Preparing to Mudwrestle

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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!

 

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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!

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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!!!!!!!!

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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!!

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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

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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.)

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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?!?!?

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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!

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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! icon sad Preparing to Mudwrestle 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!

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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!

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Go Team…

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,

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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!

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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

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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!!

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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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Second-Chance Town

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Back in the day

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.

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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 myselfSo I did.

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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.

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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

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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.)

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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!!!

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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.)

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R.I.P. Pinkie!!!

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!

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My Vagina

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thar she be

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.

Why??

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.

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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 smile My 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! “

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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.

annie sprinkle 300x198 My VaginaMy 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!)

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scarleteen.com

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.”

Is that a boner-killer? Sorry!

 

 

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Assterpiece Theatre

Now that CityLife (the paper I wrote for) has folded, Vegas was in dire need of a new cultural outlet….so I stepped in and started my own literary web show!

Be sure and subscribe to my channel for the latest episodes!

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Fear and Loathing at CES

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Welcome to my world

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.

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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?!

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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!

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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 icon smile Fear and Loathing at CES

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!

 

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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!

 

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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 icon sad Fear and Loathing at CES 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!

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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.?!

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ugh.

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!!! 

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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!

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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.)

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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!

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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?

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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??!?!!?

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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!

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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 icon sad Fear and Loathing at CES 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!

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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).

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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.

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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!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Very Shitty Xmas

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Sick as fuck, with my sister’s dog

Wow, talk about a shitty Xmas! I was sick as fuck the whole time, and my dog died. Could this be divine retribution for all my anti-Jebus atheist talk? It’d be just like that bearded fucker to celebrate his “birthday” by smiting a poor rescue mutt with liver cancer, all to prove a point to a godless heathen libertine. Either way, Jebus….I don’t give a fuck and I’m STILL an atheist!

Seriously, it all began right before Xmas, as I fell ill with a nasty ear infection due to my nightly earplug-wearing. The infection spread all through my head , and next thing you know I had a miserable cold…just in time for my 9-hour drive to CA for the holidays.

Whatevs; I was on top of it. Thanks to a doctor friend, I had some eardrops prescribed to me, and I stopped every few hours on my drive to put them in, requiring me to park at various truck stops so I could tilt my head to the side for 5 minutes and let them soak in. Alas, no trucker rapists tried to molest me as I did so…so I was unable to use Li’l Castrater (my pocketknife that is cunningly concealed in a fake lipstick tube).

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My dog

But also, the night before I left Vegas I noticed that my poor little dog was all bloated and swollen up. I asked my roommate to keep an eye on him, and went on my way. I got to my sister’s house in San Jose and passed out cold, trying to sleep off my illness…but alas, I was woken at an ungodly hour by my veterinarian, informing me that they had to drain 2 liters of fluid from my dog’s abdomen, and that it was going to cost me $765.

MERRY XMAS!

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Sick as fuck in Alameda

I had to get up anyway, because I had a photo shoot booked about an hour away, in Alameda…so I somehow sacked up, spackled on some makeup, and cruised up to this guy’s house where the shoot was to be held. He turned out to be a super-cool dude, and I really enjoyed meeting him and shooting with him…but I was so fucking sick the whole time, it was hard to get into it. My eyes and nose were running like faucets, and I was freezing fucking cold, being as I was naked…but what are ya gonna do?! It’s not like a model can “call in sick” or anything — you just have to sack the fuck up and do your thing! So I did.

Then I went back to my sister’s house, like, “YES! Finally, I can zonk the fuck out for 12 hours.” I ate a pot brownie and drank a quart of NyQuil, then passed out into blissful slumber…until I was woken, again at an ungodly hour, by the veterinarian…who had even worse news this time! My dog had a tumor on his liver!!

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My dog’s paperwork from when I adopted him at the pound

Now, I rescued that poor little fucker from the pound back in ’08, and had by this point given him 5.5 extra years of comfort, food and the good life. Plus, I was already facing a $765 bill just for diagnosing him…was I really supposed to cough up more cash to put him through an operation…or chemo…or whatever??? It’s a DOG!!!

Thankfully, the vet said the dog seemed fine now that they had drained that fluid out of him….and they were sending him home, and I should just “keep an eye on him,” because he would swell up again sooner or later, at which time I could have him drained again…although the drainings would become more and more frequent. I figured the poor little fucker would be OK for at least another month or so, and I knew my roommate would take good care of him…so I tried to just go about my business getting well and enjoying the holidays with my family.

So, I tried. I smoked a lot of weed and drank a lot of wine, and just barely managed to squelch the voices in my head that were admonishing me to go home and be with my dog. My roommate was feeding him cheeseburgers and fried eggs all day, every day, so I guess he was OK. Meanwhile, I was high as a kite jamming to WAR with my family (we had a kind of makeshift drum circle with homemade instruments one night, playing along to some amazing old WAR videos on YouTube) (WAR is the most awesome band, ever).

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don’t forget to take your medicine!!!!

Another night, we had this crazy costume party where we each had to dress up as something we hate — it was done Secret-Santa-style, where another family member assigned your costume. I had to be that fucking annoying “Bliss Dance” statue from Burning Man (!$@%$#&%!!!!), and my bro had to be Kim Kardashian. Another family member had to be a drug test lab tech, and this family member also happened to have just gotten their medical card in CA…so they brought plenty of weed for

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pee test FAIL!

everyone!!! The weed was dosed out in those little pill boxes old people use…awesome! This family member also had some real at-home drug test kits with them, so we tried those out to see if they were accurate. Another family member, who has done lots of drugs recently, tested it out…and I am sad to report, those at-home kits are inaccurate (or at least they don’t test for hallucinogens, which is what the other family member has been into lately). Anyway, it was a fun diversion from the pain and misery of life.

Alas, life was waiting for me when the buzz wore off. The day before I was to head back to Vegas, I had another photo shoot at a hotel in Milpitas…and just as I finished, my roommate messaged me that the dog was doing really poorly, and I’d likely have to euthanize him as soon as I got home. Damn!!!!!

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pondering life and death on the Sonoma coast

Meanwhile, that night I also had a date planned with this guy who went to my high school back in the day. I never knew this guy — he was a couple years ahead of me — but he’s been on my jock on Facebook lately, badgering me for a date, so I went out with him back when I was out there for Thanksgiving, and he seemed cool, so I had agreed to meet up with him again. We went out for dinner and drinks, and I’m afraid I wasn’t very good company because I was inexplicably morose about my dog!

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Stubby and I, in happier times

I say inexplicably because I’ve always had a weird relationship with the dog. I adopted him back when I was living with this other guy, and the dog bonded to the guy more than to me. Meanwhile, the guy and I broke up shortly after getting the dog…so the guy moved out, and left me and the dog sort of eyeballing each other warily. “You’re stuck with me now, fucker,” I remember telling him (yes, I talked to him all the time like a real person).

This was also the time my whole financial shit-storm started — that same guy had also left me with a $340,000 mortgage, which I had to figure out a way to deal with. I went through all kinds of headaches and misery with asshole bankers, shady lawyers and FUCKING WEIRDO roommates, and I used to come home from work every night and just weep. Meanwhile, at the first sign of tears, my asshole little dog would turn tail and leave the room – every time. So I didn’t have that great a relationship with him.

But, apparently, I did have some kind of feelings for him…because I was pretty worried about the little fucker, and couldn’t wait to get home to him. I left CA on the 28th, intending to leave bright and early so as to spend some extra hours with the dog before putting him down. But meanwhile, the guy I went out with the night before wanted me to stop by and kiss him before I left — we hadn’t kissed on either of our dates, and I guess he was bummed that he hadn’t made a move, so I told him to meet me at the gas station on my way out of town and I’d kiss him before I left. Totally rom-com — I kissed him at the gas station, then floored it down I-5 toward Vegas.

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From my shoot with the GILF escort last month, pic by Deep Exposure

Meanwhile, I always stop off in Bakersfield to see my one friend, Dr. Zhivago, who lives there — since Bakersburg is halfway between the Bay Area and Vegas, it makes a nice stopping-off point. We always go to the Elephant Bar for dinner, and last time I was there we met this awesome nutty drunken Scotsman, who in the interim had become pretty good friends with Dr. Zhivago, since they’re both Elephant Bar regulars who enjoy commiserating about life in godforsaken Bakersburg. Well this time, we hadn’t heard from the Scotsman for quite awhile…but halfway through dinner he came stumbling in, all stubble-faced and looking pretty grim, and he ordered a club soda — very unusual for him. It transpired that he’d just gotten out of jail for his fourth DUI (!!!)…so he was in a pretty miserable mood, too. Come to find out, he’d been sleeping off his drunk in his car on the side of the road the night before, when a cop busted him — you can still get a DUI, just for being in your car with the keys in arm’s reach!!! FUCK! All in all, we made a pretty grim bunch. I guess it was a shitty Christmas for a lot of people.

