I was doing a photo shoot at the Tuscany Hotel the other afternoon, when the photographer asked me, “Say, would you mind trying something a little….kinky??”
If you’d had the kind of week I’d just had, it would have given you pause, too. I mean, I have a pretty high tolerance for/interest in some fairly weird stuff…but some of my misadventures lately have been a bit rich, even for my blood!
It all started when an old acquaintance called me the other week, out of the blue. This is someone I’ve known for over ten years, but haven’t talked to since around 2010 — a 60-ish lounge singer/ladies’ man/aspiring photographer/gym rat I used to hang with way back in the day. Well, in the time since we’d last talked, “Dino” (not his real name) had gotten into the fringes of the porn industry. While singing at a corporate party, he met the president of some porn production company, and somehow ended up as their Vegas talent procurer.
Say what you will about this guy — he has an uncanny knack with the ladies, and he managed to scout a few astonishingly good-looking girls around town: one at the gym, one at Roberto’s taco stand, etc. Somehow, he was able to talk these everyday chicks into performing in porn movies…and now, every weekend he loads four at a time into his SUV and drives them all down to L.A. for shoots. Dino is basically a glorified babysitter — he drives them to the shoots, makes sure they’re not fucked up, makes sure they’re hair- and makeup-ready, and even directs them during the shoot (since the girls are comfortable with him, they allow Dino to direct a little, in the name of making things easier). He tries to book multiple shoots for the weekend, to make it worth everyone’s time, and the production companies pay him for his services, as well as taking care of his and his girls’ room and meals while in L.A. It’s a great gig!
Well, whenever he finds a new girl in Vegas, he shoots a little promo video of her, to show his bosses in L.A. He was using a male actor in some of the clips, but the guy flaked on him one too many times, so now Dino started standing in, instead. He films himself from the neck down only, so as to preserve his identity, and basically holds the camera with one hand while the girl gives him a blow job. When he showed the first clip to his bosses, and confided in them that it was his penis in the shot, they got all excited. Apparently, he has an exceptionally photogenic dick — they said it has a “silky” look to it, and they encouraged him to shoot more content of himself.
So now Dino needs someone to do the filming, because he can’t keep holding the camera out at an awkward angle — he wants to get creative, and shoot some fetish-type stuff…and he needs both hands for that. Remembering what an open-minded kind of person I am, he called me up out of the blue, to ask if I’d be interested in working for him, shooting footage of him and his girls. Why me? Well, aside from my being open-minded, he also knows that I won’t judge him, make fun of him, or reveal his identity — basically, he trusts me. Awwwww!
So I agreed to come over to his house for a (paid) introductory session, during which he showed me all the photos and videos he’d taken thus far. I was astonished at how beautiful this one chick in particular was — you know how porn chicks are usually pretty gnarly and hardened looking? Well, this girl is the classic “girl-next-door.” A very marketable look! And there she was, sucking Dino’s “silky” dick on camera. Wow!!
I accepted the job, so in the near future I guess I will become a pornographess. Yay!! I’ve been wanting to get on the other side of the camera, anyway — this should be an interesting way to get in on the action. The only bummer is, he asked me what I’d want to be paid, and I had no idea what to charge for my videography skills: “Uhhhh…I don’t know; $25/hour?” He accepted my bid right away, so I get the feeling I should have asked for WAY more…but what the hell do I know?? D’OH!!!! I’m a terrible businesswoman.
So while all of that was going on, I was still going about my business, doing all the other strange gigs that come my way. Most of my work was photo shoots — I’ve been doing a lot of them lately, both out in the desert and in various hotel rooms around town. I often tell people “I’ve been in more hotel rooms than a prostitute!” and it’s true. Most photographers I shoot with are business professionals in town for one trade show or another, and photography is just a hobby for them. To blow off steam after a long day at the convention center, they set up a shoot or two at their hotel rooms after hours. There’s not usually anything weird about it — hotel rooms make pretty good studios if you bring a few lights with you, and the furniture and decor is generally fairly nice. Plus, as a model I feel a bit safer at a hotel/casino, what with all the security around…as opposed to shooting way out in the desert, ya know?
