The Literary Death-Match and the Yoni Massage

My apologies… I haven’t been doing anything scurrilous or titillating lately because I’ve been engaged in a literary death match.

Back around Christmas, my friend Mojave Phonebooth from challenged me to a literary duel. We’ve both been working on books for a looooooooooong time…well, he has anyway; I’ve just been thinking about and meaning to write a memoir about my crazy Vegas adventures for a looooooooooooooong time. But every time I sit down to actually write it, I totally choke!

It’s a bizarre phenomenon. I can bang away at blog posts all the livelong day, without ever running out of stuff to talk about. But when I sit down to “WRITE A BOOK,” I get hung up. Too much pressure!

And…honestly, I do have an overwhelmingly extensive collection of witty and salacious anecdotes. How to cram them all in? And in what order?! It just seems hopeless.

Also, it’s hard to write about My Fabulous Adventures when More Fabulous Adventures keep getting in the way! I don’t want to miss out anything, ya know? I’m burning the candle at both ends, already!

Well, now I’m shopping around for a 3-ended candle, because Mojave Phonebooth and I agreed to a contract, back around New Year’s, that we would each finish a first draft of our respective books by June 30. If one party doesn’t finish his/her draft…that party must attend a church of the winner’s choosing, EVERY SUNDAY for EIGHT WEEKS! Moreover, it must be eight consecutive weeks at the same church, so that the congregants all get to know ya and start bringin’ ya casseroles and tryin’ to save ya from the degenerate life of a nude model. Ya heard?!!!!

Now, I know Mojave Phonebooth is just the hard-assed type of fucker to hold someone to a deal like that. And I’ve intended alllllllll along to start writing sometime in June, because I’m a better last-minute crammer. Plus, if I’m rushing, I won’t have any time for self-doubt and forty rewrites of the first sentence.

Still, I should have started a little earlier. Like I said, though…life got in the way! How could I pass up a fabulous Harley trip to Arizona? Or a photoshoot at the legendarily fabulous Vegas Vision Studios???

I shot at Vegas Vision with the owner, Bobby Deal. When I first started modeling, waaaaaaaay back in 2008, I once modeled for a lighting seminar there. I was a totally green model, so didn’t really know what I was doing, and haven’t shot there since. Meanwhile, I was sort of a modeling protege of this other photographer who had bad blood with Vegas Vision, and Bobby Deal was for some reason his arch-nemesis. So we didn’t really mix much.

I loooove bringing up various photographers I’ve shot with to other photographers I’m shooting with…most of them give these sort of snarky, back-handed compliments, like, “Oh, you shot with that guy? His work is really improving…” Or sometimes they just flat-out diss the other guy: “I heard he was a pervert. Did he try to grab you?”

For the record, I’ve only been molested by a photographer once…that was sort of semi-mutual. It was this hippy-dippy artsy type down in Santa Cruz, CA. Halfway through the shoot, he said my legs looked dry, so please let him put some lotion on them. OK, sure.

So as he’s lotioning my legs… and thighs… and ass…he starts telling me all about how he’s a Tantric Massage practitioner, and how the body has Seven Sacred Chakras, and that the Most Holiest of all the Sacred Chakras is the Yoni…aka the TWAT!

Sure as sugar, he was soon massaging my Yoni!!! He asked me if what he was doing made me uncomfortable, to which I replied “Yes!” To his credit, he laid off, apologizing, and we continued with the shoot….and got some BAD-ASS photos out of it! They are among some of my all-time favorite photos, but I won’t post any here to preserve the identity of The Yoniator.

I don’t know why I give a fuck about preserving his identity, though — I ran into him at Burning Man one year, and he took some awesome photos of me and my sister on his fancy-schmancy camera (he’s one of those guys at Burning Man!!!). But when I emailed him, months later, to ask if he’d send me the pics…he replied back that he was a very busy man with a lot of photos to go through, and that if I were to make a “donation,” he might be inspired to dig through them for mine. SERIOUSLY?! I should blow your cover right here and now, pervert! I got your Chakra right here!!!!

Well anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, at Vegas Vision Studios. The pics came out great (this blog’s pics are all from that shoot), and it was a particularly fortuitously-timed shoot because I had finally put the finishing touches on my home-made showgirl costume. It ended costing me a little over $100 in supplies, because I couldn’t figure out a way to make a sequined thong, and had to go to a stripperwear store and buy a ready-made bottom.

As a somewhat gross aside, I went into this little boutique on West Sahara Ave. that sells custom-made “dancewear” (what they politely call stripperwear). The little old man working there advised me to try on a few pair to see which fit best, but I told him I couldn’t as I wasn’t wearing any underwear (commando being my preferred mode in the summertime).

“It’s OK honey, I have a tissues in there, you can a try them on!”

WTF! I guess it makes sense — you can’t really try on a G-string if you’re wearing underwear. But…yuck!!!! And by the way, I think he meant for the Kleenex to be used as a defensive tactic, and not as offense…if you know what I mean!

Anyhoo, the costume came out great, and I am now available to be hired as a showgirl for your party or event. Rates are negotiable…email me for more info at!

But there will no showgirling at least for the next 6 days — remember, I only have until midnight on June 30th to submit this rough draft of my book! So far I’ve been writing about 4,000 words a day, which puts me on track for a 40,000-word novella. There was no word-count stipulation in my agreement with Mojave Phonebooth, so I suppose I could have cheesed out and written a pamphlet…but I’m not like that.

Besides…..I’ve had enough adventures to fill the entire fuckin’ Oxford English Deictionary!!!

Better get writing…

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My First “Artistic” Nude Photo Shoot

This past Sunday I went out on a photo shoot/exploratory foray into the desert near Pahrump with one of my all-time favorite photographers, Randy Fosth aka Shutterbug Studio. 

Why is he one of my faves? Well, aside from his excellent eye for light, and his amazingly subtle editing skills…he was the first ever photographer I shot nudes with!

This was back in the summer of 2008. I had been modeling for about 6 months, but was super shy about doing anything risque or sexy — let alone any nakeys! Then, two things happened: first, I broke up with my long-time live-in boyfriend, who was very square about such things. After we broke up, I basically went buck wild and started running around like a madwoman, doing all the crazy stuff I felt I couldn’t do when I was with him.

Right around that time, I was chatting with a photographer friend about various photogs in town, and Shutterbug came up. “He won’t shoot with you unless you’re 5’10” and have double Ds,” my friend claimed (this is a kind of negative friend who often says shit like that to bring me down…but still a friend).

