Month: September 2011

My Jerry Springer Moment: Confronted By My Date’s GIRLFRIEND!!!

My birthday was this past week, and what a fuckin’ disaster it turned out to be. I didn’t even want to get out of bed this morning — it felt as though I was buried under an avalanche of shit that was so heavy, it didn’t seem worthwhile or even possible get out from under.

An embarrassing fact about me: I have never in my entire life had a birthday party. Growing up, I always wanted to have a party…but we were poor, and lived really far from town, and it was just never feasible. Then when I grew up, I never had enough friends anyway…so I have gone my whole life never having had a party. Which is a real bummer, because I could throw one HELL of a party!

My friend J.R. (the lonesome Tennessee oilman) wanted to throw me a party this year, and invite all my “friends.” I say “friends” with quotes, because although I have 950 “friends” on Facebook…I have very few people I can really count on. I thanked him for the thought, but nixed the idea…it just sounded like too much of a headache. None of my very few girl “friends” probably would have come anyway…so it would have just been a room full of random dudes hoping to see me pop out of the cake or something. AWKward!

J.R. advised me that he was coming out to Vegas to take me out for my birthday, party or no…and I was stoked. He’s a fun, friendly guy and I always have a blast hanging out with him. The trouble is, he has an unrequited crush on me, which provokes occasional temper tantrums if I don’t spend enough time with him while he’s in town.

Meanwhile, one of my few girlfriends came out to visit me. “Lolita” used to work at the photo company with me, and we had a lot of fun back in the day — she’s one of the few people I’ve met who’s rowdier and kookier than I am! I invited her to stay at my house for the week, and since she just started modeling, I also planned a few photo shoots with her so she wouldn’t get bored. I figured she and J.R. would get along swimmingly, so I could hang out with both of them and have a fine old time in Vegas Towne, and make everyone happy.

Well, anyone who knows me, knows that I live my life under a crushing amount of debt — a burden that I shoulder most precariously by flitting about town from one gig to another in a desperate, Sisyphean quest to pay my mortgage. You all know Sisyphus — every time he pushed that boulder up the hill, it rolled right the fuck back down to the bottom, and he had to start all over. Well, so it is with me: no sooner do I scrape together enough cash from toe-sucking perverts and lascivious photographers to satiate the needs of Mr. J.P.MorganChase and his twittering coterie of champagne-swilling plutocrats…then it’s already time for me to turn right back around and start doing it alllll over again. It’s EXHAUSTING!

Anyhoo, I’ll address my mortgage concerns in a future blog (there have been many new developments there, and I need your advice). Meanwhile, I brought it up to illustrate just how hard I have to hustle each and every day, just to make ends meet. I can’t take a week off because Lolita or J.R. are visiting — although J.R. has made it clear on several occasions that he would be my sugar daddy, if I’d only say the word. I told him in no uncertain terms that I don’t want a sugar daddy…but that doesn’t stop him from leaving me little piles of money every time he leaves town. He justifies this expenditure by having me run weird errands for him…for which he overpays me obscenely. But at the end of the day, I feel weird taking his money, and so I continue to hustle and work stupid gigs even when he’s in town…just to salvage my pride (stop laughing!).

Another thing about J.R. is that he’s suuuuuper jealous about any guy I happen to be dating — especially the one I’ve referred to here as the All-American Hero. In the interest of brevity, I’ll call him Sgt. Peanut from now on. Well, I’ve been seeing Sgt. Peanut on and off since May or so — I originally met him back in March, but it wasn’t until May that we started sleeping together and more or less dating. I say “more or less” because we only ever saw each other once a week or less — his schedule being at total odds with my own. I’m a night owl and party girl, and he holds a top-secret position at one of the local military bases, which means he has to be up at the crack of ass every day to go play remote-control war games in a darkened trailer, blowing shit up that’s 8,000 miles away. So our schedules never meshed enough for a real relationship to develop — we were more or less fuck buddies, although I was secretly growing alarmingly fond of him. He’s super-intelligent, fit, good-looking and very liberal (despite being a military badass). I knew he was a bit of a pervert, with a fondness for swinger parties and amateur porn sites…but hell, look at the shit I do! I figured I was in no position to judge.