Usually, like I said, the photographer is some fusty old corporate-type — which is fine with me; I don’t judge! But a couple weeks ago, I showed up for a shoot at Ballys (of all places, LOL)…and the photographer turned out to be a super hot rocker-type dude from a band I think I might have actually heard of! I can’t give many details, as his wife is extremely jealous, and supposedly would have a shit fit if she knew he was shooting a model. I mean, she knows he has a photography business on the side…but according to him, if she knew he was paying a model, she’d freak. So he asked me not to even credit the photos he’d taken of me!! A shame…because they are really good photos (all the ones in this post credited to “Anonymous” are by him)!
What’s ironic about all this is, the main reason they are going through such tough times in their relationship right now, is she cheated on him! I truly wish I could give you all the bizarre details, because they are worthy of a movie (or at least an episode of Jerry Springer), but I promised I wouldn’t write anything too detailed about him. Arrrgh! But suffice it to say, I spent a good half of the shoot acting as therapist for him, while he poured out all his troubles and marital woes to me. (Little known fact: I am a great listener.)
Anyway, that was a fantastic shoot, as were most of the others I’ve done lately. One day I went over to the always-glamorous Palace Station hotel for a shoot with these Canadian pornographers, who run some kinda website featuring girls stripping and talking about themselves. It was pretty basic stuff — pose for cutesy pics, then prance around for short video clips of the same. The interview part was much more fun — I ended up singing the “Ode to Joy” from Beethoven’s 9th Symphony (they had asked me what my favorite song was) while sucking on a lollipop they had given me as a prop. Whatever!!
Another day, I got up and ready by the insanely early hour of 9:30am for a shoot out at the Clark County Heritage Museum — an outdoor collection of rusty old mining equipment and old houses down on Boulder Highway, in Hendertucky. The photographer had me come out there early so as to avoid “crowds.” Crowds?! Who the fuck even knows about the Clark County Heritage Museum??! And even if you know about it…who the fuck goes out there on a windy, chilly Wednesday?
Apparently, every asshole and his Aunt Mae, that’s who! That fucking museum was slammed, even at 9:30am — retirees, travelers and busloads of excitable schoolchildren running around on field trips!!! It was awkward as hell — here I am, trying to pose in my cheesy “sexy pin-up” outfits on tractors and cabooses and whatnot, while hordes of snickering schoolkiddies look on. Awkward!!!!! To make matters worse, it was really windy that day — my false eyelashes kept blowing loose, and I was wearing this cheesy blue dress I got once from a Bud Light promo gig, which has a slit right up the middle. I almost flashed those poor, innocent schoolkids a time or two! A very trying shoot.
But if I thought that was trying, boy was I ever in for a surprise. I got booked for another shoot over at Harrah’s one night that turned out to be the perviest thing I’ve ever witnessed! It started out as usual: the photographer asked me to bring lingerie and cute little outfits, which I could strip out of as he blasted away with his state-of-the-art prosumer equipment. He was a nice enough guy — maybe a little sweaty-palmed/nervous, but we had a decent rapport going as we shot, chatting about this and that. I mentioned that I did a lot of fetish modeling, and what a coincidence, he happened to shoot fetish videos, too!
According to him, he had a gig shooting fetish clips for the private collection of an attorney in his hometown — this guy would pay him to shoot videos of guys jerking off, while models sat on the sofa nearby watching. No contact, no sexual behavior on the part of the model, nothing untoward — just sit on the sofa and watch the guy jerk off. “Would you be interested? It only takes 15 minutes, and pays $100.”
“Yeah, sure, if I’m ever in San Antonio I’ll let ya know.” I wasn’t really interested; I was just being polite. But then he goes, “Oh no, we could do one right here, at the end of our shoot!” Apparently, just like my friend Dino, he had been using male models off Craigslist to do the jerking off…but one too many had flaked on him, so now he just set his camera on a tripod, and filmed himself jerking it, from the neck down so as to preserve his identity. Hmmm.
“Weeeelll….OK,” I said. I mean, all I had to do was sit on the sofa, right? How bad could it be????
So now he was all excited, and finished up the rest of our shoot in record time — the two hour shoot only took 59 minutes, LOL. Then he sets up the camera on a tripod, and tells me what I have to do. And it’s not just sitting on the couch!!! Now it turns out I have to walk back and forth, then take off my clothes, kneel next to him, and then go sit on the sofa.
“Whaaaaat? No way, man! I am not kneeling naked next to you while you jerk off!! That sounds like prostitution to me — how do I know you’re not vice??!” We haggled back and forth, and to his credit he gave me plenty of opportunity to back out. But finally we agreed on a scenario where I would just sit on the sofa naked while he jerked off about 10 feet away. Still gross….but whatever.