“Oh yeah?!” I took that as a challenge, and went straight home to my computer to look up Shutterbug’s site. On it, he had a casting call posted looking for nude models. I figured he might deign to shoot little old flat-chested me if I was NAKED…so I submitted my info.

He had me come over to his home studio and shoot some test shots…and I’ll admit, I was a little apprehensive. I was still fairly new to modeling, so going up into some guy’s house and getting naked was a big deal. Still, I’d been to a nudist resort before, and had actually posed for one shitty implied nude photo back in the day (2000)…so I wasn’t *that* freaked out.

Basically, all he wanted to do at this test shoot was make sure I didn’t have three nipples or any weird birthmarks, tattoos or scars. Upon confirming the virginal nature of my skin, he agreed to shoot me for a coffee table book he’s working on, and we made plans to travel out to a secret location of his in the desert south of Vegas.

Now that I’ve been modeling nude for a few years, I’ve gotten lazy — but back before that first shoot I was on TOP of it! I didn’t eat ANYTHING for two days before the shoot, so my stomach would be nice and flat…and I washed the hair on my head, and shaved all other hairs from my person. Then, the morning of the shoot, I did 300 crunches to tighten up my abs just an extra bit more. Whew!!

So the day of the shoot, I went over to the photog’s house — and I must admit, I was still a bit apprehensive about traveling into the desert with a virtual stranger — especially a 6-foot-plus, steely-eyed, crew-cut militia-man-type who looks like he’s about to go postal at any moment!! Seriously! I have since become really good friends with him, and have come to learn that he’s a softie and a true artist…but going by looks alone, he’s kind of a scary badass!

Anyhoo, we packed up all our equipment (camera gear, Pepsi and cigarettes for him; not much needed for me) into his Jeep and headed out to one of his secret locations. The thing with Shutterbug is, he could shoot you in a Motel 6 dumpster and make it look beautiful — he’s THAT good with light. So this “secret location” wouldn’t strike you as anything special if you saw it yourself…it just turns out to photograph extremely well!

I was still kinda nervous and not sure what to do, but Shutterbug helped with my posing and stance: “Suck it in HARD!” “Pop the butt out!” “Stretch on your toes as high as you can!” Shooting nude is a LOT harder than shooting clothed…because there’s nothing to hide any flaws. All you can do to look good is flex and twist in just the right way, using your musculature to shape your body… just like a lump of clay.

At this first shoot, I hadn’t realized the importance of tanning in the nude…so I had a really bad tan line on my butt. Worse, it was crooked…my bikini bottom had ridden up my asscrack on one side, so the tanline was uneven, which Shutterbug gave me no end of grief about. I learned my lesson and from that point forward I have always tanned in the nude….but still, the crooked tanline didn’t seem to stop that from being one of my most popular photos! (See below left.)

Anyhoo, we got a lot of really cool shots that day…and I have since shot with him on several occasions. He enjoys exploring the desert, and has the 4WD Jeep to do it in, so we make a good team. One time we went on a 2-day expedition out into the Mojave Desert, just taking weird turns and seeing what was at the end of different lonely roads. We discovered a LOT of strange stuff out there, including this compound built from old tractor-trailers and shipping containers that was only reached by driving waaaaaaay out down this road that runs through a shooting range (yikes). We drove up to the compound, which had a big “NO TRESPASSING” sign in front, but that didn’t stop my militia-man friend from cruising into the yard to see what was up. A toothless Native American crackhead came shambling up, surrounded by no fewer than FIFTY pit bull puppies, at which point we turned around pretty quick and got the hell out of there! Who KNOWS what that guy was up to way out there?! Meth was likely involved, and we weren’t trying to get mixed up in all that!

Anyway, this past Sunday we just went out in the desert near Pahrump, out to this weird old abandoned religious shrine in a canyon. We shot there for awhile, and then went exploring in the surrounding desert, which form a distance looks flat and boring. But up close, we found all kinds of cool stuff!




An abandoned airfield, a little community of trailers, a mannequin’s arm and a bunch of burned-out, busted up houses… that desert was better than Disneyland! We shot in and among the houses for awhile, until three rednecks rolled up in a pickup truck with a bunch of shotguns, and started blasting away doing target practice RIGHT NEXT TO US. Really, guys?!?! There’s a whole big desert out there, and you have to do your shooting right next to us??? It was kinda cool though, because the staccato noise from their shotguns synced up perfectly with the clicking of the shutter…so it sounded like Shutterbug was literally blasting away!

Anyhoo, as mentioned Shutterbug is one of my all-time faves…but since him, there’ve been many more. But BEFORE him, as mentioned, there was only one time I ever posed for a nude photo…back in 2000, when I was toiling as a data entry droid at Adobe Systems back in San Jose, CA, right before I blew town and moved to Vegas.

I used to share an office with this young perv from Mexico City who was ALWAYS trying to get in my pants. We’d ride the elevator together, and the second the doors shut he’d be grabbing at me, moaning “Me encanta esto culito” and demanding “besitos.” Well, I took it in stride and actually thought it was kind of funny, and we became pretty good friends. I used to go over to his apartment on our lunch break and watch his extensive library of UFO sightings on VHS tapes, which apparently he (and the rest of Mexico City) are obsessed with. Good times!

Then I started my old blog — only this was 2000, before the word “blog” was even in use! I used to call it my “web diary” and it was great… but I needed some salacious photos to put up, so people would actually read it. My pervy officemate was only too happy to shoot some amateur pics of me in various slutty getups…and then he cajoled me into posing for one implied nude, which I am publishing here for the very first time in history!!

Now remember, this was 2000 technology, so the resolution is SORELY lacking… but here it is:

Shortly after this photoshoot I got fed up with the stupid, boring corporate life and quit my job, bought a pink 1986 Lincoln Town Car, packed up all my clothes and martini glasses and moved to Vegas. And I’ve been here ever since… it just took me another 8 years to get into modeling 🙂

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Overeating soup, promoting medical marijuana cultivation, and posing as a Paparazzo

This week I had no strange in-room encounters — no ball-busting, no foot worship, and not even any regular nudie photo shoots. But for old times’ sake, I’m including this oldie-but-goodie from 2008, which was taken by a total perv GWC who managed to get himself into the shot!

For those not in the know, “GWC” is a modeling term for “Guy With Camera” — a half-assed amateur with nothing but a camera and a desire to take pix of naked chicks. It is mainly used derisively…but I don’t discriminate. Pros, amateurs, GWCs…all are welcome to photograph me nude! I’ve even shot with a GWOC — a Guy WithOUT a Camera! Yes, it’s true — one guy wanted to photograph me nude but had no equipment, so I had to let him borrow my Nikon D80 for the shoot! I had to show him how to use it and everything — he was totally clueless. But guess what? His money was green. So, GWCs…don’t hesitate to book me!