Anyhoo, J.R. was always extremely jealous of Peanut…and being the über-paranoid technophile that he is, the first thing he did upon learning of my relationship with him was order up a bunch of background checks on him. Hardcore background checks, done by a buddy of his who used to work for the Department of Homeland Security. These exhaustive checks turned up everything from speeding tickets to underwater mortgages, and uncovered his entire family history going back to a farm in 1850s Illinois…but nothing untoward came up (much to J.R.’s chagrin, I’m sure). So I continued to date him, on and off, all summer long…and it was fabulous!

One thing about Peanut is that he’s very quiet — and very inscrutable. I kinda liked that about him, since I’m a high-energy blabbermouth — he sort of balanced me out. He didn’t pry into my personal affairs, and I didn’t pry into his. A few times I did sort of wonder/despair as to why he didn’t seem more interested in me (I’m used to guys being slavishly devoted to my every witty nipple-flash)…but he offered up enough compliments and flattery to keep my concerns at bay. I figured he was just one of those silent, stoic military types.

Aaaaaaaaanyhoo, Peanut’s birthday is the same week as mine, so a while back we talked about going on a little road trip around the desert to celebrate. I even took the days off work (at my camera girl job), to be sure I’d be available. But then, at the last minute, he told me he was going out of town that weekend instead. I figured it was no big deal, since between Lolita and J.R. I’d have plenty to keep me busy. But then he changed his tune again, and offered to take me out to dinner for my birthday…so I accepted, and Thursday night we went out for a nice quiet dinner.

When J.R. found out I was going out with him on my b-day, the shit really hit the fan: “I came all the way out here to take you out for your birthday! And now you’re blowing me off for Peanut?!” Never mind the fact that I spent Wednesday, Friday, Sunday and Monday with J.R….if he couldn’t be with me on my birthday, it wasn’t worth it. Arrrgh!

J.R. eventually got over it, and didn’t even bat an eye when I told him I was taking Peanut out for his birthday on Saturday. But Lolita was a different story — apparently she, too, was pissed off that I wasn’t spending enough time with her. Never mind the fact that I gave her full use of my guest bedroom, my bar, and my extensive wardrobe (wigs, makeup and props…anything she wanted)…plus I let her have my iPad for the week . That wasn’t enough for her, either — she wanted me all to herself.

Now, granted, I did have to work quite a bit while she was in town: Saturday and Sunday I had to work the annual Luis Miguel Mexican Independence Day concert (an affair which attracts thousands of wealthy Mexicans and is generally very lucrative). And Tuesday I had to drive out to Summerlin to do a faux-lesbo photo shoot with an aspiring Playboy photographer and another nude model (I have ZERO lesbian tendencies, so don’t even ask…I was doing it strictly for the ca$h). Then, Wednesday I had to drive out to Seven Hills to update my breath-holding/medical fetish website…so I was busy part of the time, but I still did a bunch of fun stuff with Lolita. To wit:

Monday night I invited my dear friend Michael Maze over to do a craaazy dress-up photo shoot party with us. Occasionally he’ll come over for an evening, and we’ll just go through my closet, coming up with bizarre outfits and shit to shoot…and I knew Lolita would love it. Indeed, we three spent a good 7 hours shooting, and then went out for late-night breakfast at the Peppermill afterwards.

The following day, my good friend Phil Connors (a writer for the local paper) and his friend Joe (the #1 Little Person in Vegas…he gets most of the work because the others are said to be alcoholics) invited us to come to the anniversary party for this awful topless revue. I thought it would be fun to a)guzzle free booze, b)nosh on free eats, and c)see the show for free. I figured Lolita would enjoy it, and indeed she did — in fact there was this ex-boy-band star at the party, and she seemed like she was having a pretty good time chatting with him.

Then Wednesday and Friday, we went out with J.R. for food, drinks and karaoke. All this time, J.R. paid for everything, so I didn’t see how Lolita could complain. But apparently J.R.’s slavish devotion to me rubbed her the wrong way…and who can blame her, really?

We started out Friday night eating some special cookies in J.R.’s room, and then went over to Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar” at Harrahs — a Red-State-Cholesterol-a-torium chain restaurant featuring delicacies like fried mac & cheese balls, fried baloney sammiches (with Miracle Whip) and fried Twinkies. After gorging on cheesburgers and sweet tea vodka out of a Mason jar, we limped next door to this karaoke bar at the Imperial Palace, where I blew everyone away with an extremely energetic rendition of KT Tunstall’s “Black Horse and the Cherry Tree.” Really, I actually brought the house down — I’m not the best singer, but I put on a great show.