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With the fabulous GILF escort, pic by Deep Exposure

Anyhoo, after dinner I raced home the rest of the 4.5 hours, and found my poor bloated dog all doped up on pain meds, but looking semi-coherent and not totally miserable. I pet him a little and gave him another painkiller, then went to bed. I knew I’d have to take him in to be euthanized in the morning, so I got hiiiiiigh as fuck to distract myself from the heartache. I was secretly hoping he would last another day or two, since I wanted to have him taxidermied — I’d called a local taxidermist on the way to Vegas, and they had quoted me $900 (!!!!!!!) to have him fully stuffed and mounted. Well, I can’t afford that, so I asked how much for a shoulder mount (you know, where it’s just the head mounted on a plaque), and they said that for whatever reason, they don’t do shoulder mounts for pets. So then I asked how much it would be just to have his hide tanned, and made into a little rug (he had a really nice coat of fur)…but the lady said she wasn’t sure of the price, and wouldn’t be able to tell me til Monday, when she was back in the office.  So I was hoping my dog would make it to at least Monday, so I could maybe at least do that.

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Taking my dog to face the executioner

But in the morning, the poor dog was looking pretty bad. He was all swole up, and couldn’t even control his pee leaking onto the carpet icon sad A Very Shitty Xmas So pretty much as soon as I woke up, I gave him another painkiller, put on his leash, and loaded him into my truck for the last ride of his life icon sad A Very Shitty Xmas The irony of it all was, I was bawling my eyes out, but trying not to, since I knew how much the dog hated it when I cried. So I tried to be cool for his sake, since he couldn’t escape my truck, and I wanted his last moments of life to be as misery-free as possible.

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the last photo of my dog and I together

It took about 15 minutes to get to the vet, and then I let him sort of sniff around outside for awhile…the poor little fucker didn’t suspect a thing! But I just wanted to get it over with, ya know? So I finally took him in, and started bawling all over again. They give you the option of either being with the pet when they euthanize it, or letting them do it themselves…but it’s $4 cheaper to be with the pet, and I’m a cheap ass, so I said I’d be there with him when they did it. I was really torn, because like I said the dog hated it when I cried, and I didn’t want his last moments on Earth to be even more miserable for him…but it just seemed like it would be too cold-blooded to leave him there alone to be killed, so I went in with him.

OMG it was the saddest thing I have ever done. I don’t know how these vets do it — the guy who did my dog was young, and adorable, and so nice about it…but jebus christ I would bawl my eyes out every day if I had to do that job! Thank dog there’s people in this world like him, who can handle shit like this. He let me pet the dog while he injected him with a muscle relaxer first, to chill him out. The poor little guy went limp, and his legs collapsed, and his eyes closed, and I kept petting him while the doctor administered the second shot, which was to stop his heart. He died pretty quick, and then the doctor gave him a third shot, which he didn’t exactly tell me what it was for but I’m really curious…and then that was it. I asked the doctor if I could take a photo of the dog, like one of those creepy old Victorian death portraits they used to take of babies and whatnot….and here it is:

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My poor little dog, moments after having given up the ghost of life :-(

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!! I still bawl my eyes out every time I look at that pic. My biggest regret is that was too big a cheapass to have him taxidermied….he was so cute! icon sad A Very Shitty Xmas

After that, I paid up another $113 and went out to my truck to bawl some more. To make matters worse, I was expecting my period any day…so the tears were extra-copious. I bawled on and off all the rest of the next two days, which I spent cleaning my house and grounds to try and take my mind off it. I guess I liked that poor little fucker more than I let on icon sad A Very Shitty Xmas R.I.P., Stubby!

Then, of course, it was New Year’s Eve — party tiiiiiime!! What the fuck! I’ve always hated New Year’s Eve, and I really didn’t feel like partying at all…but this was the first New Year’s Eve since I moved to Vegas that I didn’t have to work, so I felt obligated to go out and par-taaaay. Ugh. I had two choices: an acquaintance had invited me to a “psychedelic” New Year’s party at some random Burning Man acid-eater’s “mansion,” so I could go out there and trip on mushrooms all night in the company of strangers……or, my attorney had invited me to a small gathering downtown. I ended up choosing to party with  my attorney, and it was cool because we spent most of the night at one of my all-time favorite bars, Atomic Liquors, eating mushrooms and hanging out with the most amazing assortment of characters there (yes I ate mushrooms with my attorney…it was very “Fear and Loathing”). I met the most amazingly cool German man at the bar, and ended up having a pretty good time, after all. Best of all, Atomic Liquors is close enough to my house that I was able to walk home at 1:30am, and not worry about a(nother) DUI…unlike that poor Scotsman in Bakersfield :-/

The second I got home my period started, so I pretty much stayed in bed all day, except I did get up around 10am to ride my bike over and get my truck, since I had left it parked in uncertain circumstances downtown. But I went straight back to bed, and slept until 5pm or so, at which time I had to get up for my first gig of the New Year…shooting strip-poker videos at the Luxor, for some fantasy gambling website. I spackled on my happy face and took care o’business, and then went straight back home to bed…but after that, I was pretty much back on the hamster wheel.

Thankfully, 2014 has been pretty busy for me thus far — I’ve worked almost every day, which has been good for taking my mind off my dog-related sadness. In addition to the fantasy poker shoot, I also did another art-nude shoot in a Go Suite at the Flamingo (the photographer read this blog and took my advice…and boy did he love that room!)…and then I did not one, but two shoots with balloons!

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Tampon balloon
pic by SW Images

The first balloon shoot I did was a pretty straightforward cheesecake-type glamour shoot, except at the end I noticed my tampon string was hanging out, so I decided to tie a balloon to it for laffs. Yuk Yuk! Goooooooood times. The second balloon shoot was for a balloon-popping fetish site, so this time I had to sit on balloons and pop them with my ass, all while talking to the camera about how much I love popping balloons with my ass. This was a custom clip, requested by a fan (I think they call them “‘looners”), so there was very specific dialogue I had to recite — interesting!! It went OK, except I got a bunch of painful welts on my inner thighs from the balloons popping — I’d have to say balloon-popping is not one of my favorite fetishes, for this reason. But it really wasn’t that bad, considering. I’d still rather have inner-thigh-welts than have to kiss the ass of some pathetic middle-manager at a miserable desk job, 5 days a week from 8-5. YA HEARD???!

Then after that, the same guy paid me to wash my hair while he filmed me doing it, so I made a few more bucks doing something I was already gonna do anyway, LOL. Gotta love the fetish world…ya know?!! Dog?? What dog?!?!?

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Pic by The Progeny Photo

Then another night, I was hired to model at this group shoot/photo party they recently started up at a local studio, which was really pretty cool — they have 6 or 7 different backdrops, several models, and then a bunch of photographers pay to come in and shoot photos of the girls, using the studio’s lighting equipment. Really fun! There’s music, and an open bar, and snacks, and it turned out to be really amazing. Except I didn’t realize there were going to be other models there, so I rolled in at the last minute, strode into the studio and tore my clothes off, like, “Let’s shoot!!” Meanwhile, I was the only nude model there, but there were 6 or 7 other clothed models standing by looking at me very askance, like, “Who the hell is this hussy?!” Haven’t you girls heard??? It’s Wonderhussy, bitches!!!

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Pic by The Progeny Photo

Seriously though, it was amateur hour with some of them other models — these were PG-style Model Mayhem girls who thought they knew what was up. One of the organizers was filming some footage to use for promotional purposes, and this one hag with stringy blond hair and jailhouse tattoos was all, “I can’t be in any videos unless you clear it with my manager.” Bitch, please! What does your manager have to say about those nappy-ass brown roots??! Tell your manager to send your ass to Supercuts!!!

For reals though, it was a pretty cool set-up, although I only got paid $100 for 3 hours of shooting with every Tom, Dick and Harry who had signed up for the party. I didn’t think that was fair, considering the other models got the same amount and didn’t have to get naked. I guess the idea was, the photographers were supposed to tip out the models….but nobody tipped me, so I just got the hell out of there. Oh, well! It was still fun and easy, and I’d still do it again. Check it out, if you get the chance…they have these parties every few weeks: http://www.vegasphoto.org/

 

 

Aaaaanyhoo, after all that grief and hustling, I thought I should take a night off, so I went out with a visiting journalist friend from New York. This guy gets all the hookups, and this time he invited me to accompany him to this far-out new “social experiment” called Rose.Rabbit.Lie. at the Cosmopolitan, which I guess he was writing a piece on because the PR people really laid it on thick for us. PR snowjob or not, though, that place is super fucking cool!!!!