The remainder of this blog will be sprinkled with photos from my badass shoot with Michael Quan last week…the one where I had to run out and buy a broom last-minute. Now you see why!

My gigs this week were an especially nutty assortment. It all started when a girlfriend referred me to a guy who was looking for promo models for his medical marijuana grow school here in town. If you don’t know, a promo (promotional) model is a sort of half-assed model who whores herself out to various corporate masters for pay — passing out flyers at an event, handing out free samples at a trade show, pouring free samples of booze at a liquor store. Most chicks in Vegas who call themselves “models” mean they do this kind of work…which is why you have so many skanky, nappy-extensioned, fat, pimply “models” in town. Most companies book off heavily-Photoshopped photos, and the actual chick is a trainwreck. Still….I know a lot of trainwrecks who get a LOT of work! I guess with promotional modeling, personality counts more than looks. Still….I know a lot of sour-pussed bitchy divas who somehow get work. Go figure!

Anyway, I went to meet up with this legal grow school guy, and he is super cool. We met up at a PT’s Pub near the airport to discuss his business over a few drinks.

A word about PT’s — it is a huge chain of local bars in Vegas that are for the most part dark, depressing dens filled with cigarette smoke and service-industry-bots wallowing in post-shift malaise. Not very much fun! This location, however, is their flagship location — clean, spacious, light and airy due to the fact that it has actual WINDOWS looking out at the airport runway across the street. There’s an awesome outdoor patio facing the runway, and you can sit there with a drink and some of their excellent food, watching planes take off and land (which I find oddly meditative…and I’ve been hanging out with this hot pilot lately, so I have a newfound appreciation for aviation).

Anyway, my meeting with the grow-school guy went well, and he hired me to do some promotions at First Friday, which is a big arts festival we have downtown the first Friday of every month. They close off the streets, and there’s bands and street musicians and all kinds of art galleries and bars….really a fun event. This guy had me and another model follow him around all night in matching “” wifebeaters and Daisy Dukes…just walking around, looking hot, attracting attention for his business. Cake!

While we were downtown, we stopped into the new Artifice Bar & Lounge to check out the fabulous photo of me hanging on the wall. This was taken a couple months ago by my friend Curtis Joe Walker ( (the guy who owns Charlie, the ventriloquist’s dummy). Another photo he took of me, titled “Adventure,” was hanging in the Brett Wesley Gallery across the street…but someone bought it! Woo hoo — to think that a pic of me is hanging on someone’s wall, and not just residing in a digital spank-bank. Legitimacy at last!

I also met up with the owner of the grow school one afternoon for a private, one-on-one lesson on the cultivation of medical marijuana. IT WAS FASCINATING! I’ve never had much interest in botany — I have somewhat of a black thumb, and my only attempts at keeping houseplants are a few cacti and a mint plant (for mojitos, of course). But I learned a ton that afternoon, and I really enjoyed it. I love learning about new stuff! In fact, if I could go back to college and just be a student for the rest of my life, I’d be perfectly content.

Aside from learning about and promoting the cultivation of medical marijuana, I also did a good old-fashioned fetish shoot for the good people at I love shooting for them because it’s a BLAST — you get paid to do all kinds of awful stuff like burp, make pig-faces and hawk loogies onto a glass tabletop. (Guys pay to download the clips… and I guess jerk off to them.) Good times!

In addition to all the aforementioned ladylike activities, I also did an overeating clip…which is my favorite type of clip to shoot! Usually, they have me eat all kinds of awful nastiness like McDonald’s hamburgers, hot dogs, Twinkies, pizza… something gross and fattening that leaves me feeling bloated and miserable, because unlike other overeating models, I actually digest the food instead of puking it up.

This time, thankfully, she just had me eat 3 jumbo-size cans of soup (all dumped into one huge mixing bowl) and two boxes of Pepperidge Farm cookies. I managed to finish all the soup and one entire box of cookies…plus one cookie from the second box. BLEH!!!! I was soooooo full after…but that’s OK, because after the actual eating clips, they always film a second clip of me just rolling around, moaning and groaning and stroking my distended belly. Yes, apparently there is a special class of guy who gets off watching THAT, too. Hey — I’m not here to judge!

I also did one more really weird clip of me wearing these nasty old purple satin bridesmaid pumps from the 1980s. Some guy had sent in a special request for me to spit on my feet and spit in the shoes and then slide my feet into the spit-filled shoes and squelch ’em around. Yuck!! But again….who the hell am I to judge? I just kicked someone in the nuts for money!

So after the shoot was over, I went home to sort of relax and digest for awhile before my next gig, which didn’t start until midnight. This was a real craigslist special — some lady was looking to pay 10 photographers $120 each to pose as paparazzi in front of TAO nightclub that night. Apparently, some newlywed couple was coming to the club, and the husband wanted the bride to feel special with all these paps clamoring to get her photo.

Well, I submitted my info for the job, but didn’t really expect to get it — by the time I woke up and went online and saw the ad, it had already been up for 12 hours…and those kinda gigs go FAST on craigslist. But I submitted anyway, and they ended up hiring me as the token chick paparazzo! Affirmative action, working in my favor at looooong last.

So I grabbed my D80 and went down to the Venetian at midnight, where I joined a gaggle of real (well, B-list-Vegas) paparazzi as the token chick. We were prepped by the event planner who was running the whole thing: apparently, this couple had had a quickie wedding, but now the guy wanted to give his new bride a real luxury Vegas Experience, complete with a stretch Hummer limo and a crowd of paparazzi shouting her name in the valet area.

Whoever this guy was, he apparently had some major coin! The entourage rolled up in their limo, and disembarked to a crowd of us fake paps yelling “Laci! Over here! Look this way!” “Laci” (not her real name) was a young silicone-breasted chippy in a totally see-though  black minidress. She must have had flesh-colored pasties on, because try as I might I couldn’t make out her nips…even though her dress was TOTALLY see-thru. Anyhoo, we paps followed the entourage from the valet area to the packed mess in front of the nightclub, blasting our flashes all the way. Once they entered the club, we were done — 15 minutes, easy-peasy. The easiest $120 (cash) I ever made! I was home in my jammies by 12:45. Nice!

