The Traveling Nude Model, the Pregnant Arkansawyer, the Fabulous Gay Houseguest and Michael Mondavi

This week, I had friends descend on me from all corners of the globe. You know how it is — when you live in Vegas, everyone wants a piece of you when they’re in town. Especially when you have a name like Wonderhussy.

First off, my pregnant girlfriend from Arkansas was in town for a trade show. We’ll call her Tina — we used to be best friends back in 8th grade, when her family moved to California for a couple years. When I met her, I was a misguided little dweeb in a New Kids on the Block t-shirt and hot pink Wet-n-Wild lipstick — I was just trying to fit in, ya know? Meanwhile, she was like this bad-ass rocker chick who wore Slayer t-shirts and ripped jeans with stuff like “DEATH ANGEL” and “METAL CHURCH” written on them. It was all a front, because she really only ever listened to pussy shit like Poison and Motley Crue…but still. She got me into hair metal and shoplifting — we used to go to K-mart and steal heavy metal cassettes and hot pink Wet-n-Wild lipstick, until one day her and this other chick we used to hang out with got busted in the act, and the other chick ratted me out, too. After that, my mom wouldn’t let me hang out with them anymore, so we kinda drifted apart. I went on to college, and she ended up moving back to Arkansas, where she now works for a company that sells stun guns, bear repellent, tasers and all other kinds of crazy self-defense crap.

The company is owned by a nutty redneck who has the distinction of having filed more patents than any other man in Arkansas history — a smart and savvy man who hires all these hot chicks to sell his products. They all come out to Vegas a few times a year for trade shows, and it’s like the redneck Charlie’s Angels. Yeeeeeee haw! Git ‘R’ DONE!


Anyway, Tina’s a haaaaaaaaaard partying woman, even being 7 months pregnant — she still wanted to go out and pound O’Doul’s til all hours of the night! I always hang out with her when she’s in town, so we made plans to go to dinner one night. But meanwhile, I had another friend in town — this traveling nude model I met on a photo shoot last year. This little bitch is amazing — only 21 years old, but a true bohemian, with a huge, gnarly ’70s bush and an open-minded attitude. She travels around the U.S. staying in hostels and in her car, modeling here and there to pay her way around. How fucking fun does THAT sound?! I wish I was doing it!

Anyhoo, she wanted to meet up, too, so I had to come up with a spot that would please both a traveling nudist and a pregnant Christian Republican from Arkansas. Hmmmm! We ended up at Bar + Bistro in the Arts District of downtown Vegas, which turned out to be a very cool place full of art and artsy people — and the food was great! Our waiter was super cool, too, and ended up joining us for drinks after dinner. He really hit it off with the nude model chick, so much so that we ran into them two nights later at Planet Hollywood, of all places — the redneck Charlie’s Angels’ boss is a high roller there, so I met them after work for some free cocktails in the high limit room. After her boss left, we went out into the casino for more drinks (O’Doul’s for Tina, of course) and ran into the nude model and the waiter. Smaaaaaaall world!

While at Planet Hollywood (a casino I loathe and normally avoid at all costs), I noticed that I happen to have the exact same outfit that the go-go dancers wear (Planet Ho has taken the “party pit” idea to the extreme, and features hot babes gyrating on pedestals throughout the entire casino). Now, I am the WORLD’S WORST DANCER…so how funny would it be if I pranked Planet Ho — just showed up in a go-go outfit, got up on a pedestal, and just spazzed the fuck out? Like danced really, really badly…and then vomited on my boots or something?! I’ll need to work up some balls first…but I think it would be awesome!

Anyhoo, the nude model and the pregnant Arkansawyer weren’t the only two friends I had in town — I also had a gay actor/singer/dancer friend from London stay with me at my house. This was totally random — I met this guy one night while taking photos at a Lionel Richie concert (of all things), and we sort of hit it off and became Facebook friends. Now he was coming back to Vegas for a birthday party, so I met up with him and some of his fantastic gay friends for drinks one night after work. They were all suuuuuper fabulous, and all very good-looking and buff — so much so that these middle-aged women came up to us and asked if they were in a show! I told them they should have lied and said yes, they were Chippendales…but alas, they were much too modest.

Anyhoo, my London friend stayed the night at my house, Villa Sinvergüenza, and like all other visitors to my fabulous estate he was bowled over by its beauty and uniqueness. He brought me these fabulous GaGa Spice sunglasses as a housewarming gift, and in the morning, we Skyped with his mum and brother in England. Gooooood times!

