My birthday was this past week, and what a fuckin’ disaster it turned out to be. I didn’t even want to get out of bed this morning — it felt as though I was buried under an avalanche of shit that was so heavy, it didn’t seem worthwhile or even possible get out from under.
An embarrassing fact about me: I have never in my entire life had a birthday party. Growing up, I always wanted to have a party…but we were poor, and lived really far from town, and it was just never feasible. Then when I grew up, I never had enough friends anyway…so I have gone my whole life never having had a party. Which is a real bummer, because I could throw one HELL of a party!
My friend J.R. (the lonesome Tennessee oilman) wanted to throw me a party this year, and invite all my “friends.” I say “friends” with quotes, because although I have 950 “friends” on Facebook…I have very few people I can really count on. I thanked him for the thought, but nixed the idea…it just sounded like too much of a headache. None of my very few girl “friends” probably would have come anyway…so it would have just been a room full of random dudes hoping to see me pop out of the cake or something. AWKward!
J.R. advised me that he was coming out to Vegas to take me out for my birthday, party or no…and I was stoked. He’s a fun, friendly guy and I always have a blast hanging out with him. The trouble is, he has an unrequited crush on me, which provokes occasional temper tantrums if I don’t spend enough time with him while he’s in town.
Meanwhile, one of my few girlfriends came out to visit me. “Lolita” used to work at the photo company with me, and we had a lot of fun back in the day — she’s one of the few people I’ve met who’s rowdier and kookier than I am! I invited her to stay at my house for the week, and since she just started modeling, I also planned a few photo shoots with her so she wouldn’t get bored. I figured she and J.R. would get along swimmingly, so I could hang out with both of them and have a fine old time in Vegas Towne, and make everyone happy.
Well, anyone who knows me, knows that I live my life under a crushing amount of debt — a burden that I shoulder most precariously by flitting about town from one gig to another in a desperate, Sisyphean quest to pay my mortgage. You all know Sisyphus — every time he pushed that boulder up the hill, it rolled right the fuck back down to the bottom, and he had to start all over. Well, so it is with me: no sooner do I scrape together enough cash from toe-sucking perverts and lascivious photographers to satiate the needs of Mr. J.P.MorganChase and his twittering coterie of champagne-swilling plutocrats…then it’s already time for me to turn right back around and start doing it alllll over again. It’s EXHAUSTING!
Anyhoo, I’ll address my mortgage concerns in a future blog (there have been many new developments there, and I need your advice). Meanwhile, I brought it up to illustrate just how hard I have to hustle each and every day, just to make ends meet. I can’t take a week off because Lolita or J.R. are visiting — although J.R. has made it clear on several occasions that he would be my sugar daddy, if I’d only say the word. I told him in no uncertain terms that I don’t want a sugar daddy…but that doesn’t stop him from leaving me little piles of money every time he leaves town. He justifies this expenditure by having me run weird errands for him…for which he overpays me obscenely. But at the end of the day, I feel weird taking his money, and so I continue to hustle and work stupid gigs even when he’s in town…just to salvage my pride (stop laughing!).
Another thing about J.R. is that he’s suuuuuper jealous about any guy I happen to be dating — especially the one I’ve referred to here as the All-American Hero. In the interest of brevity, I’ll call him Sgt. Peanut from now on. Well, I’ve been seeing Sgt. Peanut on and off since May or so — I originally met him back in March, but it wasn’t until May that we started sleeping together and more or less dating. I say “more or less” because we only ever saw each other once a week or less — his schedule being at total odds with my own. I’m a night owl and party girl, and he holds a top-secret position at one of the local military bases, which means he has to be up at the crack of ass every day to go play remote-control war games in a darkened trailer, blowing shit up that’s 8,000 miles away. So our schedules never meshed enough for a real relationship to develop — we were more or less fuck buddies, although I was secretly growing alarmingly fond of him. He’s super-intelligent, fit, good-looking and very liberal (despite being a military badass). I knew he was a bit of a pervert, with a fondness for swinger parties and amateur porn sites…but hell, look at the shit I do! I figured I was in no position to judge.