The other weird gig I did this week was as part of a focus group on slot machines. This consumer research company paid us $100 each to come in for 4 hours and talk about what we like and don’t like about playing penny slots — you know, the ones with cartoon graphics and 50 payout lines, like “Cleopatra,” “Texas Tea” and “Hexbreaker.” HEY — I’ll do ANYTHING it takes to make a buck, ya heard?!

During the course of the focus group they fed us breakfast and lunch, and had us design our dream video slot machine. It was kinda fun, but also pretty depressing — you can imagine what kind of toothless, witless degenerate troglodytes qualify for a study like that. It was a true cross-section of Vegas….and altogether somewhat disheartening.

I didn’t let it get me down, though, because I had a date to hang out at the pool with my friend Muscles Manischewitz…and I was able to drown my sorrows in a frosty pina colada poolside at the M Resort. After that, we went and pigged out on Mediterranean food at Almaza hookah lounge…and then I had to roll my fat ass into work, to shoot souvenir photos at the English ex-boy-band show.

I only worked my camera girl job two nights this week — once at the adult circus, where I made $37, and then this shift at the ex-boy-band show, where I made a whopping $62. Woo-hooo! Drinks on me! Unfortunately, I had an hour-long break during the show, in which I wandered into the Forum Shops and spent $60 on a bra ($60!!!!!!!) that is supposedly guaranteed to increase your cup size by 2. I figured it would be a good thing to wear on promotions, when they kinda want someone with at least a B-cup…so I suppose it was a sound investment. Still….$60?! Really?!!

After I bought the bra, I went back into the showroom to shoot the meet & greet with the ex-boy-band star. Boy, was THAT ever a fiasco! He usually comes out after the show to pose for photos and autograph these 8 x 10s they sell for that express purpose…well, this night he had another obligation, and never showed up. His rabid fans were FURIOUS! I had to stand there while this drunk lady with wine breath bawled in my face about how she’d just flown in from Australia and had been awake for 30 HOURS and all she wanted was an autograph…blah blah blah…boo hoo hoo. I understood her anger and frustration….but really. I’m just some bimbo in hot pants and fishnet stockings. Do I really LOOK like I have any influence over an ex-boy-band star???

Ugh, anyway…..Sally Dingdong is FINALLY returning from Botox camp next week, so THANK GOD that means the end of all this adult circus/boy band/ minimum wage nonsense. But… also means the return of cheap-ass French and Quebecois showgoers…and the return of my nemesis, the Sally Dingdong mannequin. So it won’t be all sunshine and roses. Stay tuned!

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Ball-busting on Memorial Day

I didn’t intend to update this blog so often…but strange shit keeps happening to me!

First, here’s a pic from the shoot I did at the Monte Carlo last week with the really quiet, shy kid — the one I ran into later at the Kylie Minogue show.

Next, here’s a leftover from my shoot with Michael Maze last week:


Finally, I’m going to sprinkle this EXTRAORDINARILY titillating blog entry with photos from my Caesars Palace shoot with the amazing Jeremy Pollack. You know, the American Psycho coffee table guy! He sent me a whole bunch of shots from our session, and they came out great.

But enough about the past — the present is waaaaay more interesting! Since starting this blog, my modeling has picked up quite a bit. Today I went on an all-day photo safari in the desert with a photographer from L.A. who had read my guide to shooting nudes around Vegas. He wanted to shoot at a couple of different locations, so last night I got out my trusty pink Samsonite and started piling in outfits, props and assorted scraps of lingerie. You’d think that with as many photo shoots as I do, I’d run out of ideas — but you haven’t seen my closet! I have an obscene amount of clothing.

Even so, I’ve been shooting SO much lately that I’ve been having to scrape around the bottom of the barrel for stuff I haven’t already worn to death. I found this little apron that a friend gave me once that says “Cherry Pie” on it, and one thing led to another…next thing you know I had this really cool idea for a conceptual photo of me in my apron and curlers, smoking a cig and sweeping the desert floor.

My only problem was that my broom is yellow…and that just didn’t match the red Cherry Pie motif. So even though I was running late, I made time to stop at the Dollar Store by my house to get a red broom. Yes, I’m a perfectionist!

While at the Dollar Store, I also picked up a red bra for the same shot…and a pair of jeggings! I’ve been wanting a pair of jeggings for AGES: I find the concept a half-assed, fat-assed, shudderingly slothful sign of our times… i.e. AWESOME! Can’t wait to do a shoot in them! I also picked up a smokin’ hot pair of zebra print leggings and some big clip-on flowers for my hair. Gotta love the Dollar Store! It’s the only place a perpetually broke hustler like me can afford to shop!

Then I busted ass over to the Cosmopolitan to meet the photographer for the drive out to the desert. We had agreed to meet up in the lobby, so I ran in with my suitcase and broom in tow like a true Beverly Hillbilly. Those trendy hipsters at the Cosmo were definitely shooting me an askance glance or two from behind their pretentious big black plastic-framed nerd glasses. WHATEVS! I have a love/hate relationship with that place.

Anyway, the shoot went great and we got some fabulous shots (soon to be posted here), but time kinda got away from us and the photographer ended up having to haul ass back into town, just barely in time to drop me off at work. I was so crunched for time that I had to change into my bra and panties at a stoplight, and had to leave my car at the Cosmo.

On my break, I had to walk back over to the Cosmo to get my car, and I tried to take a shortcut through the maze of subterranean tunnels beneath Caesars Palace. I figured there had to be a way I could cut underground and come up somewhere near the south side of Caesars, from which it would just be a hop, skip and a jump to the Cosmo.

But those tunnels under Caesars really are a maze! I swear, you could walk around for days and not find your way out. That’s what happens when you build a mega-resort piecemeal over a  40-year period…I LOVE IT! I ended up following my intuition, and taking a turn here and a turn there until  I wound up in an elevator that let me out in….the middle of PURE nightclub! It wasn’t open yet, so the place was brightly lit, quiet and strangely douche-bag-free. There wasn’t even any piss, puke or amniotic fluid on the floors yet.

“Wow, how did I end up HERE?” I asked aloud, feeling even more Beverly Hillbilly-ish in my flip-flops and shorts as some guy in a suit glared at me witheringly and replied…”I don’t know, but I’ll show you how to get out!”

Jeez! Good day, Sir — it’s not MY fault your doucher club is on the outs and none of the cool kids like to party there anymore. Used to be PURE was the shit, and the mooks and bachelorettes were piled up forty deep trying to get in. Now, it’s strictly Chub City. And yes…I am being a hater here. I have a LONG memory, and I remember QUITE WELL the unspeakably rude way the doormen there treated me many a time. Fuck ’em all! I wish the IRS would raid them AGAIN!