So with all these fucking people in town wanting a piece of me, I barely had time to turn around…let alone start preparing for Burning Man, which is what I really need to do! I have a hula hoop that needs decorating, a fur coat that needs dyeing, playlists that need arranging — and on top of all that, I need to rig up some kind of cool fairy costume for the Playboy Midsummer Night’s Eve party next weekend at the Palms. With all that going on, you’d think I would have set aside some time to get ‘er done. Well, I did…but then more fabulous adventures got in the way!!

I had set aside Friday night to be my crafting night, when I made the mistake of going on Facebook and seeing the status update of a food critic friend, who needed a last-minute date for dinner that night at Aureole (a fabulously swanky gourmet restaurant at Mandalay Bay). Now, even tho I had a MILLION things to do…I have this unfortunate inability to say “No” to anything…so before I knew what I was doing, I had replied to his status update and was on my way to Mandalay.

Now, this guy is a food & wine critic for a bunch of different websites and publications, and I’ve accompanied him to a few fabulous dinners in the past — he doesn’t like to go alone, so he always invites some chippy or another along…and it’s great fun! I loooooove going out to free dinners at fancy restaurants, especially when it’s with a food critic who warrants all manner of insane ass-kissing from the staff. I’ve had some amazing dinners with him! And this one was no exception.

I thought we were just having a regular dinner at Aureole, but it turned out to be this suuuuper swanky wine-tasting event for a bunch of wealthy, pretentious oenophiles — Michael Mondavi was even there (and boy, did he get his ass kissed). My food critic friend had told me to wear a dress, but I didn’t feel like going balls-out so I just threw on this $7 number I picked up at Fallas Paredes (a cheap-ass Mexican clothes store I simply adore). Since I didn’t bother with bra or panties, the total cost of my outfit was $9 (I had two flowers in my hair from the Dollar Store) — and then I spent the evening drinking ridiculously expensive wine in the company of meticulously dressed, upscale winos. This from someone who recently abandoned Charles Shaw, aka Two Buck Chuck, because Trader Joe’s starting selling an even cheaper wine called Vola (my new BFF). What can I say?!

The wines were paired with all this crazy food like jellied oysters, frogs’ legs, sweetbreads and morels… totally pretentious. Worse, it was a white wine tasting — and I abhor white wine. But I’m here to tell you — I sure gained an appreciation for it at that dinner! Nothing will get you to guzzle spirits faster than being stuck at a table full of soused baby-boomers spouting nonsense about “character,” “nose,” “bouquet” and “body.” After developing an appreciation for Chablis, Chardonnay and Mâconnais, I ended up having a fine time listening to the drunken chit-chat of my tablemates. This one couple in particular was fantastic: some kind of nouveau-riche poseurs from Laguna Beach, and the German husband had lost his glasses and thus had to wear his prescription sunglasses at dinner. Meawhile, the loosie-goosie wife got progressively soused and started talking about the “acrylic alphabet” (we were wondering what the word for “cock-a-doodle-doo” is in Russian). Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabulous!

So I basically pissed away the entire night, and consequently my Burning Man list is piled up and threatening to overtake me. No wonder I can’t sleep!!

Now, speaking of THAT…I know I said I wasn’t going to talk about it anymore, but I simply have to tell you about the latest crazy miracle cure I tried in my quest to finally get a good night’s sleep again. One of my readers, a chiropractor from Wisconsin, thoughtfully emailed me to say that he had successfully treated people for insomnia using chiropractic techniques…and that maybe I should consider seeing a local chiropractor. This genteel reader even went so far as to research local doctors for me, and recommended this one old kook who has been practicing in Vegas for 40 YEARS!! I went to see him, and he busted out all these crazy, kooky tools that looked like something out of Frankenstein’s Laboratory — first he attacked me with what looked like a hybrid ray gun/staple gun, which he used to thwack my backbone and neck; next he laid me on a weird sort of vibrating, oscillating table that turned me upside down; then he rolled a little metal pizza-cutter wheelie thing down my arms; then he applied little 24K gold-tipped stickers to my calves, to stimulate my meridians; and then he applied some kind of weird ultrasound massage, with copious amounts of warm goo.