It’s kind of the same vibe as The Act nightclub, where I used to work — dark burlesque/creepy/sophisticated/cabaret, with all these amazingly decorated little rooms, with weird performers doing weird shit in every corner as you sip $16 craft cocktails (that are, admittedly, amazing) and eat “updated” versions of classic, old-school Vegas fare like rack of lamb and beef Wellington. Three times a night, they put on an actual show, with acrobats and shit, but you have to buy special tickets for that in addition to dinner and drinks. And then after the last show, the showroom turns into a nightclub…and you can par-taaaaaay late into the night!

Since my friend was being so heavily schmoozed, everything was comped, and it was fabulous. I had brought some weed with me, so we had gotten high first on the balcony of his suite, and when we went downstairs to dinner it was amazing!!! I mean, AMAZING. Like being at Burning Man, with all these different rooms and performers and weird music and weird art everywhere — they have a whole Hieronymous Bosch mural in the dining room and everything.

The best and most surreal part of the evening was, since my friend was being so heavily schmoozed, we were accompanied all night by a boozy PR lady from the hotel, and one of the owner/managers of the club — a smart young hipster-type in a velveteen jacket and Morrissey glasses, with the most astonishingly earnest stream of P.R.B.S. flowing effortlessly from his mouth all night long. I don’t mean to make him sound insincere or lame — he was amazing in that he was totally earnest about every overblown adjective he used, and in addition to that he had the most amazing vocabulary of anyone I’ve ever met! He was incredible and enviable, to me, because he had that one thing I’ve always lacked – gravitas. Words like “mixologist,” “craft bitters” and “ice chef” rolled effortlessly and completely irony-free off his gilded tongue, and with every word he spoke I found myself more and more spellbound, as if caught up in his magical web of public relations.

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Ice diamond!!

Now, it’s true that Rose.Rabbit.Lie. is twee and pretentious to a fault (hello! Excessively dramatic punctuation!) — but somehow, that’s part of its charm. It’s also not for the feint of wallet– those fabulous craft cocktails will set you back $16 or more apiece…but astonishingly, it’s worth it! They were some of the best drinks I’ve ever tasted — and I’ve tasted ‘em all! I supposed it helps that they’re heavy into the bitters thing over there, and use my all-time favorite spirit Campari liberally (I had a cocktail containing Campari jelly!!! YUM!)…but even aside from the drinks, the ambiance and atmosphere are totally worth ponying up the cash for. Besides, the drinks really are that fabulous — the aforementioned ice chef is responsible for carving giant chunks of ice into various shapes, like diamonds (!!!), that sit so prettily in your drink you wish they’d never melt.

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pewter peacock sea salt dish

After drinks in the fabulously-appointed “study,” we went onto dinner in the dining room…which was a succession of small plates featuring updated old-school Vegas food, as previously mentioned. Our gracious host ordered a huge feast of just about one of everything, and it was truly exceptional in the details — the menus are sealed with wax (so you can keep yours as a souvenir, as they make new ones daily), plus there are all manner of weird tableware accouterments like animal-shaped silverware-rests, filigreed forks and swan-shaped pewter sea-salt dishes with tiny spoons. Basically, this place is Burning Man for the 1% Foodie. Be warned!

After stuffing ourselves with foie gras, caviar, lobster and champagne, our host next escorted us into the showroom, where we watched the last of the three nightly performances of Vegas Nocturne — basically, an Absinthe-style sort of burlesque carnival running about an hour in length, after which the showroom turned into a nightclub, and a Sexy Lady DJ came out and played club music while everyone danced. Maybe I’m just jaded, or maybe it’s just that I’m not a club person, but I found the whole showroom component of the evening boring. The show itself was nothing you can’t see elsewhere, and I just felt it wasn’t cool/creative/freaky enough to live up to the rest of the place.

Personally, if I were to return to Rose.Rabbit.Lie., I would dress to the nines and spend the whole night in the Study having cocktails, with maybe a few small bites here and there to soak up all that Campari. Our host mentioned something about the study having an old-fashioned record player with records that can be played at will by guests, so I think it would be much more fun to just get genteelly sloshed in there while doing the Charleston to Al Jolson or some such, late into the wee hours. Smoking weed was great, and mushrooms would also greatly enhance the experience. Overall, as pretentious and expensive as it is, I have to wholeheartedly recommend Rose.Rabbit.Lie. as one of my favorite new places to party — I’ve already made plans, in fact, to come back with some friends next month! See you there…..

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soaking in the Tecopa mudhole :-)

Oh and P.S., I almost forgot I also spent one fabulously sunny day out at the all-natural Tecopa Hot Springs on the eastern edge of Death Valley, with a bunch of fun hippies I know from around town. On my previous trips to Tecopa, I always soaked in the developed hot springs (where you have to pay)…but this time, the hippies and I soaked FOR FREE in the FABULOUS hot mudhole outside of town. It was a wonderful experience, and I can’t wait to go back and do it again!!! It’s fairly clean, for a mudhole, and you could have a bad ass campfire and night soak. Who’s in?!?!?!?!

 

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Modeling in Winter

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At the waterpark…pic by Shutterbug Studio

Fuck Christmas; today is the MOST WONDERFUL DAY OF THE YEAR: the first day after the Winter-Fucking-Solstice!!!! From now on, the days are getting longer, not shorter… and that’s just all kinds of awesome. Because if there’s one thing I hate, it’s gloom and darkness. And if there’s something I REALLY hate, it’s bone-chilling fucking miserable cold. YUCK!

Being a model is all fun and games in the spring, summer and fall. But in the winter, IT SUCKS ASS. My feet and hands get miserably cold around Thanksgiving, and stay that way through about Valentine’s Day. Stripping off your warm clothes and furry boots for a photo shoot in this weather is like being flayed alive!!!!!!!!!

Having flayed myself alive several times over the past few weeks, it’s no wonder I finally got sick as fuck. Hanging out naked in the desert on a day when the high temps are in the 40s will do that to ya :-/

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At the waterpark…pic by Shutterbug Studio

Yes, that’s right…I was stupid enough to agree to another photo shoot out at that abandoned water park in the desert near Barstow a couple weeks ago. I wasn’t feeling well, but I let a photographer friend guilt-trip me into going out there anyway — one of my biggest personality defects is being TOO NICE/too weak-willed; I have a really hard time saying No…even when my health is at stake!

As it turned out, the sun was out that day so it was probably more like 50 degrees…and I wasn’t totally miserable. And, we got some really good photos…so I guess it was worth it. But ever since that day (Dec. 8th), I’ve been on the road to ruin.

Never one to succumb easily to bothersome physical complaints, I just kept chugging Emergen-C and oregano oil and going about my business, hoping it would go away. But gee, it never did…I wonder why?!

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Weld Er Up!

A few days after wandering the wintry desert in the nude, I was hired for another outdoor shoot, this time in the oldest graveyard in Vegas, on a night when temperatures got down into the 30s. At least I didn’t have to be naked for this one — I got to wear my Bride of Frankenstein costume, and pose with this super bad fucking ass custom rat rod designed by the guys at Weld Er Up. It was some kind of old-timey 1920s Ford that had been modified to be all-electric, with the interior redone like an old-time asylum, with white padded walls, electric chairs for seats and all kinds of creepy gauges and dials. Really a cool car, and a cool concept…but it was super fucking cold in that graveyard!!! The Weld Er Up guys are super cool though, and let me stay in their heated truck while the photographer set up his lighting…but my toes still almost froze off once I got out to pose. And the worst part of all is, the poor photographer’s computer crashed about a week later, and he lost ALL THE PHOTOS :-/ So now I might not even get paid, since he can’t deliver the product to the Weld Er Up guys (it was for a calendar they’re coming out with). WAHHHHH!!!!

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Alas, I haven’t gotten any pics yet from my shoot with Phoenix Skye…so here’s another pic from the waterpark by Shutterbug-Studio

So by now, I was really getting sick, but I kept slogging away so as not to miss out on all the fun. Next I was hired for a photo shoot with the most amazing 64-year-old MILF model — this woman didn’t even start modeling until the age of 63, at which time she set up a Model Mayhem profile and was immediately recruited by “Over 50″ magazine for a cover shoot! If you’ve never seen “Over 50″ mag, it’s lurid porno pics of sexy grannies sucking dick and getting pounded by young studs. Fantastic stuff, and this lady was right on the cover!