Anyhoo, J.R. was always extremely jealous of Peanut…and being the über-paranoid technophile that he is, the first thing he did upon learning of my relationship with him was order up a bunch of background checks on him. Hardcore background checks, done by a buddy of his who used to work for the Department of Homeland Security. These exhaustive checks turned up everything from speeding tickets to underwater mortgages, and uncovered his entire family history going back to a farm in 1850s Illinois…but nothing untoward came up (much to J.R.’s chagrin, I’m sure). So I continued to date him, on and off, all summer long…and it was fabulous!
One thing about Peanut is that he’s very quiet — and very inscrutable. I kinda liked that about him, since I’m a high-energy blabbermouth — he sort of balanced me out. He didn’t pry into my personal affairs, and I didn’t pry into his. A few times I did sort of wonder/despair as to why he didn’t seem more interested in me (I’m used to guys being slavishly devoted to my every witty nipple-flash)…but he offered up enough compliments and flattery to keep my concerns at bay. I figured he was just one of those silent, stoic military types.
Aaaaaaaaanyhoo, Peanut’s birthday is the same week as mine, so a while back we talked about going on a little road trip around the desert to celebrate. I even took the days off work (at my camera girl job), to be sure I’d be available. But then, at the last minute, he told me he was going out of town that weekend instead. I figured it was no big deal, since between Lolita and J.R. I’d have plenty to keep me busy. But then he changed his tune again, and offered to take me out to dinner for my birthday…so I accepted, and Thursday night we went out for a nice quiet dinner.
When J.R. found out I was going out with him on my b-day, the shit really hit the fan: “I came all the way out here to take you out for your birthday! And now you’re blowing me off for Peanut?!” Never mind the fact that I spent Wednesday, Friday, Sunday and Monday with J.R….if he couldn’t be with me on my birthday, it wasn’t worth it. Arrrgh!
J.R. eventually got over it, and didn’t even bat an eye when I told him I was taking Peanut out for his birthday on Saturday. But Lolita was a different story — apparently she, too, was pissed off that I wasn’t spending enough time with her. Never mind the fact that I gave her full use of my guest bedroom, my bar, and my extensive wardrobe (wigs, makeup and props…anything she wanted)…plus I let her have my iPad for the week . That wasn’t enough for her, either — she wanted me all to herself.
Now, granted, I did have to work quite a bit while she was in town: Saturday and Sunday I had to work the annual Luis Miguel Mexican Independence Day concert (an affair which attracts thousands of wealthy Mexicans and is generally very lucrative). And Tuesday I had to drive out to Summerlin to do a faux-lesbo photo shoot with an aspiring Playboy photographer and another nude model (I have ZERO lesbian tendencies, so don’t even ask…I was doing it strictly for the ca$h). Then, Wednesday I had to drive out to Seven Hills to update my breath-holding/medical fetish website…so I was busy part of the time, but I still did a bunch of fun stuff with Lolita. To wit:
Monday night I invited my dear friend Michael Maze over to do a craaazy dress-up photo shoot party with us. Occasionally he’ll come over for an evening, and we’ll just go through my closet, coming up with bizarre outfits and shit to shoot…and I knew Lolita would love it. Indeed, we three spent a good 7 hours shooting, and then went out for late-night breakfast at the Peppermill afterwards.
The following day, my good friend Phil Connors (a writer for the local paper) and his friend Joe (the #1 Little Person in Vegas…he gets most of the work because the others are said to be alcoholics) invited us to come to the anniversary party for this awful topless revue. I thought it would be fun to a)guzzle free booze, b)nosh on free eats, and c)see the show for free. I figured Lolita would enjoy it, and indeed she did — in fact there was this ex-boy-band star at the party, and she seemed like she was having a pretty good time chatting with him.
Then Wednesday and Friday, we went out with J.R. for food, drinks and karaoke. All this time, J.R. paid for everything, so I didn’t see how Lolita could complain. But apparently J.R.’s slavish devotion to me rubbed her the wrong way…and who can blame her, really?