Well, J.R. just couldn’t stop going on and on about how I was the best singer there, and I guess Lolita got sick of listening to him (like I said, who can blame her?!). But still, we all had a pretty good time..or so I thought.

The next day was Saturday, my date night with Peanut. J.R. busied himself gambling and boozing, and I arranged for Lolita to model for another friend’s fashion show, so they wouldn’t just be sitting around waiting for me. Peanut picked me up in the late afternoon, and we went to the movies and then dinner downtown at this artsy-fartsy little place called Bar+Bistro that has an awesome open-mic jam on Saturdays where all the artists and loonies get up and recite poetry and whatnot.

All through dinner he was distracted, dealing with a barrage of incoming text messages — for which he apologized repeatedly, but I don’t really take offense to that kind of behavior, being as I am addicted to my own CrackBerry anyway, and it just me more time to check my own Facebook and Twitter stuff! It WAS out of character for Sgt. Peanut, though, because he’s normally not a phone person at all — in fact he has this old-school, super-low-tech flip phone…which J.R.’s background checks revealed to be one of those untraceable, pay-as-you-go deals. But I didn’t think too much of it, as it was a beautiful evening, and we were sitting outdoors, drinking wine and enjoying dramatic readings from Shel Silverstein’s “Where the Sidewalk Ends” to the accompaniment of a jazz trio.

I wasn’t sure where the evening was headed — normally Peanut poops out very early, due to his early-bird lifestyle. He had mentioned maybe going to a party at the Kasidie Mansion (this private swingers’ party they have in Vegas), but then changed his mind and suggested hanging out at Bar+Bistro a while longer, then going back to my house to watch a movie. I was fine with that — even though it was Saturday night, I was FUCKING TIRED from keeping up with J.R. and Lolita all week, and an early night in sounded pretty good.

So I got a second glass of wine at the bar, and headed back outside to sit with Peanut and watch the open-mic shenanigans. He was still texting away, very out of character for him, and finally he said by way of explanation, “Sorry, my friend is having a life-or-death crisis…” to which out of politeness I replied, “Oh, well if you need to go be with him…go ahead, I don’t mind!”

I said this to be polite — really I was somewhat slighted that I had just taken him to a movie and dinner, and he appeared to be bailing on me already. But part of me also really didn’t care if he took off — as I said it was Saturday night, which I RARELY have off, and I had a few friends at the open mic jam that I wouldn’t have minded partying with. Plus, I figured I could use the opportunity to hang out with Lolita and have some one-on-one time with her — we’d been meaning to get dressed up in costume and go down to Fremont St. to hustle for tips!

Still, I was taken aback by how quickly Peanut jumped on the offer: “Are you sure?”

“Uhh…yeah! Yeah, totally!”

“Do you have a way to get home? I can give you a ride…”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” I reassured him. I figured Lolita or my roommate could give me a ride…or worst case, I could simply walk; my house is only about a mile from Bar+Bistro.

“OK, well, I feel really bad about this, but…we’re still going out Monday, right? I have something really cool planned.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure! No problem!” I gave him a hug and he took off, and I settled back with my wine to enjoy the show. I texted Lolita and she said she was on her way, so I figured everything was going to work out. Until…

This random Asian chick came up to me: “Are you Sarah?”

Now, people ask me that all the time, mostly because they’re Facebook “friends” who I’ve never actually met in person…so I wasn’t surprised. “Yes, I am! How did you know?!”

“I’m Peanut’s GIRLFRIEND!”

Uh-oh!!!!

I was shocked, and immediately expected some kind of Jerry Springer confrontation involving slapping, scratching and gouging. But this chick just looked sad…so I got up and sort of hemmed and hawed: “Holy shit! I’m so sorry…I had no idea!”