Well anyway, enough about that looong and tiring day. That’s not even what I really wanted to tell you about! I had a MUCH more interesting photo shoot on Memorial Day. But this one didn’t come from Model Mayhem…it came from FetLife!

FetLife is like the Facebook for the fetish community, and I created a profile on there long ago in a misguided attempt at becoming a Dominatrix. I still have a profile up, and pervs email me now and then with random proposals: Will you beat me, Mistress? Will you humiliate me? How much would you charge to come to my room and vacuum me head-to-toe with a vacuum attachment?? (This last one REALLY HAPPENED…but alas I pussed out and didn’t do it).

Well, now some guy advised me that he was coming to town from NYC and was looking to hire foot models for a photo shoot in his room. I replied that I was available, at which he inquired as to the cleanliness of my feet: “Are they dirty? Do you go barefoot a lot?”

I figured that if he was asking, he must dig dirty feet…so I replied (truthfully) that yes, I enjoy going barefoot, and yes, my feet were dirty. So we agreed to shoot in his room at an off-Strip hotel at 2pm. Before I left, I ran 3 miles in a pair of sweaty old gym sox and then wallowed around in a mud puddle in my front yard, just for good measure. I aim to please!

So I rolled into this guy’s hotel room with my trusty pink Samsonite full of outfits and different types of sandals (per his request), and we began. The guy was not bad to look at; a young, sort of mookish cross between Ricky Ricardo and the guys from Jersey Shore. Interestingly, he had Jersey Shore re-runs playing on the TV the entire time, which was incidentally the first time I’ve seen the show.

We had agreed on a 2-hour shoot, so for the first hour I just sat in an armchair watching Jersey Shore as he shot pictures of my feet from every conceivable angle. Cake! The second hour, things got a little weirder as he handed me a video camera and asked me to record him “worshipping” my feet; i.e. licking and sucking every particle of dirt and grime off them!! He went to town, even going so far as to deep-throat my entire foot (he especially enjoyed my high arches and long, “beautiful” toes). By the time he was done, they were squeaky clean again (if not a bit slobbery).

Now, you might find the prospect of having your toes sucked by a strange man repulsive, but I’ve been going to these monthly foot fetish parties (…more on which in a subsequent blog) for years…and while I don’t exactly ENJOY it, the squeamishness has long ago worn off. So I just laid back and watched some more Jersey Shore while he did his thing. Who the hell am I to judge?!

The last five minutes of the shoot, however, were the strangest of all. He had asked me to bring an all-black outfit, into which he now had me change for a little light ball-busting! Yes that’s right — he had me kick him in the nuts, REPEATEDLY, for five minutes! He was clothed, and was not aroused (the toe of my high heel can attest to that)…but he seemed to enjoy being kicked square in the balls. Again, I aim to please…so I aimed high and gave him quite a few good whacks.

I never thought I’d enjoy causing someone pain…but it was actually kinda fun. I think I ruined the Domme effect, though, by pausing to ask with genuine concern if he was OK when he keeled over in agony. D’oh!!

Anyhooz, I did such a good job that he gave me a 25% tip on top of the hourly rate we’d agreed upon. Not bad for an afternoon’s work! And, he asked me if I would consider having a slave…as in, would I belittle, humiliate and ball-bust him on a regular basis when he comes out from NYC!

I told him I’d think about it…but honestly, that’s a little too weird, even for me. And besides… I already have a new, even freakier gig lined up!!

I was surfing craigslist when I saw an ad for “Atmosphere Models.” Usually, that’s when they pay you to dress up all hot and go hang out at a party full of stuffed-shirt conventioneers…you know, to add a little spice to the mix. But THIS gig went one better! After I submitted my pics and bio, they emailed me back with the full story: their client had hired them to provide a model to go to dinner with one of the client’s potential business partners (this potential business partner is involved in an emerging industry that’s all over the news these days). The client is trying to get an inside edge on the potential business partner, and lure him into a multi-million-dollar deal… so over the course of a 3-hour dinner, the model is to flirt and chit-chat and find out as much information as possible about the potential business partner and his business — without giving away that she was hired — and then go home and write up a dossier with all the info gleaned, for the client. FUN!!!

I emailed them back RIGHT AWAY saying that yes, I was interested…so hopefully they book me for it! It sounds very Anna Chapman…just the kind of thing I dig, and muuuuuch more fun than hanging out at a party full of beer distributors (which was one lamentable atmosphere modeling gig I did). If they do book me, it’ll make a great blog entry…so stay tuned!

P.S. Lest you think I’m a freak…I did go on a couple super-nice, wholesome dates this past week with a very nice, normal, All-American Hero. We did stuff like hike and play pinball and eat pancakes…so don’t worry about my soul. I’m just trying to pay my mortgage 🙂



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Flashing Darth Vader

I was supposed to go to a big campout/rave/orgy hosted by the local Burning Man Community this weekend, out in the desert near Boulder City. I packed everything up this morning (OK, this afternoon): my camper, cooler, drum, kooky outfits, etc. But when I got out there, it was so freakin’ windy (wind advisory in effect; gusts of over 50mph) that I didn’t even bother setting up my pop-up camper for fear it would be blown over and destroyed, as happened to my old one out at Apex dry lake bed. So I just stayed long enough for a cocktail and a hot dog with my fellow Burners…and then I turned around and headed back to Vegas, and unpacked everything again 🙁 Stupid wind!!!

But since I didn’t camp out, now I have time to tell you all about this awesome photo shoot I did last week. It was another one of those hotel-room-shoots-with-some-random-dude, but this guy was totally cool and very creative. Instead of just shooting the usual cheesecake, he had me get on all fours, naked as a jaybird, and then placed the glass tabletop from the coffee table on my back. The result is totally American Psycho, don’t you think? If these hotels only knew the kinds of hijinks that went on in their rooms…


This awesome photographer also had a hankering to shoot some “flasher” shots out on the Strip; i.e. me in a trenchcoat, with little or nothing on underneath. His idea was to do a super-long exposure of the Strip first, to blur out all the pedestrians and cars…and then take a pic of me flashing everyone, and composite it together with the empty Strip shot.

So we went down to the Strip around 7pm on a warm spring evening, not looking suspicious at allllllll….him with a tripod, and me in high heels and a pleather trench coat. We went and lurked around in front of the Bellagio, waiting for the fountain show to be over so the hordes of tourists would clear out and he could take the first long-exposure shot.

Unfortunately, that part of the sidewalk NEVER clears out: between the fountains and the random wackos in costumes hustling for tips and the enterprising souls hawking glow sticks and roses, it’s pretty much a circus, 24/7. So we just went for it, crowd or no.