We started out Friday night eating some special cookies in J.R.’s room, and then went over to Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar” at Harrahs — a Red-State-Cholesterol-a-torium chain restaurant featuring delicacies like fried mac & cheese balls, fried baloney sammiches (with Miracle Whip) and fried Twinkies. After gorging on cheesburgers and sweet tea vodka out of a Mason jar, we limped next door to this karaoke bar at the Imperial Palace, where I blew everyone away with an extremely energetic rendition of KT Tunstall’s “Black Horse and the Cherry Tree.” Really, I actually brought the house down — I’m not the best singer, but I put on a great show.
Well, J.R. just couldn’t stop going on and on about how I was the best singer there, and I guess Lolita got sick of listening to him (like I said, who can blame her?!). But still, we all had a pretty good time..or so I thought.
The next day was Saturday, my date night with Peanut. J.R. busied himself gambling and boozing, and I arranged for Lolita to model for another friend’s fashion show, so they wouldn’t just be sitting around waiting for me. Peanut picked me up in the late afternoon, and we went to the movies and then dinner downtown at this artsy-fartsy little place called Bar+Bistro that has an awesome open-mic jam on Saturdays where all the artists and loonies get up and recite poetry and whatnot.
All through dinner he was distracted, dealing with a barrage of incoming text messages — for which he apologized repeatedly, but I don’t really take offense to that kind of behavior, being as I am addicted to my own CrackBerry anyway, and it just me more time to check my own Facebook and Twitter stuff! It WAS out of character for Sgt. Peanut, though, because he’s normally not a phone person at all — in fact he has this old-school, super-low-tech flip phone…which J.R.’s background checks revealed to be one of those untraceable, pay-as-you-go deals. But I didn’t think too much of it, as it was a beautiful evening, and we were sitting outdoors, drinking wine and enjoying dramatic readings from Shel Silverstein’s “Where the Sidewalk Ends” to the accompaniment of a jazz trio.
I wasn’t sure where the evening was headed — normally Peanut poops out very early, due to his early-bird lifestyle. He had mentioned maybe going to a party at the Kasidie Mansion (this private swingers’ party they have in Vegas), but then changed his mind and suggested hanging out at Bar+Bistro a while longer, then going back to my house to watch a movie. I was fine with that — even though it was Saturday night, I was FUCKING TIRED from keeping up with J.R. and Lolita all week, and an early night in sounded pretty good.
So I got a second glass of wine at the bar, and headed back outside to sit with Peanut and watch the open-mic shenanigans. He was still texting away, very out of character for him, and finally he said by way of explanation, “Sorry, my friend is having a life-or-death crisis…” to which out of politeness I replied, “Oh, well if you need to go be with him…go ahead, I don’t mind!”
I said this to be polite — really I was somewhat slighted that I had just taken him to a movie and dinner, and he appeared to be bailing on me already. But part of me also really didn’t care if he took off — as I said it was Saturday night, which I RARELY have off, and I had a few friends at the open mic jam that I wouldn’t have minded partying with. Plus, I figured I could use the opportunity to hang out with Lolita and have some one-on-one time with her — we’d been meaning to get dressed up in costume and go down to Fremont St. to hustle for tips!
Still, I was taken aback by how quickly Peanut jumped on the offer: “Are you sure?”
“Uhh…yeah! Yeah, totally!”
“Do you have a way to get home? I can give you a ride…”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” I reassured him. I figured Lolita or my roommate could give me a ride…or worst case, I could simply walk; my house is only about a mile from Bar+Bistro.
“OK, well, I feel really bad about this, but…we’re still going out Monday, right? I have something really cool planned.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure! No problem!” I gave him a hug and he took off, and I settled back with my wine to enjoy the show. I texted Lolita and she said she was on her way, so I figured everything was going to work out. Until…
This random Asian chick came up to me: “Are you Sarah?”
Now, people ask me that all the time, mostly because they’re Facebook “friends” who I’ve never actually met in person…so I wasn’t surprised. “Yes, I am! How did you know?!”
“I’m Peanut’s GIRLFRIEND!”
I was shocked, and immediately expected some kind of Jerry Springer confrontation involving slapping, scratching and gouging. But this chick just looked sad…so I got up and sort of hemmed and hawed: “Holy shit! I’m so sorry…I had no idea!”