Anyway, around the time she started modeling, this amazing woman also set up shop as an escort — in fact, after our shoot, the photographer and I had to clear out of the room so that she could do an “appointment” with some bearded old fool from California. But as soon as her date was over, she joined us for dinner, drinks and conversation at TAO Asian bistro, and it was awesome. That lady is so bad ass — she sat there nonchalantly puffing on her vape pen full of weed, talking about all the different “dates” she’s been on with guys, some as young as 25. Apparently, guys of all ages are curious what it’s like to be with a granny…so she does a brisk business! I’m serious, this woman is just super fucking cool…check her out at phoenix-skye.com. I love her!!!

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more from the waterpark
pic by Shutterbug-Studio

Interestingly, I did another shoot the same week with another “over-the-hill” model who runs a superhero fetish site. This woman is in great shape and very attractive, with legions of fans who send her gifts and shit, at the ripe old age of 47! It was really cool working with women other than the typical 20-something bimbos. We shot a few videos of me being “eaten” by a giant monster, and some superhero stuff, but I was so out of it from my lurking illness that it was hard to fully enjoy myself.

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Pic by Dan P.

From there, I had to head across town straight to another shoot with an amateur retired Army vet who is just learning how to use a camera. I’ve done several shoots with this guy lately, and he is always a total gentleman, paying my full rate with no quibbling and treating me very kindly — he sincerely appreciates my patience and kindness in helping him learn to shoot. I don’t know why other models would refuse to shoot with a guy like this! Anyway, this time we shot for a few hours, and then he had me surprise another retired Army vet friend of his with a sort of singing telegram where I dressed in my alien costume and sang “Funny Girl” to the poor guy, who was so surprised to see me, he literally almost had a heart attack. All of this would’ve been surreal enough if I were at the top of my game…but as it was I was sick and out of it, so it seemed really weird.

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more from the waterpark
pic by Shutterbug-Studio

Oh, and I almost forgot the foot-sucking videos I mentioned last time — I didn’t have many gigs lined up at the beginning of the month, so out of desperation I had signed up to worship this other model’s feet for KissHerFoot.com. I’m not a huge fan of sucking and licking random peoples’ feet, but this chick turned out to be super cool and fairly hygienic, so it wasn’t bad…except for the fact that the heater in the studio wasn’t working, and it was COLD AS FUCK the entire shoot!!! I swear…CAN’T I CATCH A BREAK ANYWHERE?! Isn’t anyone hiring for a shoot on the surface of the sun or anything?!?!

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Pic by Helgaphoto

Alas, no. The next shoot I did was even worse! I had signed up to work with a local photographer who was doing a series of photos with sugar — having the models throw granulated white sugar all over themselves, etc. It seemed like a fun idea at the time, until the day of the shoot arrived. By now, I had a full-on nasty-ass ear infection — I think it started because I sleep with earplugs every night, and don’t always change them out as often as I should. So now, I had an earful of bacteria, fungus and who knows WHAT the fuck-all else…and I’m throwing sugar all over my fucking self, getting little granules into every crevice…including my ears. I had this crazy visual of some nasty yeasty fungus in there gobbling up all the sugar, getting bigger by the minute and taking over my life. YIKES!!! You better believe I went straight home and washed as much of that shit off my body as possible. NASTY!

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fabulous Go Suite at the Flamingo

I did do one shoot that was 100% cozy and comfortable, in a Go Suite at the Flamingo Hotel. These suites are AMAZING for shooting, and I highly recommend them to photographers — they are roomy and full of interesting colors and textures. You could shoot for hours in one of these suites — they’re awesome! Just be sure you book a “Go Suite” and not a regular room, since I hear that the regular rooms at the Flamingo are pretty shitty. This photographer got a really good deal, too, because of the time of year — I think he only paid around $68/night! Anyway, this guy was super cool in all respects, and I would shoot with him again in a hot minute — and not just because he kept the heater cranked to 11!!! Shout out to Model Mayhem’s Zvaal!!

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At Liberace’s house!

Anyway, in between all these photo shoots, I tried to get in a little holiday partying as well — sick or no! The best party was this thing I went to at the Liberace Mansion — WOW!!! I’ve always wanted to check that place out, and I finally got my chance when this British dude bought it (for astonishingly cheap) and hosted a party to promote his new book, as well as raise funds for the restoration of the “mansion.” I use quotation marks because it’s a “mansion” in the sense that Graceland is a “mansion”

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the fabulously creepy ceiling in Liberace’s bathroom!

– really more of an overgrown suburban house that has been improved upon with all kinds of glitzy white-trash add-ons. The Liberace Mansion in particular is pretty run-down, in a crummy part of town by the airport, but it was amazing to see — especially as I had just seen that awesome HBO movie about Liberace with Michael Douglas and Matt Damon!

That’s the amazing thing about Vegas — you never know where these historic houses will pop up. You’re driving along in suburbia and suddenly wham! there’s Wayne Newton’s estate! Or you’ll be cruising the ghetto, and all of a sudden

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One of Liberace’s fabulous mirrored Rolls-Royces

there’s Siegfried & Roy’s palatial spread. Vegas is truly egalitarian in that way — the rich people live sprinkled among the poor. Or at least it used to be that way, until they built all these douchey “master planned” golf course communities full of cheek-to-jowl McMansions out on the edges of town. LAME!

Anyway, it is my sincere hope that someday, I earn enough money to build a “mansion” of my own, in a humble part of town, with golden “W H” on the gates, little Wonderhussy decals engraved here and there, chandeliers everywhere, and mirrored everything. How fabulous would that be? I only need to suck about 100,000 more toes and I’ll have that damn mansion!!

Speaking of holiday parties, there were two others that I was really looking forward to, on the same night — one at the home of some local literati socialites, and the other being the annual Santa Rampage costumed pub crawl. I planned to hit both of them after putting in my hour at the gym….but alas, all my plans went awry thanks to a magic biscotti I ate that afternoon at another party, in the park down the street from my house.

Every year, this one awesome bearded neighbor of mine dresses up like Santa Claus and the neighbors all get together for a “Santa In the Circle” party in the park. People bring cookies and hot cocoa and stuff, and the local ballet school does a little performance, etc. Well, this year I dragged my ass down to make an appearance, and first thing this one awesome crazy lady offers me a “magic” biscotti. I tried to turn her down, but it just seemed curmudgeonly…so I ate the damn thing. The WHOLE damn thing!! I knew it was a bad idea, but I did it anyway…and sure as sugar, about an hour later I was high as a kite, with no interest in doing ANYTHING.

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at the waterpark, trying not to look sick…but you can tell my eyes are half-glued shut with eye-mucous
pic by Shutterbug-Studio

Nevertheless, I tried to soldier on and get on with my day. I even drove to the gym, intending to lift weights and maybe help metabolize the cookie faster…but they were remodeling the women’s section, and figuring out what to do in the main gym just seemed too hard in my befuddled state…so I turned around and went home, and tried to sober up with a 3-hour nap. I woke up just as high as ever, though….so following a Facebook friend’s advice, I took two Excedrin, drank a cup of black coffee, and walked around in the freezing cold for 3 miles. That finally did the trick — I sobered up enough to go to the literati party, which turned out to be a bust, and I ended up just going back home to bed anyway. BOOOOO! Valuable lesson learned: don’t get high unless you’re planning to go directly to sleep.

Speaking of getting high, my medical marijuana card recently expired, and I was on the fence as to whether or not I should bother renewing it. On the one hand, I hate to buy into a crooked fucking system — it costs something like $300/year to get a license in Nevada, and why should I bother when I have plenty of connections to get me weed on the black market? Why should I funnel my heard-earned money into the wasteful pockets of the State??

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At Dr Reefer’s office

Well, at the last minute I remembered that the good people at DrReefer.com had offered to cover my renewal costs — so I went down to see if they’d make good on their promise. See, back when I first applied for a card in 2010, I went to the original Dr. Reefer, Pierre Werner — this awesomely nutty visionary who was an early pioneer in the medical marijuana program here in NV. After I’d paid him $360 in fees, he was arrested for flaunting the law…and disappeared into the bowels of the NV correctional system, my money nowhere to be found icon sad Modeling in Winter

There was really nothing I could do, so I wrote a bad review of him on Yelp! to at least vent my frustration. A few years went by, I went elsewhere to get a card, and another company bought the URL “DrReefer.com.” This new company is cool as shit, and totally legit — they offered to help all of Dr. Reefer’s disgruntled former patients reach an amicable solution, and by golly they actually honored their promise to renew my card this year for free. AWESOME!! From now on, I am sending all interested parties to their office — they’re professional and totally legit. Check ‘em out!!