I don’t have a photo of the actual flash yet, but rest assured it was great. Some kook in a Darth Vader costume was standing behind me, hustling passing families into posing for photos with him, and he missed the whole thing because his back was turned. After we snapped the shot, I closed up my trenchcoat and turned around to walk back, and Darth Vader went into his shtick: “Come take a photo with me, young lady!”

Me: “No, thanks!” Darth: “Oh come now…don’t be shy!”

Me: “Shy?!!” *FLASH!!!* I opened my trenchcoat and gave him an eyeful. “Trust me…I’m NOT shy!”

At that, the poor fucker, sweating his balls off in his helmet and cape, began chortling uncontrollably, but managed to choke out a strangled “May the Force be With You!” Awesome!

Fortuitously, one of the “Hot Babes Direct To You” trucks just happened to be idling at the light nearby…so we were able to snap this additional awesome pic! I do kinda wish I was swiveled more to the side, as I feel I look a bit hippy in this shot. But it’s still a gas!

For those who don’t know, prostitution is technically illegal in Vegas (it is legal in most of the other counties in NV, including neighboring Nye county, where most of the brothels are)…but there are a multitude of “escort” agencies that will send an “entertainer” to your room to, uh, “entertain” you. It’s a total fuckin’ farce, but a huge industry, so no one’s really complaining. I personally dig it — I love all those porn-slappers out on the Strip who hand you those little cards that say stuff like “Brandi! $99 special!” To me, that’s an integral part of the Vegas experience, and I enjoy collecting the cards.

In fact, a special ambition of mine has long been to APPEAR on one of those little cards! Anyone with half a brain can tell that the photos on the cards are hired models, and not the actual escorts. I always thought it would be a gas to have my photo featured on one of the cards…and with the number of nakey pix of me floating around out there, I figured it was just a matter of time.

Well, FINALLY, back in February a photographer contacted me about doing a “controversial” shoot for an escort agency. His approach was cautious, because he knew that most chicks would recoil in horror at the prospect of posing as a hooker. Lucky for him, I’m not like most chicks — I jumped at the chance!

The shoot was to take place at this wacky mansion down in a sort of run-down part of town. That’s the beauty of Vegas — you’re tooling along in the ghetto, when all of a sudden you find yourself in a little hidden neighborhood full of custom estates. It’s very patchwork-y like that.

This mansion was absolutely incredible, lavishly furnished by someone with an excess of money and a paucity of taste. It was like they crammed every “classy” thing they could think of into this McMansion: Rolls, pool table, home theater, oversize aquarium, ginormous fireplace, grand piano, caged monkey with a boner screeching in the corner…it was fantastic!

The shoot crew involved several models (of varying degrees of skankitude), the photographer, a make-up/hair chick and this big, fat, slovenly blonde woman who appeared to be the lady of the manor (when I remarked on the amazingness of the house, she said “Thanks”). But to my trained journalist’s eye, it looked to me like the house belonged to a black man: there was a shoe rack full of size 49 Nike Air kicks by the door, a giant oil painting of Billie Holiday over the mantel, lots of Africana knick-knacks scattered about the house, and a framed certificate from the City of Los Angeles made out to a man with a distinctly Black Muslim name. I tried not to snoop around too much and arouse suspicion, but I was really curious! It seemed as though the escort biz was fairly recession-proof, and I was dying to meet the pimp behind it all. Pimpin’ may not be easy…but it apparently gets you a lot of fun toys!

The shoot itself was fairly unremarkable — the standard nude/implied nude cheesecake, only with a caged priapic monkey  in the corner screeching mercilessly the entire time. Apparently there was also an ocelot wandering the grounds, but the ocelot was said to play rough, so I was glad I didn’t run into it while naked. Also, there was said to be a pen of wolves out in the backyard — I didn’t see this, but I definitely believe it after being at that weird estate.

After the shoot, the photographer took pains to assure me that the photos wouldn’t end up on those little cards — or in print anywhere, for that matter. Supposedly, they were just for the escort agency’s website. But when he saw my disappointed expression, he cracked up: “You’re the first model I’ve shot who actually WANTS to be on a card!” And then he promised me that if I was “good,” they might put me on a card one of these days.

Man, I really hope they do! I don’t plan on running for office anytime soon, anyway… and I just think that would be the biggest hoot EVER: to be walking down the Strip and have one of those poor illegals hand me a card with my own image on it. Maybe I have a twisted sense of humor…but I just think that would be totally tits…especially if I happened to be on a date or with my grandma or something!


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The Adventures of SuperToe

I finally got some photos back from my amazing shoot with the fabulous Michael Maze the other week! To the left is “SuperToe.” What with my affinity for shiny spandex pants and my aversion to wearing underwear, it was bound to happen sooner or later!

To the left is a variation on the same theme…I’m wearing this really cool old 1970s suede jacket that I got at this amazing thrift store in San Jose, CA where I used to shop all the time when I was in college there. This place was AWESOME! It was called Community Value Center, and I bought tons of cool stuff there for super cheap back in the day (it’s not there anymore, alas). My sister and I used to buy all these crazy outfits, and then make up back-stories for them. Haven’t you ever wondered what went on in vintage clothes before you bought them?

For this jacket, we decided it used to belong to a secretary in New York City who got pregnant by her boss and had to have a back-alley abortion which resulted in her untimely death, and the donation of her jacket to charity. My sis even did a black&white photojournalism story about it back in the mid-’90s, with me posing as the secretary going about my deadly business. It was awesome!

The blonde afro wig is part of my extensive wig collection. I have about 10 wigs, and I totally dig wearing them when I’m too lazy to wash my hair. They also come in handy at Burning Man, where you can’t really wear your hair down without it becoming hopelessly snarled and coated in alkali dust.

Now this next one is a personal favorite. I call it “You kids get off the God damn roof!” Living in Vegas, I don’t ever get my ass out of bed until noon (or later)…and then it takes me around 4 hours of coffee and Internet before I can actually get myself together to face the day. Sometimes I’ll go out to check my mail in my robe, and I feel hopelessly dissolute when there are kids walking home from school. One time I overheard them say, “Did she just get UP?” Yes, Sonny….yes, I did. And if I catch your fat ass on my roof again, I’m gonna throw this apple at your face as hard as I can!