She gave me this giant bear hug and started crying, so I sort of led her away from the crowd, outside the bar area to the parking lot so we could talk. She told me she’d been dating him for 2 and a half years, but had recently suspected something was afoot, and had been texting him all night to find out where he was. Supposedly he told her he was “downtown” with some people she didn’t know — at first he told her they were hipsters, which since she hates hipsters he didn’t bother inviting her. Then he changed his story to say he was with some enlisted people from the military, with whom he wasn’t supposed to be consorting…which is why he didn’t tell her. She pumped him for details, and he came up with all these weird names: “Oh, I’m with Walter Jones and Barry Landis and Jane Kowalski (well, she’s about to get married so her name’s changing to Jane Nelson…” Blah blah blah, etc. etc. I guess she finally became suspicious enough that she got dressed and drove downtown to find him. Mysteriously, despite the fact that there are a TON of bars in downtown Vegas, she somehow picked the right one first, and was just walking into the bar when he came rushing out.

Supposedly she confronted him: “So are you going to introduce me to your ‘friends’?” To which he replied, “It’s no one you know! This is stupid…I’m not talking about this here!” He went and got in his car, and she followed, leaning her head in the passenger-side window to argue with him. He wouldn’t talk, though, insisting that they go back to her house and discuss the situation in private, “like adults.” So she faked him out by reaching for his keys in the ignition, and with his attention thus distracted, she grabbed his cell phone off the center console! He got mad and told her she was acting stupid, and that she should meet him back at her house to talk. He drove off, and she came into the bar and found me.

For the next 30 minutes or so we sat there commiserating — I’ll admit to shedding a few most un-wonderhussy-esque tears (hey, I really liked this guy!), but after her initial breakdown, the girlfriend became eerily calm, and began effusively praising and complimenting me: “If it makes you feel any better, I went straight to the best-looking girl in the room.” “You’re an amazing person!” “I’m so sorry you had to be involved in this!” I was taken a bit aback, since if I were in her shoes, I don’t think I’d be lavishing praise on the Other Woman. Still, everyone deals with crises differently…so I continued to sit and talk with her.

She told me that they’d met on a dating site, and he had really helped her through some dark hours — she’s been abused as a kid, and had all kinds of emotional trauma, and was suicidal for most of the time they dated, but he talked her through it all and now they were in couples counseling at a place right down the street from my house! They had even started talking about getting married and having kids, and Peanut was going to a doctor to get his sperm count checked because he’s “older” (44) and they wanted to be sure they could do it. Then she started telling me about her stripper past, and how she worked her way through law school to become a bankruptcy attorney…and she kept hugging me, and I started wondering why a virtual stranger would confide all this in a presumed enemy. I guess some people deal with stress that way?

Meanwhile, Lolita arrived, and I told her I was in the middle of something really bad and could she wait? She was mid-way through a cheeseburger anyway, so she parked her car and waited while I tried to wrap up the awkward situation I was in — I couldn’t just bail on this poor chick; despite her calmness she was pretty shaken up. To be honest, I had never allowed myself to become too emotionally invested in Sgt. Peanut, so after about 5 minutes I was pretty much already over him, and had decided to go home, put on my new Wonder Woman costume, and go downtown to booze and party all night with Lolita. I was just waiting for the right moment to break away.

Well, apparently it took too long, because by the time I finally managed to break away from my new best friend (seriously, we exchanged numbers because she could “tell” I was an amazing person and the only good thing to come out of this whole mess)…Lolita had left. I was still pretty shaken up, so I took this as another abandonment, and when I called her to see where she was, and she said “I got tired of waiting for you, so I went down to Fremont Street,” I FLIPPED OUT and cursed her out on the phone, and then hung up and started walking home.

She called me back and cursed me out in return for hanging up on her, and then told me she had “other things” she’d been wanting to talk to me about….so she came back, picked me up and started bitching me out for ignoring her all week. I couldn’t handle this on top of everything else that had just happened, so I just completely lost it and bawled her out, and even tried to hit her!! I NEVER hit anyone — it was totally out of character for me. But I guess I was more upset about the Peanut fiasco than I thought.

Anyhoo, I ended up getting out of the car, slamming the door, screaming “Fuck you!” and then I never saw her again — she came over sometime when I was gone and packed up all her shit and left. Arrrgh! This kind of Jerry Springer shit never happens to me…it was really embarrassing.

Fortunately, my new BFF texted me just then, to make sure I was OK. Again, I found it odd that she was so concerned with my well-being…but I told her my friend had just bailed on me, so she offered to come get me and drive me home. We ended up sitting in a 7-Eleven parking lot for around an hour, talking about Peanut while she went through his cell phone and found all these incriminating texts. She also found a bunch of naked pictures on there, which I didn’t think was such a big deal (obviously)…and one text message he had sent to another ex-girlfriend a day prior that said “My personal life is a shambles….it’s hilarious.” INDEED!