If anyone ever sees this video, you will die laughing (or crying)…I must look soooo uncomfortable. I sat there staring at the camera while he whipped out his turkey-neck-looking dick and went to town. While he did his thing, I pondered the intricacies of prostitution laws: was this considered prostitution? Or did the fact that he was filming it somehow protect it as mere pornography? I am endlessly fascinated by what exactly constitutes prostitution — I feel like the laws are total bullshit. You can fuck a guy for free, or in exchange for a car…but if he gives you cash, you’re a prostitute. Huh?? Meanwhile, you can pay a girl cash to have sex on camera, and it’s totally legal — as long as someone is filming it. If you ask me, these laws are seriously fucked up and a total waste of time.
Anyhoo, after about 30 sec of ruminating, he shot his wad, washed his hands, and paid me. The 2-hour shoot he’d hired me for was over with in 75 minutes, and I had a $100 bonus to show for it. I felt kinda dirty, but what are ya gonna do? Now that I think about it, I bet there was no “attorney” paying him to shoot these “fetish videos;” I bet it was just a ruse, to get me to watch him jerk off. WHATEVER! Coming as it did on the heels of my thing with Dino, I had found it semi-believable…so please don’t laugh at me too hard!
Soooooo, after all that weirdness, you can see why I bristled when this guy at the Tuscany asked me if I minded doing something “kinky.” But all it turned out to be was, he wanted me to lay on the bed naked while he placed little plastic frogs, race cars and a dinosaur all over my body. LOL! You call that kinky, Mister????! It was a breeze – especially because the guy was a total professional about the shoot, and actually used a light meter and stuff, and gave me actual direction in my posing. And he finished shooting 30 minutes early — always a plus. Kudos to you, Mr. Legit Photographer! May there be many more of you in my future.
So that was all my photo shoots lately, but I did plenty of other borderline-skeezy gigs too — it was just that kind of week. Was it something in the air??? Ugh! First, I had a date with a guy from WhatsYourPrice.com, who had hired me to keep him company at the pool, at the hotel where he was staying. I showed up around 1pm and he was a nice enough, good-looking guy from Florida…but he was a total alkie!! He kept telling me I wasn’t drinking enough, but jeez! I didn’t want to get wasted in the afternoon, for Pete’s sake. As it was I had three Captain Morgan & Cokes…but even that didn’t satisfy him, as he was basically chain-chugging scotches.
We had a pleasant enough conversation for the first hour or so, but then he got drunker and drunker, and pretty annoying. The weather was kinda shitty, too — really windy and on the chilly side — so after a couple hours, we packed it in. He invited me up to his room, where he had bought me a bottle of Captain Morgan, and I think he basically expected me to fall into bed. But to his immense drunken dismay, I just mixed a drink and stood by the door until he followed me back downstairs. HELLO??! Here is what it says on my WhatsYourPrice profile, VERBATIM:
Please note that I am not looking for a sugar daddy, nor am I interested in romantically dating. I am on here strictly as a paid companion for Vegas visitors needing dinner company. My price is $100 for a 3-hour dinner date, during which I will (hopefully) prove my worth as an excellent conversationalist, witty raconteur and fount of information on all things Vegas.
If you are still interested: I am good-looking, intelligent, well-spoken, and extremely well-versed in all things Vegas. I have explored every nook and cranny of this crazy city, from the Nuclear Test Site to the local brothels and swingers clubs… so I can probably answer most any questions you have, plus provide amusing anecdotes of my adventures as a local nude and fetish model.
I am NOT a prostitute, and have no interest in casual sex. I’m just an excellent conversationalist and a fun companion…well-spoken and well-behaved enough to accompany a date to any type of function. I have a fairly wholesome look: no tattoos, no fake tits, no nappy hair extensions, etc. I don’t look like a typical Vegas girl, so you could comfortably take me to a business function without fear of embarrassment.
On the flip side, I am also adventurous enough to accompany you to more risque events like strip clubs, brothels, swingers clubs, peep shows, and topless revues. Just be advised that I have ZERO interest in participating; I am acting solely as tour guide. Also, be advised that my rate is higher for such activities!
My First Date Expectations:
My ideal date is an intelligent professional — male, female, or transgender — who is seeking interesting company while visiting Vegas… and who understands that I am NOT a prostitute, and that I have less than zero interest in using this site as for romantic hookups. I’m on here because I genuinely feel I have a lot to offer as a dinner date/tour guide/conversationalist.”