Now here’s a fun one! I had this weird old striped hoodie in my closet from dog-knows-when, but I guess I’m glad I never throw anything away, because it came in handy for my take on Dieter’s Dance Party! I was also channeling Australia’s Mike Batt, an early ’80s musician who cooked up this kooky futuristic rock opera called “Zero Zero,” all about a world of the future where Love has been outlawed. The movie was broadcast on Australian TV back in the day, and somehow my mom got ahold of the soundtrack LP and we used to listen to it all the time when we were kids: it was all black-and-white avant-garde ’80s futurism. TOTALLY cool! If you can find a copy of this movie…LET ME KNOW! I need to see it!

Now this last one is another variation on the Zero Zero theme…had to take advantage of the awesome tiled floor in his new warehouse/studio. Incidentally, his studio is right around the corner from the Red Rooster swinger’s club. For those who don’t know, the Red Rooster is THE swing club in Vegas. Sure, other clubs might be fancier (Green Door, Power Exchange)…but the Red Rooster has been going strong for over 20 years, operated by a sweet swinger couple out of their private residence…which has been added onto over the years so that it now resembles a suburban sex compound. (For more info, see my review of this club at

I also did another super-fabulous photo shoot this week…but those photos will have to wait for another post. Coming soon to!

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Fun With Charlie, the Broken Ventriloquist’s Dummy

I’ve been sweating balls lately because I’ve only made about $200 in the last 30 days. I work as a souvenir photographer (the technical term is “camera girl”) at one of the big theaters on the Strip, but the headliner, a saccharine banshee we’ll call Sally Dingdong, has been on a six-week hiatus.

Normally during these breaks, I like to just take the time off and pursue my modeling and fetish gigs. But a few months ago, the company I work for informed me that if I want to keep my health insurance, I have to work four shifts per week minimum, no matter what. Boo!

What this means is that when Sally Dingdong is off at Botox camp, they send me out to work other shows in town. The company I work for has photo concessions at around 20 Strip hotels, so you never know where you’ll wind up! Sometimes it’s fun, but most of the time it’s a miserable slog through wrinkled, obese masses of unwilling, underdressed fanny-packers who want absolutely NOTHING to do with you and your camera.

At least with Sally Dingdong’s show, people get dressed up and pay upwards of $200 per ticket…so selling a $45 souvenir photo isn’t that hard. But try doing that at the Riviera, or any of those other low-end dumps! It’s like banging your head against a wall, only more humiliating.

I’ve worked at most of the hotels on the Strip, and the only thing to recommend some of them is their employee dining rooms – Aria and Mandalay Bay in particular have awesome E.D.R.s that are on par with many commercial buffets in town. Those who know me know that there ain’t nothing in my fridge but vodka and eyeliner – I don’t buy groceries; I eat all my meals in the E.D.R. (casino employees get a free meal each shift). But a free dinner isn’t enough to make up for the agony of making $8.25 an hour all night long (normally we make commission, but if you don’t sell anything they pay you minimum wage for your time).

Luckily for me, this time they didn’t send me too far afield – they put me out at this avant-garde adult circus that just opened up in the plaza in front of a certain old-school mega-resort. It’s a badass show – obscene shtick and crazy, death-defying hunky Russian acrobats, held in an antique Belgian circus tent from the 1800s. REALLY cool! Alas, the crowd is mostly locals and casually-attired drunkards schlepping yard-long daiquiris on harnesses around their necks…not a prime photo-taking crowd. Even lowering the price to two-for-$20 hasn’t helped – I’ve made minimum wage every single night I’ve worked it.

On the weekends, it’s even worse – they been sending me inside to work a lounge show featuring an ex-boy-band star from England. The show itself is pretty good (his band is AMAZING), and the lounge itself is old-school awesomeness: it’s a floating Roman slave ship shrouded in dry ice and old-lady perfume, est. 1966! I totally dig the lounge, and the boy-band singer is super friendly and personable…but I’ve still been making minimum wage. The tickets in there are only $40, so no one wants to buy $45 photos…even when the star himself comes out and poses with showgoers! It’s crazy.

We did have one isolated incidence of awesomeness, when Miss Kylie Minogue came in for one night only. I wasn’t a big Kylie fan, but her audience was OFF THE CHAIN – 90% flaming gay hotness, all dressed up in Greek god costumes, waving glowsticks and going apeshit. I’ve never seen so many good-looking gay men in my life! They had a DJ spinning and the lights down low while we were shooting, and it was just like being at Gay Burning Man. FUN! And the show itself was incredible – amazing staging, lighting, and costumes, with all these ripped gay dancers dangling from the rafters, writhing in mid-air simulated orgasmic ecstasy as Miss Minogue rose up from under the stage in a giant glittering clamshell. AWESOMENESS! That show put Cher to shame, I have to say. She was great!

That night I managed to make a little over $100, so that was pretty much half my month’s income, camera-girl-wise. But I also made a few more hunnies posing for nude photos in random perverts’ hotel rooms, as I am sometimes wont to do.

I say “perverts,” but most of these guys are legit photographers – people I meet on Model Mayhem, who are traveling to Vegas and want to do some shooting in their spare time. I’ve done photo shoots in most every hotel in Vegas, from the Bellagio right on down to the Excalibur, and I actually feel pretty safe doing so because of all the hotel security – there’s cameras everywhere in Vegas, and hired goons within screaming distance at all times.   There have been a few creepy instances (more on which in a later post), but for the most part, the photogs are cool…even if a bit pervy sometimes.

My shoot last week was at the Monte Carlo, and the photographer was a young kid who had never shot a nude model before. He was kinda shy and very quiet for the whole 2-hour shoot, so it was slightly awkward…but he was really nice and very professional, so no harm done. And he didn’t try to hit on me, which was nice…but I realized why a few hours after the shoot, when I went in to work the Kylie Minogue show and he was there in the audience!!! As I mentioned, that crowd was 90% gay (at LEAST)!!!

Anyhooz, money has been tight, but who needs money when you’re having as much FUN as I have been?! In fact, I had the most fun EVER last Monday, running around town with a broken ventriloquist’s dummy as a partner in crime! Who needs Terry Fator and his dumb-ass show (see my review of this on if you want to read something really scathing)?  

One of my good friends, a Jewish biker/bodybuilder we’ll call Muscles Manischewitz, had mentioned he always thought it would be funny to have as his Facebook profile photo a shot of him with a ventriloquist’s dummy – an old-time vaudeville-type shot, where he’s drinking a glass of water as the dummy “talks.”

Well, I’m like the Fairy Godmother of Vegas – I like making people’s dreams come true. And I happened to know that my photographer friend Curtis Joe Walker ( recently bought a ventriloquist’s dummy for $5 off a passing homeless man! I went downtown to his studio and borrowed the dummy, which was one of those old-time Charlie McCarthy dolls from back in the day… all dressed up in a little tuxedo. Nice!

