outfit and kicked some more ass. GOOD TIMES! It was a fun (and lucrative) day for me…and it wasn’t over yet!!
You may recall I made friends with the staff at a local fetishwear shoppe here in town, The Black Room, which sells hardcore German fetish gear and latex clothing. Well, the fantastic saleswoman Tara texted me one night to ask if I’d be in a fashion show for them at one of the local strip clubs — so of course I said yes! It turned out to be less of a fashion show than a mix-n-mingle — me and four other girls were dressed up in the finest fetishwear The Black Room has to offer, and they drove us all over to Vince Neil’s new strip club Girls, Girls, Girls where we attended a party for StripLV magazine. All we really did was booze it up and walk around whapping people with our riding crops, but it was goooooood times! I met some fabulous people, including a fire marshal from back East who also happens to be an avid cross-dresser when he’s away from home. Vegas brings out the REAL YOU, let me tell ya. You can really be yourself here — sometimes (most of the time) it’s kind of ugly and gross, but sometimes, as with this man, it’s really really cool!
Now, aside from all that backbreaking labor, I did have a few laffs this week. Monday was my boyfriend Captain Crunch’s day off, so after my desert photo shoot (the one where I scratched up my ass so badly) I met up with him for some fun in the sun at the Artisan Hotel pool. This pool needs to be discussed!!!
I’ve long been a fan of sneaking into hotel pools to sunbathe — Vegas has some of the most beautiful pools in the world, ya know. I used to go to Caesars Palace, but that joint is always so fucking crowded that you can’t find a fucking chaise to save your motherfucking life anymore! They have daybeds and cabanas, but they cost hundreds of dollars a day to rent, so I don’t even bother hitting that loser-ass joint up anymore.
Instead, I decided to try the Artisan — a small, funky boutique hotel sort of halfway between downtown and the Strip that is known to be sort of an artists’ hangout. It used to be a really shitty Travelodge, but some forward-thinking freakazoid painted the walls black and filled the place with creepy antiques and gold-framed paintings and mirrors — all over the walls and ceilings! It looks like the Addams Family’s house or something — truly bizarre. There’s a fantastic lounge there that is one of my all-time favorite places to have a drink — it’s just so weird! The grounds are also very lushly landscaped, and they have a small topless pool area that is open to the public…so I decided to go over there and check it out.
I was REALLY impressed with this pool!! It’s small and intimate, surrounded with lush tropical plants and daybeds and cabanas and stuff, but the daybeds are FREE, and there is NO CHARGE to enter the pool! There’s not even a douchebag bouncer at the door being an asshole — VERY un-Vegas! You just walk right in, sit right down and take your top off — it’s called the Naked Pool, but I’m pretty sure you have to keep your bottoms on. FANTASTIC!!!!!
I think there might be a DJ there on weekends, and I think there might be a cover charge then as well, but on Monday afternoon it was faaaaaaabulously deserted, with only a few hotel guests hanging out. Captain Crunch and I hung out in the pool chatting with a cattle baron from California and his surgically-enhanced trophy wife, and everything was going great until I went in to get us some drinks. That’s the only downside to the Naked Pool — there’s no cocktail waitress; you have to put your top on and go into the hotel lounge to buy drinks.
Now, Captain Crunch doesn’t fuck around when it comes to booze, so I ordered two double-vodka-grapefruits at the bar — it was Happy Hour, so well pours were $6 apiece. It should have been $12 per drink, but the asshole bartender charged me $40!!! I was too big a pussy to say anything, though, but when I went back out to the pool and told everyone, they were enraged! Captain Crunch ended up going back in and getting us our next round for free, but I must say to you, dear readers: Caveat Emptor at the Artisan! I’ve heard similar stories from friends about this place — it’s a cool spot to hang out, but you really gotta watch yourself around the staff. They’re shady as hell!
Speaking of Captain Crunch and liquor, apparently the military’s culture of frat-boy machismo and binge drinking swept him up the other day during an initiation rite, causing him to have an unfortunate accident involving Bacardi 151 and an open flame, so he’s kinda out of commission for awhile. Ouch!!!
On a final note, I had the triumphant distinction this past week of appearing in ALL THREE of our local alt-weekly magazines here in Vegas. I wrote a piece about naked yoga for City Life (read it here); I was interviewed and photographed for a piece on alternative models in the rival Las Vegas Weekly (read it here); and I even got a shout-out in highbrow Seven magazine, in this column they do on various interesting websites you should check out (read this amazing ode to my fabulousness STAT!!). What can I say; I’m moving on up! Watch out people…I even had lunch with the editor of City Life to discuss potentially writing my own regular column for them! If that happens, lock up your daughters for sure…Wonderhussy won’t be stopped!!!!!
P.S. I almost forgot!!! One night I went into work to take photos at the showroom, but I accidentally forgot there was no show, so found myself with nothing to do on a Friday night! So I went down to Fremont Street to take photos of the lights and stuff, and ran into this AWESOMELY DEPRESSING WINO who dresses up as sort of a half-assed Santa Claus and poses for pics with tourists in exchange for beer money. He’s not really one of those costumed street performers; he’s just a bum who wears red pants and a t-shirt printed to look like Santa’s jacket. I see him shuffling around the neighborhood allllll the time, at all hours of the morning and afternoon, and he’s always wearing his Santa outfit. It can’t possibly be clean! Anyhoo I think he lives in a shitty apartment off Maryland Pkwy, because I see him over that way a lot…but whatevs! He adds color to the neighborhood, and Wino Santa is just ONE MORE REASON I LOVE LIVING DOWNTOWN! If Tony Hsieh and his Zappos crew have their way redeveloping downtown Vegas, they’ll drive all these colorful characters out, leaving nothing but ding-a-ling hipsters and assholes. DON’T DO IT, TONY!!!