She gave me this giant bear hug and started crying, so I sort of led her away from the crowd, outside the bar area to the parking lot so we could talk. She told me she’d been dating him for 2 and a half years, but had recently suspected something was afoot, and had been texting him all night to find out where he was. Supposedly he told her he was “downtown” with some people she didn’t know — at first he told her they were hipsters, which since she hates hipsters he didn’t bother inviting her. Then he changed his story to say he was with some enlisted people from the military, with whom he wasn’t supposed to be consorting…which is why he didn’t tell her. She pumped him for details, and he came up with all these weird names: “Oh, I’m with Walter Jones and Barry Landis and Jane Kowalski (well, she’s about to get married so her name’s changing to Jane Nelson…” Blah blah blah, etc. etc. I guess she finally became suspicious enough that she got dressed and drove downtown to find him. Mysteriously, despite the fact that there are a TON of bars in downtown Vegas, she somehow picked the right one first, and was just walking into the bar when he came rushing out.
Supposedly she confronted him: “So are you going to introduce me to your ‘friends’?” To which he replied, “It’s no one you know! This is stupid…I’m not talking about this here!” He went and got in his car, and she followed, leaning her head in the passenger-side window to argue with him. He wouldn’t talk, though, insisting that they go back to her house and discuss the situation in private, “like adults.” So she faked him out by reaching for his keys in the ignition, and with his attention thus distracted, she grabbed his cell phone off the center console! He got mad and told her she was acting stupid, and that she should meet him back at her house to talk. He drove off, and she came into the bar and found me.
For the next 30 minutes or so we sat there commiserating — I’ll admit to shedding a few most un-wonderhussy-esque tears (hey, I really liked this guy!), but after her initial breakdown, the girlfriend became eerily calm, and began effusively praising and complimenting me: “If it makes you feel any better, I went straight to the best-looking girl in the room.” “You’re an amazing person!” “I’m so sorry you had to be involved in this!” I was taken a bit aback, since if I were in her shoes, I don’t think I’d be lavishing praise on the Other Woman. Still, everyone deals with crises differently…so I continued to sit and talk with her.
She told me that they’d met on a dating site, and he had really helped her through some dark hours — she’s been abused as a kid, and had all kinds of emotional trauma, and was suicidal for most of the time they dated, but he talked her through it all and now they were in couples counseling at a place right down the street from my house! They had even started talking about getting married and having kids, and Peanut was going to a doctor to get his sperm count checked because he’s “older” (44) and they wanted to be sure they could do it. Then she started telling me about her stripper past, and how she worked her way through law school to become a bankruptcy attorney…and she kept hugging me, and I started wondering why a virtual stranger would confide all this in a presumed enemy. I guess some people deal with stress that way?
Meanwhile, Lolita arrived, and I told her I was in the middle of something really bad and could she wait? She was mid-way through a cheeseburger anyway, so she parked her car and waited while I tried to wrap up the awkward situation I was in — I couldn’t just bail on this poor chick; despite her calmness she was pretty shaken up. To be honest, I had never allowed myself to become too emotionally invested in Sgt. Peanut, so after about 5 minutes I was pretty much already over him, and had decided to go home, put on my new Wonder Woman costume, and go downtown to booze and party all night with Lolita. I was just waiting for the right moment to break away.
Well, apparently it took too long, because by the time I finally managed to break away from my new best friend (seriously, we exchanged numbers because she could “tell” I was an amazing person and the only good thing to come out of this whole mess)…Lolita had left. I was still pretty shaken up, so I took this as another abandonment, and when I called her to see where she was, and she said “I got tired of waiting for you, so I went down to Fremont Street,” I FLIPPED OUT and cursed her out on the phone, and then hung up and started walking home.
She called me back and cursed me out in return for hanging up on her, and then told me she had “other things” she’d been wanting to talk to me about….so she came back, picked me up and started bitching me out for ignoring her all week. I couldn’t handle this on top of everything else that had just happened, so I just completely lost it and bawled her out, and even tried to hit her!! I NEVER hit anyone — it was totally out of character for me. But I guess I was more upset about the Peanut fiasco than I thought.
Anyhoo, I ended up getting out of the car, slamming the door, screaming “Fuck you!” and then I never saw her again — she came over sometime when I was gone and packed up all her shit and left. Arrrgh! This kind of Jerry Springer shit never happens to me…it was really embarrassing.