I had some errands to run, and my Mother (with whom I was chatting on my Bluetooth) advised me not to leave the dummy in my car, as someone might steal it (?!). So I toted the dummy around like a kid as I went about my business. Meanwhile, keep in mind I was jabbering away on my Bluetooth headset…so to passers-by it looked like I was ranting and raving to myself while carrying a ventriloquist’s dummy!

But that didn’t stop the good crackheads of downtown Vegas from kicking me game. I got hit on more that afternoon than ever in all my days! One homeless black guy even told me this awful joke: What do Chinese people call a black man with AIDS? “Coon Die Soon.” Awful!!!!

Anyhooz, around 7pm I took the dummy down to the Strip to visit my friend Muscles Manischewitz at work, so he could take his new Facebook profile pic on his break. Muscles does the lighting for a certain celebrity impersonator show at one of the hotels, and sometimes he lets me come up in the lighting booth and hang out to watch the show and gossip. He knows ALL the gossip!

Meanwhile, another friend of mine is now performing in the show as Bobby Darin – the fabulous, incomparable Art Vargas ( If you’re ever in Vegas and have the chance to see Art’s show (he also does a lounge act) – by all means, SEE IT! It’s AWESOME! He is the most charismatic, high-energy performer, and his band is freaking amazing. They do all the old Vegas standards, but totally tongue-in-cheek…sort of like Richard Cheese meets Freddie Mercury. All the old ladies loooooove him, and you will too – I swear it!

So anyhoo, while I waited for Muscles to have his break, I watched the show. Art Vargas was amaaaaaazing as always, and the other performers were great, too – especially Harry Shahoian, the Elvis impersonator on duty that night. I’m a HUGE Elvis fan and have seen many an Elvis in my day…but this guy was without a doubt the SWARTHIEST BEAST of a manly-man Elvis I’ve ever seen – like the blue-collar, sweaty, hairy, workingman’s Elvis. Awesome!

Incidentally, one of the male backup dancers in the show, this Romanian beefcake, also moonlights as a photographer, and I’ve shot with him before, too. There are few in Vegas who haven’t seen me semi-nude…I’m THAT Bohemian.

So after the show was over, I posed for photos with Swarthy Elvis and also the Steven Tyler impersonator (who was great, too) and then when the theater had emptied out we went in to take our vaudeville pic. Muscles had rigged a solitary spotlight to shine on the stage, and they dropped the curtain down for a backdrop. I snapped several pics with Muscles’s iPhone, as “Steven Tyler” clowned around beside me, and they came out fantastic. Another dream fulfilled…bling!

Then I headed across the street to visit another friend – a wealthy-but-lonesome Tennessee oilman I met at a Bob Dylan concert I was working last year. We’ll call him J.R. He’s a suuuuuuuper nice man, and he and I struck up an unlikely friendship. He comes out to Vegas several times a year, and I always make time to hang out with him…and we always get up to some kind of crazy high-jinks.   He usually stays at the same hotel, and he knows EVERYONE in the joint, from the dealers to the waitresses to the bartenders. He’s like Mr. Vegas! I know everyone there thinks he’s my sugar daddy, and that I’m using him for money… but fuck ‘em . We’re just really good friends who happen to share a love of booze, old-timey country music, and a twisted sense of humor. And that’s that! I do run semi-shady errands for him now and then, and he does kick me a cut of his winnings here and there, but there is nothing unseemly about our relationship. It’s kind of like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, going to Sing-Sing to deliver the weather report to that mob boss – basically innocuous.

So I went over to visit him in the casino where he was playing $100-a-hand 3-Card Poker. Whenever I drop in on his gambling sessions I try to do something goofy to surprise him – one time I was wearing a yellow dress, and whipped a banana out of my purse like it was my cell phone. Everyone at the table cracked up! So this time, I thought I might as well bring my ventriloquist’s dummy along and surprise him with that.  

The casino where he always gambles is a real old-time joint that dates from the 1960s – in fact, it’s right around the corner from the aforementioned Roman slave-ship lounge. The ceiling is covered in smoke-blackened dangling crystals, the dealers all wear golden medallions, and the waitresses have all been around since opening day. I LOVE THIS CASINO! It’s everything I dig about Vegas – it’s got soul!

I spotted J.R. at one of the 3-Card Poker tables and snuck up on him with the dummy, in a little dummy voice: “How-deeee! How ya doin’?” Oh my God, the whole table went nuts! J.R. was playing with a table full of big fat good-ole-boy types, and they just went absolutely apeshit over this dummy – especially when J.R. insisted on bankrolling $100 hands for the dummy, too!! I sat there at the table with this ventriloquist’s dummy perched on my lap, his little plastic dummy hands on the table, and J.R. placed bets for both himself AND the dummy!

The best part was, once the dummy hit the table, everyone started winning! It was like he was good luck. All the players started calling him Charlie, high-fiving him and talking to him in high-pitched baby-talk voices. These were grown-ass good-ole-boy MEN, by the way! Charlie himself had a few lucky hands, winning a few hundred dollars and attracting alllllllll kinds of attention. All the waitresses wanted to talk to him, and passers-by took his photo (“No one is going to believe I saw a dummy playing poker!”). Even the pit boss came over to make sure Charlie was old enough to be in the casino!! LOL!  

I was actually surprised no one said anything about this creepy plastic dummy sitting at the poker table… he could have had a video camera inside or something! I can’t imagine Joe Pesci allowing this to take place in “Casino.” But no one in that old-school joint seemed to care. It was great! They even let us take plenty of photos, which I thought was a no-no in casino pits. Everyone was just dying of laughter…which is usually the case when J.R. and I hang out.

Well, as always, the good times only lasted until the money ran out (J.R. is a canny gambler and never goes over his self-imposed limit)…so after we left the table, we went around taking photos of Charlie in various spots around the hotel.  J.R. was absolutely enamored of that dummy, and started talking about buying one for himself! He’s the type of guy who buys everything he wants, so I’m sure it won’t be long before he has a dummy of his own. Crazy!

But after drinking five Bailey’s on the rocks and hanging out in the casino til almost midnight, it was time to put Charlie away. The very next day, after giving J.R. a ride to the airport, I packed him up in a backpack, papoose-style, with just his creepy dummy head peeking out, and rode my bike downtown to my friend’s studio to return him. I was kinda sad to see the creepy little fucker go – I had so much fun toting him around.

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