I mean, HELLO!!! I have to assume that this guy did not even bother to read my information…which leads me to wonder if any guy reads the information on a girl’s profile on any site! I guess it’s just the shitty company I’ve been keeping lately, but my impression of men is that they are single-minded beasts driven solely by an insatiable pursuit of sex. They will go to any lengths, and make up any cockamamie story necessary, to get a girl to stand by while they whip out their piece. It’s as if they are tillermen, clutching desperately at the fleshy controls to the wrinkly rudder that navigates them through the waters of life, ever in pursuit of the Great White Vagina. I can’t imagine spending all that time and energy in pursuit of ass…it sounds exhausting!!!
Aaaaanyhoo, since I wasn’t budging, my WhatsYourPrice date finally gave up and we went back down to the pool, where he proceeded to get drunker and grumpier, finally sticking a $100 between my toes and peacing out in a huff. I’m so sorry, Sir! The whole affair left me with a very sordid, melancholy vibe — I felt as if, for one of the first and only times in my life, I had failed to entertain. It was sobering to realize that my sparkling wit and personality are NOT enough, for some (many?) people. I have another WhatsYourPrice date tonight, and I sincerely hope it goes better — this guy is a doctor, and is taking me to a very classy restaurant at the Encore, so I’m guessing it will be much less awkward.
The last of the semi-skeevy gigs I did was caddying this golf game. A bunch of Canadian professional types had come down to Vegas for a guys’ trip, and they hired a bunch of models off Model Mayhem to caddy for them. We all met up at their hotel at 8:45am (!!!!), then took a bus out to this golf course in the northern hinterlands of Vegas, where we split up into foursomes, with two caddies per team. I was paired up with a nice enough big-titted brunette, and three very nice guys, so all signs pointed to a very pleasant day.
And really, the day was pleasant — it’s just that caddying these kinds of things isn’t really about caddying, it’s about being flirty and making corny jokes about balls and holes and whatnot. After a few Bloody Marys I was able to banter with the best of ‘em, but I still felt slightly lame. The solution to that kind of self-loathing? MORE BLOODYS!!!! Soon enough I was romping around nude with a flag up my ass (we were trying to win this photo challenge they’d cooked up — and we did win, haha), running afoul of the golf course staff and generally setting feminism back about 200 years.
The icing on the cake was, when we all got back to the hotel valet area, the guys had a little prize money set aside for a fake orgasm contest — right there in the valet. At first, none of the other chicks wanted to do it (they were all nice girls, of course)…so I figured I’d step up and win by default. But sure enough, as soon as I was in, these two other bimbos volunteered…and I lost the coin toss, and had to go first. I let loose a rip-roaring screamer, figuring to freak ‘em all out with my mighty primal-scream thing I do, and it would have worked….until the other two chicks freaked out, put their heads together, and teamed up so that one of them lay down on the ground while the other one rode her, moaning and groaning to beat the band. The best part was, Security came up to her midway thru and tapped her on the shoulder, going “Miss! Miss…excuse me, Miss!!!” and she totally ignored him!! It was a riot. They ended up declaring it a 3-way tie, which I found utter bullshit, and which meant I made a fool of myself in the Aria valet for $30. D’OH!!!!!!
Soooo, anyway…hopefully I’ll be able to score some less demeaning, more respectable gigs in the days to come. I need a break!! Won’t someone hire me for something legit???
Speaking of legit work, the nightclub where I was working laid me off a few weeks ago — without even telling me!! Now, I never expected that job to last — I got hired pretty much on a fluke, because I happened to be at the opening-night party and ran into an acquaintance who was working there, who told me they needed “atmosphere” talent to wear freaky costumes and prance around fucking with people. The very next day, she had me come down wearing something freaky, and I showed up in my slutty Marie Antoinette costume (I love how this is an example of legit work, LOL), and I was hired.
That was back in late October, and astonishingly, the gig lasted all the way the end of March! The first couple weeks were great – all I did was show up in my costume and flit around the club messing with people, taking photos and being witty. Then the owner, an extremely temperamental, bearded, wealthy young Jewish guy from NYC, asked us to get up onstage and dance. DANCE?!! Ruh-roh!!! I have many talents, but dancing is not one of them!! Still, what I lack in technique I make up for in enthusiasm and fabulous costumery, so everything went OK for awhile, and I kinda enjoyed being a go-go dancer at a Vegas nightclub. It’s something I never in a million years would have expected to do, so it was a cool experience for me — another notch in the bedpost of life.