Fortunately, my new BFF texted me just then, to make sure I was OK. Again, I found it odd that she was so concerned with my well-being…but I told her my friend had just bailed on me, so she offered to come get me and drive me home. We ended up sitting in a 7-Eleven parking lot for around an hour, talking about Peanut while she went through his cell phone and found all these incriminating texts. She also found a bunch of naked pictures on there, which I didn’t think was such a big deal (obviously)…and one text message he had sent to another ex-girlfriend a day prior that said “My personal life is a shambles….it’s hilarious.” INDEED!
Then she started giving me legal advice on my house situation — apparently she’s a bankruptcy attorney, and has helped with many home loan modification mediation sessions, so she knew exactly what I should do — and that was walk away from the house, declare bankruptcy, and then buy a new house 6 months later. Sounds easy enough, but there’s a lot of other shit involved…and on top of what had just happened to me (remember, this was one of the very few guys I’ve dated that I really liked…so I was pretty disheartened), it made me just bawl my eyes out. Too much! I can’t handle all this shit at the same time!
Finally she drove me home, all the while chattering about what a great person I am, with so much integrity, and how she’ll help me with my house for free. It was kinda weird. We ended up parting ways with the vague intention to “get together over coffee” sometime, and then she drove off and I went inside, poured a plastic cup of wine, and headed out to walk around the neighborhood, think things over, and cry about the mess my life was in.
Honestly, I would have been OK if Lolita hadn’t bailed on me — I would have already been downtown, yukking it up in a Wonder Woman costume! But her abandoning me, and then all this house talk on top of it, had really put me into a desperate funk. I wanted to be alone and cry, so I ended up sitting in the alleyway behind this nearby church, drinking wine and crying and just sort of feeling sorry for myself. I Tweeted and Facebooked about my misery, and I guess Peanut read the update because he Facebooked me a few times: “Are you OK? You want me to come get you?” “Did my ex find you? This is insane!” I just deleted his messages.
The girlfriend and I had been comparing him to Christian Bale in “American Psycho –” good-looking, smart, calm and collected…but with a weird sex addiction and a double life. We figured him to be a total sociopath, and the more I think about it, I think he is! He’s very neat and organized, with a huge music collection of very anal-retentively organized CDs, and a log book in his car that he writes in every time he gets gas and changes his oil. Nothing wrong with that, of course (this coming from someone whose pantyhose are all individually bagged and labeled) — but when coupled with his crazy libido and cheating lifestyle, just seems kinda weird.
The girlfriend kept texting me throughout the night — supposedly he tried to break down her door, but she called the police, and she sent me a picture of the “broken down” door, which to my eye looked totally untouched. The more I thought about the whole thing, it all seemed weird…maybe she really was an ex-girlfriend who refused to let go. Either way, I found them both weird and creepy and unsettling, and I was kinda sorry she now knew where I lived! Oh, well.
I finally exhausted my tear ducts, went home and passed out — and, ironically, slept pretty well, despite all the stress and my personal history of insomnia! When I woke up, he had left my sweater on the front porch, neatly folded with a handwritten note inside: “I’m so sorry I involved you in all this. There’s an explanation, although I’d be surprised if you were remotely interested. You’re a unique and wonderful person and I hope you follow your dreams. It was a pleasure knowing you, even for such a short time.”
Well, sir! Good day to you, too! If there really was an “explanation,” you’d think he’d be frantically trying to contact me in every way possible to “explain….” To me, this just sounds like “Good bye, nice knowing you.” Aw, snap
Still, I’ve never been one to wallow in misery — I just got back into the Wonderhussy grind, heading up to Mount Charleston for a hike with J.R. (who, incidentally, didn’t gloat nearly as much as I’d expected). Mt. Charleston is just a 30-minute drive from Vegas, but it’s a world apart — 20 degrees cooler, totally Alpine and awesome. Check it out sometime — the lodge up there got a new chef, and the food is MUCH better than it used to be! After some nachos and a Nutty Irishman, I was feeling like my old self again. Pea-WHO?