WEIRD! And, alas, ineffective thus far…although I agreed to come back once a week for the next few weeks because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Seriously — I’m already out another $200+, but I agreed to come back out of politeness. Am I sucker, or WHAT?! I’m just desperate to sleep, is all…

Then I discovered this new sleep software, and shelled out another $70 to download it. It’s basically tracks of isochronic tones that you listen to before bed and while sleeping, and they supposedly train your brain waves to go into deeper, Delta wave sleep. The guy behind all this is this freaky French Canadian with a bizarre accent that gives me bad flashbacks to my photo job at the Sally Dingdong show (which attracts nothing but gimps and Québécois), but I’m giving it a shot anyway. So every afternoon I have to go lie down in my closet for 20 minutes and listen to this “Insomnia Buster” track…and then later I go back again and lie down and do ANOTHER 20 minutes of these lame relaxation exercises prescribed by my therapist. Do I LOOK like a girl who has 40 minutes to spare laying down in my closet every day?!?!?!?!!!!!! Fuck! Not only am I going broke trying to find a cure, but it’s eating up my social life!

Speaking of my closet, check out this awesome shot taken by Michael Maze during our photo shoot last week. I saw this photo of Elton John in his closet back in the day (when he was still in the closet)…and with the help of Maze, I re-created it, Wonderhussy-style! I counted something like 112 pairs of shoes and 1,112 costumes…which means I definitely have a problem. And it’s getting worse — the other night on my way home from dinner with the nude model and the pregnant Arkansawyer, at 1am, I spotted a fabulous new boutique on Las Vegas Blvd. down by the Talk of the Town strip club, and screeched to a halt to investigate. Alex Presley’s Unique Boutique is run by Leroy Lopez, the “Gay Elvis,” and offers all manner of insanely fabulous furnishings, decor and clothing — I walked out with nothing less than a Wonder Woman costume, which I’ve been wanting for ages…and which he gave me a very good deal on! Check this place out!

So anyhoo, between combating insomnia, mingling with Mondavi and partying with an assortment of international friends, I also squeezed in a gig as Secret Agent Hotpants up at the Red Rock Resort pool (a bunch of awesome computer hackers had hired us; there’s some big hacker convention in town right now!!) and an audition for the newest “What Happens in Vegas, STAYS in Vegas” commercial (a total waste of time, because every hot bitch in Vegas was there…but the new script is very clever and I figured I might as well try out!).

And, I also found time to go over and chill with my all-American hero friend at his house, where we just relaxed and watched a movie. While there, his little French Bulldog was all excited, running around and jumping up on my legs and basically just going ape-shit, as dogs do. To quiet her down, my friend got down and put her in a chokehold — basically holding her neck down on the floor so that she couldn’t move, while sternly admonishing her to “STOP.” And that’s when it hit me — I NEED SOMEONE TO DO THIS TO ME!!!! Otherwise, I’ll never stop running around and overextending myself at all these crazy social engagements….and I will never be able to sleep. I NEED A DOG WHISPERER! Or better yet…a Wonderhussy Whisperer!

If you’re qualified, hit me up — and make it quick! Burning Man is in 22 days, and I’ve already agreed to do a nude photoshoot on a horse at a ranch in Pahrump, AND to make a quick trip to New York City in the meantime. Someone stop me, before I hurt myself!!!

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Thought I’d squeeze in a quick post before bed after two full days working the International Documentary Association conference and A really big night at the Hammer Museum (my main gig) for a lefty love fest about climate change wit author Naomi Klein and filmmaker Robert Greenberg. Not feeling so comment worthy, except that I get my cheapest wine at the 99 cent store. Some of the reds I’ve picked up there are passable, but the whites are almost undrinkable.
Also cool that you were eating morels, those rare mushrooms that look like brains on a stem. When I was a kid, my Mom who is a serious foodie and amazing cook, showed my brother and sisters and I a picture of them in Gourmet magazine and offered us $5 if we could find any in the woods around our summer house in Vermont. We searched endlessly to no avail, but when we were back home in our quaint provincial small town in upstate New York, my friends who lived across the street showed us these strange fungi they had picked off their lawn before their dad had mowed it. I dashed home with a handful to show my Mom and her jaw dropped! GOLD STRIKE! She paid us off as promised, and soon we were finding patches of morels growing in odd places all around the village. We harvested pounds of these rare delicacies over the next couple of years, but eventually we must have sapped the spore spread so much that the bumper crop dwindled to a trickle and eventually dried up completely. Oh well. My Mom made a good run of it preparing all sorts of exotic dishes and gifting a bunch to the owner/chef at Chez Henri, my parent’s favorite French Restaurant at Sugarbush and were treated to many a free meal in kind. If you ever go looking for morels in the wild, however, beware of the infamous “false morel” with a similar spongy surface but dark brown instead of light tan and a cap that looks squashed instead of elongated.

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