Anyhoo, over the months that I worked there, they had many other go-go dancers come in and audition, so the existing dancers were in a permanent state of unease — were we going to be replaced, or what?! Pretty much every single night from December onward, I came into work fully expecting to be fired that night. It was exhausting!!! I kept telling myself it didn’t matter, because meanwhile I was socking away the money they were paying me — and it was pretty good pay. I tried to adopt a laissez-faire attitude about the whole thing, but it was still pretty nerve-wracking.
Meanwhile, the club itself wasn’t doing too good. The owner, we’ll call him Enfant Terrible III, runs similar clubs in NYC and London, and those are really successful — big-city cosmopolitan-types really cottoned to the concept of a bizarre performance-art club. Business back East was so good, he opened the Vegas club, thinking to expand his empire Westward…but alas, he underestimated the overwhelming squareness of the average Vegas tourist. Vegas partiers just wanna fist-pump and spray champagne into the crowd while some half-rate wannabe Eurotrash DJ spins tired-ass Top 40 remixes to a crowd full of balloon-breasted bimbos with bleached buttholes…ya know????! Vegas crowds did NOT know what to make of a stage show consisting of a tranny with her dick tucked into her ass, waving a rose around and singing into a stuffed penis-mic.
To make matters even worse, this amazing performer named Rose Wood came out in March. The way the club operated (and probably still operates), the performance artists from the NYC and London clubs come out to Vegas for one or two week stints. Enfant Terrible III puts them up at this nearby apartment complex, and they perform at the Vegas club every night. Some of the acts were mildly popular with the Vegas crowd — these two bisexual chicks who fake-pissed into champagne glasses, for example — but many more were simply incomprehensible to the average Vegas meathead. Of course, my favorite acts were the really freaky ones — but hello! I’m not the average Vegas clubgoer, and I’m certainly not the type of clubgoer to spend $2,000 on champagne and shitty vodka — which is exactly the type of asshole you need if you’re to operate a successful club in Vegas!!
Aaaanyhoo, Rose Wood’s engagement finally made the situation obvious. Rose is a sort of tranny — a ripped, well-muscled dude with a missing tooth and a sort of scraggly, balding mullet. The kind of guy you wouldn’t think twice about if you saw him standing on the corner, holding a “Why Lie? I need a Beer” sign. Except for the fact that he has ginormous fake breasts!!! I love this fabulous disconnect — it seems to me that most trannies who go through all the trouble and expense of getting implants would take some care about their appearance — but not Rose Wood!! Rose Wood don’t give a fuck!!!
Rose’s fabulous act consisted of raunchy blues-rock playing, while Rose comes out onstage in a ripped denim micro-mini and a shredded Hooters t-shirt, barely hiding her ginormous tits. She takes a swig from a bottle of Jack Daniels, then spews it all over the crowd!! The Vegas crowds all shrieked and recoiled in horror, but were still entertained at this point.
But then, Rose sets down the bottle and starts rooting around in her g-string, and pulls out an old condom full of mysterious white stuff — which she sniffs, makes a face at, and then flings into the crowd. SHRIIIIIEK!!! Now the Vegas club people are a really freaking out — fake cum on their fake-ass Louis Vuitton?! OMG!!! But it gets worse!!
Now Rose pulls off the g-string completely, so you can see her penis encased in a cock sock, and squats down over the bottle of Jack, inserting the neck of the bottle about 4 inches up her ass!!!!!! She stands up, holding the bottle with her Iron Sphincter, and dangles it around. If you were sitting close enough to the stage, you could actually see her ass hole hanging onto it — it was crazy!! And then — she whips the bottle out of her ass, takes another swig — and sprays ass water all over the crowd!!!!!!!!!
It was FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC, I must say — I enjoyed her act immensely. But not so most Vegas clubgoers — Rose used to really clear out the club, and bar receipts suffered mightily during and after her act. One night they let her do another act, really late at night, after everyone was thoroughly wasted — she sat on a toilet, smeared fake shit all over her tits (she has a secret, proprietary recipe for making amazingly realistic fake poop….something involving oatmeal, I think), and then stuck a toilet plunger about 5 inches up her ass. Then she repeated the process with one of those wire toilet scrubby brushes!!!! OUCH!!!!!!