So finally after all that shit was done, I headed out to California for the holidays. By this time, I was full-on SICK AS FUCK — runny nose, watery eyes, nasty-ass ear infection, etc. I had a photo shoot booked in the Bay Area the following day, so I figured to take it easy during the 9-hour drive out there by drinking plenty of fluids, and stopping every few hours to put in these ear drops where I have to keep my head tilted to the side for 5 minutes. Consequently, I was constantly having to stop at random truck stops to park and tilt my head with the engine idling. FUN!

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Sick as fuck, trying to look sexy

Well, I made  it OK, and woke up the next morning to get ready for my shoot. I’m here to tell you — there is NOTHING harder than trying to look alluring and sexy when you feel and look like a scabby bag of mucous!!!!! Somehow I managed to sack up and go through with the shoot…but the minute it was over I collapsed into a pile of quivering, feverish snot. I don’t have any more photo shoots or looks-based obligations until Dec. 27th, so I figured it was at long last time to REST!

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My sick face (and my sister’s dog)

WRONG!!!! During all of this, as I was packing the night before I left for California, I noticed that my poor dog looked really bloated, and was acting weird. He’s getting up there in age (about 10 years old…I got him at the pound, so I can’t be sure), so I asked my roommate to keep an eye on him while I was gone, and to take him to the vet if he looked bad. Well, I guess he took a turn for the worse right when I left…so my roommate took him in. They sucked out 2 liters of fluid from his abdomen, and ran a bunch of tests, which the results haven’t come back yet…but meanwhile, I’m sick as fuck and ate a pot brownie and chugged a bunch of NyQuil to get some sleep, and the fucking vet is calling me and waking me up every 30 minutes to give me updates/ask permission to charge my credit card $765 (!!!!!!) for services. F U C K ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

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my dog, in happier times

I’ll find out the test results tomorrow, and then I have to decide: exactly how much do I love this dog?! I mean, I got him at the fucking pound back in 2007 — I’ve already given him 6 long years of good life; how much more am I supposed to shell out? If you ask me, $765 is already more than I’d want to spend on an animal…but I was sick and out of it and 600 miles away, so I couldn’t really argue with the vet. Now I bet they’re gonna tell me he has a heart problem that requires $100/month or more in medicines…and I hate to say it, but I am unwilling/unable to spend that on a dog…especially when there are plenty of other dogs at the pound needing a home!!! ARRRRRRRRGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! It would be really sad to put the poor little fucker down…but fuck, I have to be realistic. I guess we’ll see what happens :-/

 

 

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I’m already hustling for this amazing gig next October!

Hey everyone, please forgive the momentary lapse in propriety and allow me a moment of shameless self-promotion….

I’m one of the top models being considered for an amazing week-long nude photography workshop at Lake Powell, Utah with Joel Belmont and Craig Blacklock!

www.dynamicphotoworkshops.com/the-dynamic-nude

Here’s how they describe this workshop:

“If you’ve ever wanted to explore and photograph some of the most amazing (secret) locations in the southwest – like magnificent slot canyons, massive red rock arches, historic Anasazi ruins from the 1200′s, towering ‘tapestry’ cliff walls, petroglyphs, sweeping panoramic vistas and more – all surrounded by emerald green water and only accessible by boat – PLUS work with beautiful nude models and learn one-on-one with master photographers – taking your photography to the next level – this is your chance. This workshop only has 2 spots left – don’t miss out on this photographic adventure of a lifetime – I hope to see you there!”

If you’ve ever wanted to take part in an epic shooting adventure on a houseboat with a bunch of naked models….this is your chance!!

icon biggrin Im already hustling for this amazing gig next October!

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The Mushroom Diet

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Better wrap those babies up tonight…it’s supposed to get down below freezing!
Pic by Bill M

Watch out everyone…I’M PISSED!!!

Not only am I on my period, it’s also so fucking cold that I’m wearing a ski parka as I type this. NOT FUCKING COOL!!!!!!!

@#$!(%$@&^%&@*!!!!!!!

I hate cold weather. One of the major reasons I moved here to the desert was so that I would never be cold again — well, I didn’t realize how fucking bone-chillingly cold it can get here in the winter. How cold is it? It’s so cold, they issued a deep freeze advisory to all the bimbos in town that they should wrap up their tits, so that their implants don’t burst! They even forecast snow tonight and tomorrow!!!

 

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Pic by Bill M

At least we only have to suffer a couple months of this shit. Still, as someone who makes the bulk of their income off being scantily clad or totally nude, this cold weather is an EXTRA BUMMER, financially. It’s too cold to do any outdoor photos, so aside from a couple indoor shoots, my modeling biz has pretty much been on ice lately. Meanwhile, there ain’t shit going on in Vegas right now aside from the annual yeehaw rodeo fest, and I didn’t get any gigs relating to that so I’ve basically just been sitting around with my thumb up my ass. I can’t even rely on my fall-back source of income — it’s too cold to go busking on the Strip in my weed showgirl costume, too!! So, basically…. I’m fucked. It sucks!!!

This dry spell started in late November, when I was afflicted by a plague of cancellations. First, these two dumbass motherfuck photographers from Model Mayhem stood me up. I don’t get it — these guys had booked me over a month in advance, and we were in constant communication about the shoot — I emailed them a list of locations, and drew up an itinerary, and we were all set to go for Thursday morning, Nov. 21. Even though the weather started turning shitty right around then, I still sacked the fuck up, got out of my cozy bed, and got myself ready to go by the unspeakably early hour of 9am. The plan was for the photographers to pick me up at my house, so I went out onto the street in front and waited for them…

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More fun with Angel Paris…a super-cool chick, by the way!
Pic by Bill M

…and waited, and waited…..

…until finally, after about 20 minutes of feeling like an idiot, I gave up and went inside. I didn’t have either of these losers’ phone numbers (we had been communicating via email) but I emailed them “WTF?!?! Where are you????” and went about my business. Finally, six hours later, they emailed me back: “Ohmygod we’re so sorry…we got you mixed up with another ‘bella’…can you shoot tomorrow?”

HELL FUCKING NO I CAN’T SHOOT TOMORROW, YOU FUCKING DUMB-ASS TWATS!!! WHAT, I SHOULD BLOCK OFF ANOTHER DAY OF MY LIFE TO SIT AROUND AND WAIT FOR YOU TO STAND ME UP AGAIN?!?!?!?!

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pic by Deep Exposure

There’s something extremely fishy about this story — first off, if they got me “mixed up” with another “bella,” why the fuck did it take SIX HOURS to figure that out and let me know?! I can understand mix-ups — but the CLASSY THING TO DO would have been to LET ME FUCKING KNOW in a reasonable period of time!!! Fucking amateurs.

Believe it or not, in 5+ years of modeling that only happened to me once before, when some other old fucker stood me up at (of all sad places) Circus Circus. That time, I got so pissed off that I tried charging a nonrefundable $50 deposit on all shoots — just to cover my ass. But I found that photographers were unwilling to pay up, so I quit asking. I guess I just have to eat the occasional flake — being stood up is just one of the hazards of being a freelancer :-/ When you make your living off amateurs and perverts, it’s the price you pay.

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From my seminar in Santa Clara.
Pic by peripheralvision

So the very next day, I was headed out of town to the Bay Area for Thanksgiving. I had also scheduled a couple shoots out there, the weekend before — and guess what?! One of those dumbasses cancelled on me, too!!!!!!! With this one, I smelled something fishy ahead of time — the old fucker hired me back in October, and had been emailing and texting me quite a bit, until a week or so before the shoot I realized I hadn’t heard from him in a while, so I texted him to see if we were still on. No answer. Then I emailed him…and a couple days went by before he finally responded that he was so sorry, but he had to cancel the shoot because he had to go in for surgery. Uhhh, and you were waiting to tell me this when, exactly!?!?!?!?!?!?! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I HOPE WHEN YOU GO IN FOR SURGERY THEY GIVE YOU A FUCKING BRAIN WHILE THEY’RE AT IT!!!!!  I swear to dog, am I the only one in this dogforsaken world  who has their shit together?! I mean, if I say I’ll do something then by god I fucking do it! And if I have to cancel, I give as much notice as possible.

FUCKERS!!!

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Pic by peripheralvision…a CLASSY photographer who won’t flake on you!

Thankfully, my other shoot in the Bay Area did not flake, so I at least made some money while I was out there…and met a bunch of really cool guys, too (this was a seminar, with 9 photographers; it’s almost always guys at these things). Then after that, I pretty much just took the rest of the week off and hung out around the Bay Area with friends and family.  Fuck work!!!!