I’m still sad, because as mentioned too many times already, I really liked this guy. I’ve always been wary with my emotions, and I expect I’ll be even moreso from now on, since nothing like this has ever happened to me! But, out with the old and in with the new. Wonderhussy’s back on the prowl, boys…lock up your sons.
Now, before I sign off, you’re probably wondering about this faux-lesbo photo shoot I mentioned earlier. I was contacted by this really cool traveling art-nude model named Jillian, a kind of spacey Bohemian-type blonde chick who asked me if we could work together sometime. I said sure, and before you know it she had booked us a gig with this aspiring Playboy photographer — an ex-military hardass who has taken many classes and seminars at Playboy Studios and has studied under Arnie Freytag (the guy who shoots the centerfolds for Playboy), and thus has all these tricks up his sleeve. It was supposed to be a lesbo shoot, but I told them both beforehand that I’m not comfortable doing anything erotic or pornographic…and they pretty much respected my limits. We shot a bunch of girl-girl caressing-type softcore, but it was still a little too porn-y for my taste. Still, he paid me ca$h money at the end of the shoot…and as long as Mr. JPMorganChase is happy, my personal discomfort means little.
The photos actually came out pretty damn good — the lighting and editing were really well done (kudos to you, Steve Ruegnitz!)…so naturally I wanted to share them with all my online friends. Since I didn’t have time to update my blog with all this other shit going down, I decided to post a couple on Google+ instead. I already knew they wouldn’t pass muster on Facebook (my Facebook profile has already been deleted TWICE for containing “inappropriate” material), so I figured I’d turn to the new frontier and test the waters.
Well, guess what: I’m officially ALREADY deleted from Google+!! I have to be one of the first people to have gotten suspended from there…which I guess is a badge of honor, of sorts. I’M SO SICK OF SOCIAL MEDIA CENSORING ME! That was one of the reasons I started this site, in fact — as an UNCENSORED alternative to my beleaguered Facebook page. Unfortunately, I’m a total dumbass when it comes to web design, and I can’t seem to get this page looking the way I really want it. But fortunately, since my friend dumped me, my boyfriend disappeared and J.R. went home…I’ll have pleeeeeeenty of time to figure it out over the next few weeks. So be on the lookout for that!
One other thing I wanted to mention was my breath-holding/medical site update session — as mentioned, I went out there on Wednesday to film some new videos for the site (I get paid every time someone orders a clip, so it’s in my interest to update as often as possible). The guy who runs the site also runs sites for a buncha other chicks, so he’s got a full-on doctor’s office set up in his house, complete with super-expensive ultra-sound equipment and whatnot. Based on fan feedback, he comes up with new ideas from time to time for different scenarios to shoot, and this time he was shooting videos of fake doctor exams, where he puts on a white lab coat and pretends to “examine” the girls, who are all experiencing heart problems. I was supposed to act like I was having a heart attack, so that he could palpate me, listen in with a stethoscope, and look at my heart with his ultrasound device.
After that, he had another video idea for a different subset of his fans, who are into belly noises. Mostly those guys just buy the clips that show us recording our belly noises and stuff, but the new idea was to do a fake doctor’s exam like the heart-attack one, only this time pretending that I had a really bad stomachache. He did the same thing as the heart clip, only this time he ultrasounded my belly — and he told me that the previous week, he’d been doing this to one of the other chicks, and had discovered a fetus!!! She refused to believe him at first, but he pointed it out to her there on the screen — a little thing waving its little flipper arms, which means she had to have been at least a few months along…and I ask you, how the hell do you get THAT far along without realizing something’s up??? Denial!!!
Supposedly, he made her go out and get a pregnancy test…and then she refused to show him the results. He said she’s a full-time art-nude model, so she can’t afford to be pregnant and is probably just doing to deny everything… all the way to Planned Parenthood. Wow! I asked him if he saw anything unusual in my belly, and he said no…so at least I don’t have to worry about Sgt. Peanut having left me that legacy! A mini Christian Bale is allllllll I need to make my life more complicated!
Still…if I ever do get knocked up, I’ll be heading over to the medical fetish guy’s house at least once a week for a free peek at my fetus. That’s an invaluable tool to have at one’s disposal, eh??
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