They only let her do that act once…but the damage was already done. Word got out around town that this nightclub was seriously fucked up, and now the only people who wanted to go were broke-ass local artist types — not bottle-buying mook douchebags So the club was suffering mightily.
Now, to his immense credit, Enfant Terrible III insisted upon carrying on with this crazy, offensive shtick — I got the sense he genuinely enjoyed pissing people off, and I have a GREAT respect for that. It must be nice to be so rich that you never have to worry about “offending” people!! However, the rest of the investors leaned on him enough to the point where they decided to take the club in a different direction. They told us go-go dancers to start dressing less costumey, more “traditionally sexy…” and at that point, I knew the jig was up. They were supposedly going to choose three of us to stay on as regular dancers, with the others just being used as on-call backups…but of course, no one bothered to tell ME anything, until finally one day I heard from one of the other dancers that she and I had been laid off. Gee, nice of you guys to TELL me, assholes!
Technically, I’m still on call…but so far I haven’t been available to work any of the shifts they’ve called me in for. They started an afterhours show on Saturdays, from 3am-7am, and I got called in for that once or twice…but I can’t think of anything worse than dancing from 3-7am!! Dancing from 11pm-3am (my normal shift) was bad enough!
Anyhoo, I haven’t been back to the club since my last shift, in early April…so I can’t vouch for it anymore. All I can say is, back when I was working there, it was fucked up in a lot of really good ways. I hope they don’t change it too much — the last fucking thing Vegas needs is another XS or Haze or what-the-fuck-ever. But if you are planning to come to Vegas, and you want to check this place out, feel free. It’s called The Act, and it’s at the Palazzo.
So now I’m officially unemployed — or I guess you could say, I’m full-time self-employed now. FREELANCE OR DIE, MOTHERFUCKERS!! You might think I’d be worried about losing my job — especially after having just quit that loathsome photo job I held for 12 years — but fear not. I have a plan!!!
My whole point in quitting the photo job was, I hate working for someone else. Especially when that person is an asshole! The owner of the photo company, Mr. Morgan Cashman of Cashman Photo Enterprises of Nevada, is definitely an asshole — many in town will back me up on that. And Enfant Terrible III was also an asshole (albeit in a semi-lovable way). So I figure that working for myself will be much less of a pain in the ass. Sure, I’ll still have to deal with the occasional asshole in the course of my freelance life…but it’ll only be for a few hours, or at most a few days (if it’s a trade show or something). Much better!
But the nature of freelance gigging is kinda flaky — feast and famine, ya know? So I came up with a way to ensure a steady stream of income for myself — one that I can pursue on my own time, whenever I feel like it, for as many or as few hours as I want. Stripping? Prostitution? NEITHER!
I have long been a fan of all the costumed street buskers lining the Vegas Strip and Fremont Street — you know, the wackos in Spider Man and Mickey Mouse costumes who earn a living posing for pictures with tourists, collecting tips. I made my own showgirl costume a couple years ago, with the idea of going down there myself and joining their ranks — who wouldn’t want a photo with a Vegas showgirl, ya know?
Well, unfortunately, there were already around 50 chicks with that same idea…so I pretty much missed the boat on that one. You can’t walk 20 feet down Las Vegas Blvd. these days without tripping over a dimple-assed lovely covered in cheap pink ostrich feathers — D’OH!! But ever resourceful, I thought to myself….”How can I set myself apart from the others? What do drunken Vegas tourists like??? Hmmmmmmmm…”
So I came up with a pretty good idea — I made a marijuana showgirl costume!! I spent about $220 and 20 hours of work crafting this fucker, but it came out really good. I made a headdress with green ostrich feathers and giant, rhinestone-encrusted pot leaves…a sequined green bra with marijuana decals…a rhinestone choker with a pot leaf pendant…a pot leaf feather boa…and a green thong panty with pot leaves growing from the crotch. The panty is kinda constricting, and gives me a pretty severe camel toe…but I call it a canna-toe, haha!!! (Like cannabis…get it?!)
I also made a giant fake prop joint, and sprayed some of my old high heels green…and now I’m in business. Just in time for 4/20 — a/k/a National Pot Smoking Day!! Luckily for me, one of my friends is already in the business of dressing up as a giant joint himself — he goes by the name Jay Joint, and he’s been busking for tips on the Strip for a couple years now. He was gracious enough to let me team up with him, so now we’ve been going out together and hustling around town. I mean, I can still go out by myself, if I want…but it’s more fun with two people, and security-wise it works out better, too.