But even on the social front, I had more bogus cancellations. I was supposed to go camping on the beach in Bolinas with my friend Zen, but he bailed on me too — but at least he had a legit excuse, as he is moving to Angola to work for his dad’s dredging biz. So I only stopped off in San Francisco long enough to pick up a mannequin (Zen had a clothing business which he shut down, so he gave me one of his old mannequins) and

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WAFFLEBURGER!

have this AMAZING lunch at a donut place near the ballpark that serves cheeseburgers on WAFFLES!! You read that right; it’s a cheeseburger between two waffles, drenched in syrup…and it is amazing. The only downside to eating one is, you won’t be able to walk for a week. But since I didn’t have any more photo shoots scheduled, I figured why the fuck not? I ate it, then changed into my pajamas, and stayed in them for the rest of the week.

 

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Travels with Charlie

Meanwhile, as I was driving around I had my new mannequin buddy on the passenger seat beside me — fabulous!! I dressed him up in some of my clothes, and he acted as a sort of scarecrow, keeping thieves and whatnot from breaking into my truck while I was in the city. I probably could have even used him to drive in the carpool lane…if I were inclined to be a cheating-ass motherfucker, which I’m not.

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Loooost in Spaaaaace…

Anyway, I was out there in the Bay Area for about 10 days, and hands-down the best thing I did was eat mushrooms at this amazing planetarium up in the Oakland hills. Some family members and I were talking about how we always wanted to get baked and go see one of those cheesy laser-light shows set to the music of Pink Floyd. Since Vegas is way too unsophisticated to have a planetarium, I looked around the Bay Area and found a show on the Saturday night after Thanksgiving, at this place in Oakland.

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fooling around in a space capsule!

Now, as with everything, I’m kind of a lightweight when it comes to shrooms — I only ever eat a gram, which is a fairly small dose, and lasts me about 4 hours. So we planned our excursion out carefully, so that we’d have enough time to sober up after the show and get home safely. This particular planetarium has a space museum attached to it, so we drove up there around 8pm, choked down the shrooms with some cheap red wine and a little weed out in the parking lot, and then wandered around the museum for two hours before the show started.

IT WAS AMAZING!!!!!

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whoa!!

If one were sober, I think the museum might have come off as a bit hokey — it’s more of a kids’ thing, honestly. But on shrooms? IT WAS GREAT!! I haven’t had that much fun in I don’t know how long!! I laughed until I cried — always a good feeling. They had all these crazy interactive exhibits where you could experience what life is like for the astronauts on the Space Station, so we had a ton of fun playing around with those. Generally, we tried to be cool and not freak anybody out…but you could definitely tell we were high, I bet.

Then we went outside, where they had all these amazing high-powered telescopes, and we checked out Jupiter and stuff in the night sky. And then it was time for the laser light show to begin! WOW. 

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Watch out, I’m headed for Uranus!

If you haven’t seen one of these “Laserium” shows, they are super-cheesy programs set to music, with laser light doodles flashing around on a planetarium ceiling. Apparently the Pink Floyd one (“Dark Side of the Moon”) is still their most popular program, despite the fact that it’s hokey as hell and reeeeeeeeeeally low-tech, by today’s laser standards. STILL — if you’re on psychedelics, it’s awesome!! We just laid back and let the lights and music wash over us, with the stars sort of twinkling in the background. Amazing!!!! There were about 6 other people in the theater, and I don’t think they were on anything, so I have no idea if they enjoyed it or what. But I sure did!!

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yeah, I’m high all right!

After the show ended, the planetarium closed and we were out in the cold. If it had been summer, it would have been awesome, as there are all kinds of trails in the forest up there, leading to amazing overlooks where you can see the entire Bay Area spread out before you. But as it was, it was freezing fucking cold, so we just huddled in the car until we were sober enough to drive home. Note to future shroomers: go here in summertime, and plan to camp out for awhile afterward!

Speaking of shrooms, I also had a little shroom adventure here in Vegas before I left for my trip. An acquaintance had invited me out to this little desert town on the edge of Death Valley that has several hot springs, for a day of soaking, shrooming and wandering around the desert. Of course I said yes, so he picked me up in the morning and we drove out to the town of Tecopa, got a room at Delight Hot Springs resort, and ate our medicine. Then we spent the rest of the day soaking in the mineral baths, said to have the second-highest concentration of minerals of any hot springs in the world!!

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Tecopa Hot Springs

Delight’s is a kind of run-down little resort built in the ’40s, with that amazing run-down desert-y vibe, only now it’s been taken over by Koreans from Vegas, which makes it even more awesome! Meanwhile the “town” of Tecopa, which is really just a collection of trailers and RV parks, also boasts a natural hot spring out in the middle of this ultra-desolate valley, in a sort of marshy area with a mucky bottom and reeds all around. I’m really more into natural springs than the developed kind, so after we soaked in the Delight’s tubs for awhile, we put on our bathrobes and walked the half-mile or so to the natural springs, so that I could check it out.

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Russians having a picnic in the middle of no-fucking-where

Meanwhile, the shrooms had kicked in, and we were pretty high. When we got to the natural spring, these crazy Russians were sitting there having a picnic — in the middle of the most barren, bizarre moonscape this side of Mars, no less. But that’s Russians for ya! Well, my friend was too high to go near them, so we just hiked to the top of this little nearby hill, instead, and sat there in our bathrobes watching the sunset. It was fantastic!!! The sky out there was all kinds of beautiful, and it was utterly still and desolate, with this

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Sunset in Tecopa

amazing wintery desert smell in the air from the creosote bushes. We sat there until it got dark, at which time we ambled back down along the highway in our bathrobes, like the Dude from the Big Lebowski, back to Delight’s.

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Tecopa

Now, Tecopa may be a teeny-tiny shitty desert town, but it also just happens to be home to one of the most fabulous restaurants anywhere on Earth — Pastel’s Bistro! Pastel’s is run by this awesome guy from Vegas who bailed on city living in favor of desert life. He used to be a bigwig chef here in town, but now he just hangs out in the desert getting baked and cooking up all this amazing healthy-type foodie food that is fucking out of this world!! The friend that I came with goes there all the time, and he said half the time he doesn’t even order off a menu — the chef just brings him out whatever’s good that day! I love those kinds of places.

Unfortunately, however, we were so high that time got away from us — we pissed away too much time soaking and racing around the desert listening to techno, so by the time we got to Pastel’s, they were closed icon sad The Mushroom Diet BOOOO! I gotta get back out there, stat. If anyone wants to go, hit me up. You buy dinner, I’ll provide the shrooms!

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With the New Zealand Monopoly Team

On a final note, here’s another one from the “Random Photos of Me Showing Up in Weird Places” file. A few years back, I did a shoot with some guy who was in town covering the World Championships of Monopoly (yes, there is such a thing). He took some nudie pics of me with a Monopoly game board, and then we drove down to the “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign so I could pose for a photo with the New Zealand Monopoly Team, who had placed 2nd in the tournament. These guys were hardcore — they even had matching tracksuits, lol!!!

Anyway, nothing ever came of the pics…or so I thought, until now! A friend of mine found one of the photos from the shoot (below) on some Greek Facebook page. I don’t speak Greek (ahem), so I have no idea what it says….but it’s funny anyway!!

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It’s all Greek to me!

 

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Frankenmerkin Cake Whore

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Vegas Bride-to-be of Frankenstein

Halloween is basically the High Holy Days of Vegas — when everything that is loved/hated about the city comes gushing to the surface like a hotel bidet lapping at the bleached anus of a high-class whore. During Halloween, the city is awash even more than usual with spiritually bankrupt parties, nightclubs, booze…and billions of girls running around in the sluttiest costumes imaginable.

Alas, I was in Death Valley for most of Halloween week this year, so I missed the bulk of the parties. But I mean, really — Fetish & Fantasy Ball? YAWN. I’ve seen freakier shit in the back room at Showgirl Video on a Sunday morning!! It’s all marketing hype, designed to entice Midwestern squares into shelling out their hard-earned cash in the hopes that they’ll catch a glimpse of a naughty nun pretending to spank a sexy schoolgirl…or any number of other tired-ass tropes that can’t possibly seriously titillate anyone anymore. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT. (Sorry, it’s my new favorite saying.)

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pic by Kelly Garni

The one Halloween party I did want to attend was the annual Las Vegas Halloween Parade, which wends its way thru downtown Vegas like a mix of Mardi Gras, Burning Man and Your Typical Vegas Saturday Night — in other words, a totally free and unpretentious amazing time. Last year, you may recall I went as Pink Elvis riding a unicorn (my friend Fabian), and this year Fabian and I had an even more amazing two-person costume planned…but at the last minute, he had a family emergency and had to go to Chile. So I went with my Plan B, which was Vegas Bride of Frankenstein (sort of a Goth version of all those drunk, idiot bachelorettes you see on the Strip on any given night).