Then she started giving me legal advice on my house situation — apparently she’s a bankruptcy attorney, and has helped with many home loan modification mediation sessions, so she knew exactly what I should do — and that was walk away from the house, declare bankruptcy, and then buy a new house 6 months later. Sounds easy enough, but there’s a lot of other shit involved…and on top of what had just happened to me (remember, this was one of the very few guys I’ve dated that I really liked…so I was pretty disheartened), it made me just bawl my eyes out. Too much! I can’t handle all this shit at the same time!

Finally she drove me home, all the while chattering about what a great person I am, with so much integrity, and how she’ll help me with my house for free. It was kinda weird. We ended up parting ways with the vague intention to “get together over coffee” sometime, and then she drove off and I went inside, poured a plastic cup of wine, and headed out to walk around the neighborhood, think things over, and cry about the mess my life was in.

Honestly, I would have been OK if Lolita hadn’t bailed on me — I would have already been downtown, yukking it up in a Wonder Woman costume! But her abandoning me, and then all this house talk on top of it, had really put me into a desperate funk. I wanted to be alone and cry, so I ended up sitting in the alleyway behind this nearby church, drinking wine and crying and just sort of feeling sorry for myself. I Tweeted and Facebooked about my misery, and I guess Peanut read the update because he Facebooked me a few times: “Are you OK? You want me to come get you?” “Did my ex find you? This is insane!” I just deleted his messages.

The girlfriend and I had been comparing him to Christian Bale in “American Psycho –” good-looking, smart, calm and collected…but with a weird sex addiction and a double life. We figured him to be a total sociopath, and the more I think about it, I think he is! He’s very neat and organized, with a huge music collection of very anal-retentively organized CDs, and a log book in his car that he writes in every time he gets gas and changes his oil. Nothing wrong with that, of course (this coming from someone whose pantyhose are all individually bagged and labeled) — but when coupled with his crazy libido and cheating lifestyle, just seems kinda weird.

The girlfriend kept texting me throughout the night — supposedly he tried to break down her door, but she called the police, and she sent me a picture of the “broken down” door, which to my eye looked totally untouched. The more I thought about the whole thing, it all seemed weird…maybe she really was an ex-girlfriend who refused to let go. Either way, I found them both weird and creepy and unsettling, and I was kinda sorry she now knew where I lived! Oh, well.

I finally exhausted my tear ducts, went home and passed out — and, ironically, slept pretty well, despite all the stress and my personal history of insomnia! When I woke up, he had left my sweater on the front porch, neatly folded with a handwritten note inside: “I’m so sorry I involved you in all this. There’s an explanation, although I’d be surprised if you were remotely interested. You’re a unique and wonderful person and I hope you follow your dreams. It was a pleasure knowing you, even for such a short time.”

Well, sir! Good day to you, too! If there really was an “explanation,” you’d think he’d be frantically trying to contact me in every way possible to “explain….” To me, this just sounds like “Good bye, nice knowing you.” Aw, snap 🙁

Still, I’ve never been one to wallow in misery — I just got back into the Wonderhussy grind, heading up to Mount Charleston for a hike with J.R. (who, incidentally, didn’t gloat nearly as much as I’d expected). Mt. Charleston is just a 30-minute drive from Vegas, but it’s a world apart — 20 degrees cooler, totally Alpine and awesome. Check it out sometime — the lodge up there got a new chef, and the food is MUCH better than it used to be! After some nachos and a Nutty Irishman, I was feeling like my old self again. Pea-WHO?

I’m still sad, because as mentioned too many times already, I really liked this guy. I’ve always been wary with my emotions, and I expect I’ll be even moreso from now on, since nothing like this has ever happened to me! But, out with the old and in with the new. Wonderhussy’s back on the prowl, boys…lock up your sons.