Our first foray out together was Friday night, April 19th — we headed downtown to Fremont Street, to capitalize on all the low-class fools and potheads that hang out down there. It went great – we were pretty slammed with business, and were raking in a good amount of money while my friend Fabian stood by, taking photos. But after about an hour, Fremont Street security came over and told Jay Joint that he had to leave, as his costume was “inappropriate,” because there were kids around!!! WTF!!!!!!
First of all, inappropriate?! This is Fremont Street we’re talking about — home of Glitter Gulch strip club, countless gambling halls, drunk whores, homeless people pissing themselves, etc. And a giant joint is gonna offend someone?! Besides, it was midnight — any kids up that late were already in trouble, if you ask me.
Aside from that, I’m pretty sure they had no legal recourse to kick us out — Fremont Street is a public thoroughfare, and we were careful to abide by the regulations set forth for street performers — ten feet from the entrance to any casino, ten feet from any of the kiosks down there selling Vegas souvenir crap. There’s also this little thing called the First Amendment — if we want to rally for marijuana legalization, it’s our right! Right?! I mean, anti-abortion protesters go down there all the time with photos of bloody fetuses and whatnot — how the fuck is that not “inappropriate?!”
But we didn’t want to make a big fuss, in case they came down on all the street performers in revenge…and the last thing we wanted to do was make enemies of a bunch of loony-tunes costumed buskers, ya know?! So we graciously backed out, and I went home and counted my money — which was pretty good! I made $60 in one hour — ca$h, motherfuckers!! If we’d been able to hang out longer, I probably could have made back all the money it cost me to make the damn costume.
So the next time we went out, we headed for the Strip. What with all the porn-card slappers around, no one down there really gives a fuck about a giant joint, I guess. It was a Sunday night, so business was a lot slower, and I only made $48 in two hours — but still! $24/hour to stand around bullshitting and drinking ain’t bad at all. And I’M MY OWN BOSS! I can leave whenever I want!! I love it!!!
So if you’re coming to Vegas, and you see a bimbo in a giant pot-leaf headdress hanging out on the corner smoking an oversized joint….come say hi!! And give me a buck or two, willya?! I need it!
So anyway, now that I’m my own boss, I can take off whenever I want. I took time off the past couple weeks to go audition for Wheel of Fortune (I think I passed…waiting for a callback, yayyyy!), and also to see Def Leppard — twice!!! I’m not a huge Def Leppard fan…or even a fan at all, truthfully…I just had two different friends invite me. And honestly, I enjoyed watching all the washed-up blondes in the crowd, who used to be smoking hot strippers in 1991, more than I enjoyed the show itself. Good times!!
Then another friend took me to see this indie band called the Xx…and another night, a friend from L.A. took me to see this awesomely cheesy classic rock schlockfest called “Raiding The Rock Vault,” which is basically a bunch of wrinkly old classic rockers from famous bands, jamming together, cranking out all your favorite classic rock radio hits. FUN!!
Then another night, I went to see Frankie Moreno’s band at the Stratosphere… right after I went to this über-swanky benfit gala at Saks Fifth Avenue. Me, at a swanky benefit?! Shocking, I know — but an acquaintance invited me, so why not? There was an open bar, great hors d’oeuvres, and a performance by Taylor Hicks from American Idol — all while Vegas Society (an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one, LOL) mingled about in their glitzy finest, schmoozing and boozing and getting merry like Christmas. It was a riot! I even ran into my old bosses from the photo company, hahahahahaha.
But the best part of the night was, I ran into that man who had hired me to go hiking from WhatsYourPrice.com last month!!!! Apparently he’s a bigwig in Vegas Society, and was there with his heavily Botoxed, society-matron-type wife, so he pretended not to see me….but OMG, what a riot!!!!!
I did feel slightly dirty about it, but honestly…I didn’t know he was married; I just went hiking with him, for Chrissakes! To be honest, his wife kinda looked like a bitch…but I’d probably be a bitch, too, if my husband was hiring skeezy chippies from some random website to go hiking. It all hearkens back to my tillerman metaphor — here’s this white-haired old dude, married for years and years, and his hand is still firmly on the tiller, steering his wrinkly old balls into shark-infested waters at every opportunity. Do these guys’ vessels ever find a berth??? Or is every man doomed to wander the Seven Seas forever, on an endless quest for puss?
Like I said….it must be exhausting!
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