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Judging

Also this year, I had been invited to sit in as one of the judges…meaning I would be joining distinguished members of the downtown Las Vegas community like Dayvid Figler (attorney, writer and man-about-town), Michael Cornthwaite (owner/co-owner of several hipster downtown establishments that I have bashed on Yelp and elsewhere) and none other than Tony Hsieh himself (CEO of Zappos.com and chief investor in/hipster überlord of The Downtown Renaissance™, who I have also bashed in print). Ruh-roh!!!!

I figured those fuckers wouldn’t really know who I was anyway, though, so I didn’t worry too much about it. And besides, I was sucking on a cannabis lollipop some random hippie chick had given me on the set of a TV show last summer…so I was feeling no angst whatsoever, just a sense of wonderment at the creepy antics taking place around me.

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Frankenbush! Pic by Randy Fosth/Shutterbug Studio

Now, the main thing for which people bash Tony Hsieh & co. is their being “hipsters,” which is basically a catch-all term for everything young, trendy, expensive and annoying. Some would say the entire eastern half of Fremont Street has been overtaken by this hipster cancer…and that all of downtown Vegas is in danger of the same. Whatever the case, I’m here to report that certain of my co-judges appear to be wallowing in the hipster sea like swingers in a hot tub — enthusiastically, and with a total lack of irony. No sooner had we taken our seats at the judging table than an iPhone was produced, tuned to Pandora.com’s “Hipster Halloween” station…followed immediately by the appearance of a nubile young minion bearing a tray of Fernet Branca shots (Fernet already being well-established as the hipster booze of choice) which everyone downed with relish (or feigned relish, as the taste can only be compared to nonagenarian ass, with notes of Ben-Gay and bedsores). Bah!!

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The Ghost of Downtown Past

Even worse, in the massively hypocritical spirit of fitting in with the cool kids (just like high school), I raised my glass alongside everyone else’s and downed the foul, astringent brew. I was secretly freaking out, wondering if I had now drunk the proverbial Kool-Aid…but I think the THC in my system protected me, cuz I woke up the next morning just as big a hater as ever icon smile Frankenmerkin Cake Whore Yay!! I was even able to make a disparaging Facebook post about my favorite moment in the parade, which was when one of the poor gross old homeless wino-types who used to populate downtown Vegas (and are being swept out by the hipster tide) crashed the judging area, stumbling up toward the stage in an incoherent mess of drunken blathering — a stark reminder of yesterday, like the Ghost of Vegas Past come to haunt Tony Hsieh with a sort of incoherent Wino’s Lament: “Remember me, remember me….but ah, forget my fate!!” Fantastic!!!

Anyhoo, the parade really was fabulous this year, with a number of astonishingly elaborate floats and art cars direct from Burning Man. The Best Car award went to the Dancetronauts (a crew of flight-suit-wearing DJs, scantily clad go-go dancers and e-tards cruising on a giant scissorlifted spaceship with a 100,00-watt soundsystem, baked out of their minds) who then parked their spaceshift/mobile dance club right in the middle of Fremont Street for a big old-fashioned outdoor dance party. Many of my friends were there, including C. and his Soul Train (the art car I helped put together at Burning Man the last couple of years), and I was just settling in for a raging good time when all of a sudden, shit got REAL!

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The Empress

Out of nowhere, who should appear on the scene but the lovely Royal Empress, Miss Tarah Lee! I’ve mentioned this fabulously over-the-top party girl before — I met her when I used to work at the Act nightclub, and she would come in, dressed to the nines in a glittering evening gown with mounds of paste jewelry, fur stole, and ultralong, ultraswanky cigarette holder clutched in one gloved hand. This woman is glamour personified, and she lives it to the max, every day, 24/7/365!! I bet she even goes to the gym in full makeup!!

Anyhoo, we became friends and had been meaning to get together and hang out ever since, but our busy schedules never seemed to mesh — until now! There she was, slumming on Fremont St. in the most fabulous Marie Antoinette costume I’ve ever seen — so I of course joined up with her and her man for an evening of Halloween-style carousing. The only thing about the Empress is, that bitch can party – I mean, like no other!!! Her liver must be made of asbestos or something, because I’m here to tell you, I can’t keep up with that. We hit up a few bars downtown, having a drink or three at each, and then headed down to the Strip, to one of the douchier nightclubs, where more booze was ordered. Damn! I had to dip out around 2am, fully owning my amateur status as the Empress continued to dance into the wee hours, laughing merrily in her fabulous wig, waving her cigarette holder and sloshing a martini on all the assholes gathered around. She sort of reminds me of the Baroness from The Sound of Music…if the Baroness was a boozy Vegas party girl.

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With another fabulously pneumatic friend, Miss Asia DeVinyl

Now, in between shots of booze, we had discussed the dire need for us to do a photo shoot together — between her fabulous costumes and my fabulous creativity, we’d be sure to do something amazing. I pretty much figured it to be nothing more than drunk-talk, so imagine my astonishment when later that week, we actually did end up getting together with another model, Miss Unique Styles, and one of my favorite photographers, the inimitable Billy Ward, for a totally over-the-top Marie-Antoinette-style photo orgy at the Empress’s fabulous high rise condo overlooking the Strip. It was totally fucking incroyable!!!!

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Cake Whores! Pic by Billy Ward

My idea was that we three models should be fabulous cake whores — like coke whores, only snorting lines of frosting off of gilded mirrors, etc. Thanks to the Empress’s astonishing collection of gilded furnishings and knick-knacks, the set design was amazing, and we all three outfitted ourselves in lacy, ruffly extravagance par excellence. The Empress has a side business making mini top hats, fascinators and corsets, so we had plenty of accessories with which to costume ourselves. In fact, in the photos I am wearing the corset she made me for Christmas last year — I barely knew her back then, and was totally flabbergasted when she waltzed into the Act and presented me with this fabulous gift. She’s just a really generous person like that!

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Pic by Billy Ward

Anyway, our photo shoot was cut short by a gig I set up for us — this local Italian restaurant called Casa Di Amore needed three babes for this commercial they were filming, so I roped the Empress and Miss Styles into coming down there with me, where we filmed a sort of take-off of the Dos Equis “World’s Most Interesting Man” commercial, with one of my awesome neighbors standing in as the Most Interesting Man. Let me tell you, these Italian guys didn’t know what to make of us — the Empress in her fur stole, as always, swilling wine and martinis and whipping out her long cigarette lighter in the middle of the shoot. But they loved it, and invited us back for dinner any time we want…so we’re planning a fabulous girls’ night out sometime.

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At the Double Down

I’m not sure when, though — as mentioned, I can’t keep up with this woman!! After the commercial shoot, we went back to her condo to clean up the mess, and then she cajoled us into accompanying her to the Double Down, this amazing grungy punk rock bar over by the Hard Rock, where they were having their awesome Tuesday night jazz jam session. Now, normally I love nothing more than a jazz jam session with cheap drinks, but I’ve been so busy lately that I really couldn’t stay out as late as the others, and ended up dipping out around 2am again. My last glimpse of the Empress, she was laughing and gesturing with her cigarette holder like the conductor of a mad symphony, sloshing yet another martini on yet another gaggle of admirers, climbing on the bar and living the nightlife to the fullest. YIKES!!

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I have a terrible cake habit…pic by Billy Ward

In reality though, despite her party-girl image and crazy lifestyle, I really like the Empress and find her oddly touching. Her boyfriend has to travel a lot for work, so most of the time she’s cooped up alone in her fabulously appointed high-rise luxury condo, with its floor-to-ceiling views of the Vegas Strip, like a lonely princess in a glass castle, only venturing out at night via the in-house limo service (she doesn’t drive herself). What a strange existence…and so different from my own, with me always rushing around town in my pickup truck to fart on people and kick them in the nuts (when I’m not engaged in hard labor like fixing my garage door and my back gate and shit like that, which I have been lately). Interesting contrast!

Anyway, speaking of photo shoots, I’ve done a lot lately. Most were the regular cheesecake nudies — downtown at the Plaza, mid-strip at Harrahs (with the fabulous Angel Paris as my co-model) and then out in the desert, once (at sunrise, no less!) with an Aussie and once with a Frenchman. Then I did a few shoots with a really sweet local retired Veteran I met who’s just getting into photography, and who needed a patient model to help him learn the ropes. I’m nothing if not patient — I don’t mind shooting with photographers of any skillset — so he hired me three different times for shoots all over town!

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pic by Randy Fosth…botched boob job by Dr. Frankenstein!!

I also hit up another one of my all-time favorite photographers, Randy Fosth/Shutterbug Studios, when I had the idea to shoot my Halloween costume as a XXX pinup — I made a little Frankenmerkin to match my Bride of Frankenstein wig, and the photos came out fantastic!! I even shaved my beloved bush for another part of that photo shoot…something I am ordinarily extremely loath to do.

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At the fabulous abandoned Rock-A-Hoola waterpark…pic by Kelly Garni

But the most exceptional photo shoot I did lately was out at this creepy abandoned water park, in the desert between Vegas and Barstow. I’d long seen this place by the side of the highway when driving past on my way to California, and had always wanted to stop…but I never had the time to stop, and the one time I did have time, I couldn’t find the exit! Lucky for me, my friend Kelly Garni figured it out, and invited me out there one day with his girlfriend Sheri, for an extremely cool post-apocalyptic photo shoot and road trip.

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pic by Kelly Garni

Now, I’ve mentioned my friend Kelly before — I met him on the set of this local TV discussion group, and we hit it off and he gave me a copy of his autobiography, which I read all summer long while sunbathing in the nude in my backyard (he’s had an extremely wild life, having been in some crazy rock bands with a bunch of famous rockers). Well, nowadays he’s into photography, which is why we hit it off…and which is why he invited me out to the water park.

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Pic by Sheri Moore for Kelly Garni Photography

That place was amazing!!! I guess it operated as a campground and water park from like the 1960s to the 1990s, finally closing down in 2004 when someone was paralyzed in an accident on one of the slides, and has just sat there rotting in the baking desert sun ever since. The water slides themselves were sold off, so all that’s left is some spindly support poles, abandoned buildings and empty pools…covered in the most amazing graffiti you’ve ever seen. Not the usual halfwitted cholo scribblings — I’m talking pro-status graffiti, with social messages and shit. It’s incredible!! I’ve included some photos from the trip, but to see more (and read more witty commentary), check out my Facebook album. You can also read my City Life column about it (which, inconceivably, has gotten me a ton of positive feedback…inconceivable because I totally forgot I had to write the damn thing until 1am the night before it was due, and I was rushed and sleepy and half-drunk).

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the awesomeness of the Bagdad Cafe

While we were out that way, Kelly and Sheri and I decided to cruise across the highway to nearby Newberry Springs…a little ramshackledy desert town that just happens to be home to none other than the Bagdad Cafe!!! I’d heard about the place ages ago — back in the ’80s or ’90s, some crazy Germans made a little art-house film about this nutty restaurant out in the desert on Route 66, and ever since I saw it I’ve been wanting to go there. Don’t ask me why it took me so long — it’s not that far from Vegas, and it’s fantastic! We got there just before closing time and enjoyed some delicious burgers — only I couldn’t eat too much, because I had that damn sunrise photo shoot with the Aussie guy the next morning, and had to have a flat stomach :-/

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selfie of my ass, on the way to see Rod Stewart

So anyway, Newberry Springs is my new favorite place on Earth. Although, sometimes Vegas can be pretty fucking interesting, too…especially when you’re on mushrooms, as was the case last Sunday! My friend J.R. was in town, and one thing he had always wanted to do was go see Rod Stewart’s show at Caesars Palace. Back when I was slaving away as a souvenir photo hack in that same damn theater, I’d watched part of the show and found it to be astonishingly excellent — I’d always hated Rod Stewart, so imagine my surprise when I sneaked in one night and saw how amazing it was! Rod is like 70 years old or something, but FULL of vim and vigor (probably from banging all those young blondes or whatever…his wife is like 19). He is an excellent performer, so when J.R. invited me to go, I was all over it!

To make extra sure we had a good time, we ate some magic mushrooms about an hour before the show….and boy howdy, was it ever great!! The lighting and staging in that show is fantastic enough on its own, but under the influence of shrooms, it’s even better. I can’t remember when I’ve had that much fun! Listen people, I HIGHLY recommend seeing this show in this fashion — you won’t regret it!

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the freaky fucking scene at Caesars Galleria Bar…fear and loathing!

After the show, we went over to the fabulous Galleria Bar near the lobby at Caesars for a few drinks served by J.R.’s favorite bartender, this cool guy named David. The mushrooms were still raging away, and we had the best time just sitting at that bar, surrounded by the most amazingly bizarre Vegas caricatures: to the left, a Botoxed old society-matron-type flirting with a dapper young rent-boy over martinis. To the right, an airline pilot hitting on another Botoxed old hag (they don’t call Caesars “Menopause Manor” for nothing), while security grilled a skanky young hooker who was trying to put the moves on a Latin American businessman. I mean, fabulous!! THIS is why I love Vegas, and Caesars Palace in particular —  it’s people-watching par excellence. Mushrooms only make it better!

But then the shrooms started to wear off, and the Botox hag and the rent boy left, and some drunken Marines stumbled in, fresh from the annual Marine Corps ball — always a tragic affair of white trash up-dos and cheap tacky evening gowns showing way too much regrettably tattooed flesh. J.R. is a true American Patriot, though, so he got up and thanked the guys for all they do — and the one kid, displaying refreshing candor, replied that he only signed up for the health benefits anyway. After that the magic was definitely over, so we finished our drinks, said good night, and that was that.

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Arrrrgh!!

After that, the rest of my time lately was spent doing lame shit like home repairs and working an endless succession of gigs to pay for said repairs. Yesterday (Saturday) was a particular doozy. First, I had to get up at 5:45am (!!!) to dress as a giant stuffed tiger for a kids’ event at the local PBS affiliate — I didn’t mind the early call time so much because I was in a mascot suit, and didn’t have to wear makeup or anything. But lemme tell you, that was the WORST costume I’ve ever worn — the head must have weighed 50 pounds, and it was really uncomfortable to wear, let alone try and be animated whilst maneuvering thru a mass of shrieking children, while hungover. Yikes!

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Honk if you’re corny!!

Then no sooner did that gig end, then I had to rush home to spackle on some makeup for my next assignment, as a promo model for a popular corn snack at the big UFC fight at the MGM Grand. It was actually a pretty fun gig, and well-paying, too — all we had to do was hand out free samples and pose for photos with people in front of a branded backdrop. But what was astonishing to me was, I hardly ever get booked for gigs like that — it was through an agency, and 99 times out of 100, when I apply for an agency gig I never get hired. I figured I must not be good-enough-looking, but (not to be a bitch or anything) the other “models” on this gig with me were hardly Gisele Bundchen!! I don’t know how these other girls get all these gigs — the only thing I can think of is my lack of tits may be holding me

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pic by Kelly Garni

back. But seriously — I worked harder than most of the other chicks at that gig, and was ten times as personable, so….get over it!!!!! Tits aren’t everything…or are they?!

Anyway, after that exhausting day (15 hours) I came home to find another emergency room bill (I already coughed up $1300…but apparently that’s not enough; they want to stick me for an extra $250 now) and then I dropped my phone, rendering it completely useless, so that I had to order a new one icon sad Frankenmerkin Cake Whore So, basically….I worked all day for nothing. #@$@%^$#&*!!!!

One other thing: my medical marijuana card expired the other day! I hadn’t planned on renewing it anyway, because I find the whole stupid system corrupt; WHY should I have to go thru this rigamarole every year, and shell out $250+, just to be able to take my LEGAL MEDICINE?!  We the voters of the State of Nevada passed a fucking bill declaring it LEGAL MEDICINE! They don’t charge any OTHER patients $250 a year just for the right to take their meds! Blah blah blah, I could go on for hours, but I won’t bore you.

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pic by Adam Sternberg

Anyway, I was all set to let my card expire when I remembered the big Weedmaps Halloweed contest!! Weedmaps.com (an online resource where medical MJ patients can find local dispensaries) was giving away a $420 prize to the best weed-themed Halloween costume, and I had submitted a photo of myself in my Mary Jane costume. I was fairly sure I had a good chance of winning (I saw the other entries on their Facebook page, and they mostly sucked), but the $420 prize has a catch: if you’re a legal MJ patient, you win $420 worth of product at your favorite dispensary…but if you’re not a patient, all you win is a “decorative glass piece” (bong) worth $420. W……….T………F!!!! I’ve never seen a bong worth $420; I want the weed, dammit!!!! So I had to rush over to the doctor’s and shell out $100 for a new prescription, just in case I win this damn contest. (They still haven’t announced the winners….grrrrr!!!!)

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pic by Kelly Garni

Well anyway, I’d better stop my grousing now because I have a big day ahead of me. First I have to get up at an ungodly hour to do another NPR appearance (don’t ask me why those fools keep asking me back) (and incidentally, I’ve been doing a ton of radio shows lately, but mostly podcasts and local shtick, nothing exciting) and then as soon as the radio thing is over I’m headed out into the desert to eat mushrooms (again) and soak in some hot

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pic by Kelly Garni

springs with a friend. My phone is still on the fritz, so what the fuck…..I might as well truly tune in, turn on and DROP THE FUCK OUT!

 

 

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