Now, before I sign off, you’re probably wondering about this faux-lesbo photo shoot I mentioned earlier. I was contacted by this really cool traveling art-nude model named Jillian, a kind of spacey Bohemian-type blonde chick who asked me if we could work together sometime. I said sure, and before you know it she had booked us a gig with this aspiring Playboy photographer — an ex-military hardass who has taken many classes and seminars at Playboy Studios and has studied under Arnie Freytag (the guy who shoots the centerfolds for Playboy), and thus has all these tricks up his sleeve. It was supposed to be a lesbo shoot, but I told them both beforehand that I’m not comfortable doing anything erotic or pornographic…and they pretty much respected my limits. We shot a bunch of girl-girl caressing-type softcore, but it was still a little too porn-y for my taste. Still, he paid me ca$h money at the end of the shoot…and as long as Mr. JPMorganChase is happy, my personal discomfort means little.

The photos actually came out pretty damn good — the lighting and editing were really well done (kudos to you, Steve Ruegnitz!)…so naturally I wanted to share them with all my online friends. Since I didn’t have time to update my blog with all this other shit going down, I decided to post a couple on Google+ instead. I already knew they wouldn’t pass muster on Facebook (my Facebook profile has already been deleted TWICE for containing “inappropriate” material), so I figured I’d turn to the new frontier and test the waters.

Well, guess what: I’m officially ALREADY deleted from Google+!! I have to be one of the first people to have gotten suspended from there…which I guess is a badge of honor, of sorts. I’M SO SICK OF SOCIAL MEDIA CENSORING ME!  That was one of the reasons I started this site, in fact — as an UNCENSORED alternative to my beleaguered Facebook page. Unfortunately, I’m a total dumbass when it comes to web design, and I can’t seem to get this page looking the way I really want it. But fortunately, since my friend dumped me, my boyfriend disappeared and J.R. went home…I’ll have pleeeeeeenty of time to figure it out over the next few weeks. So be on the lookout for that!

One other thing I wanted to mention was my breath-holding/medical site update session — as mentioned, I went out there on Wednesday to film some new videos for the site (I get paid every time someone orders a clip, so it’s in my interest to update as often as possible). The guy who runs the site also runs sites for a buncha other chicks, so he’s got a full-on doctor’s office set up in his house, complete with super-expensive ultra-sound equipment and whatnot. Based on fan feedback, he comes up with new ideas from time to time for different scenarios to shoot, and this time he was shooting videos of fake doctor exams, where he puts on a white lab coat and pretends to “examine” the girls, who are all experiencing heart problems. I was supposed to act like I was having a heart attack, so that he could palpate me, listen in with a stethoscope, and look at my heart with his ultrasound device.

After that, he had another video idea for a different subset of his fans, who are into belly noises. Mostly those guys just buy the clips that show us recording our belly noises and stuff, but the new idea was to do a fake doctor’s exam like the heart-attack one, only this time pretending that I had a really bad stomachache. He did the same thing as the heart clip, only this time he ultrasounded my belly — and he told me that the previous week, he’d been doing this to one of the other chicks, and had discovered a fetus!!! She refused to believe him at first, but he pointed it out to her there on the screen — a little thing waving its little flipper arms, which means she had to have been at least a few months along…and I ask you, how the hell do you get THAT far along without realizing something’s up??? Denial!!!

Supposedly, he made her go out and get a pregnancy test…and then she refused to show him the results. He said she’s a full-time art-nude model, so she can’t afford to be pregnant and is probably just doing to deny everything… all the way to Planned Parenthood. Wow! I asked him if he saw anything unusual in my belly, and he said no…so at least I don’t have to worry about Sgt. Peanut having left me that legacy! A mini Christian Bale is allllllll I need to make my life more complicated!

Still…if I ever do get knocked up, I’ll be heading over to the medical fetish guy’s house at least once a week for a free peek at my fetus. That’s an invaluable tool to have at one’s disposal, eh??

Incoming search terms:

  • sexibl
  • nudemodels
  • sexibl com
  • sugarloli sexibl
  • magic lolita sexibl

Hustling!!

Arrrgh, I’ve been so busy this week that I haven’t had time to change my underwear, let alone update this blog! Basically, I returned from all the fun ‘n’ games at Burning Man and now have to pay the piper…i.e. work. Boo!!!

Fortunately for me, my “work” is usually fun(ish) stuff. Last week there was a PhotoShop convention in town, so a lot of photographers were in town and I did two hotel-room photo shoots in one day: first at THE Hotel, with a really nice man wearing jorts, who also appeared upon closer inspection to have fangs (yikes!)…and then a few hours later over at Treasure Island with another really nice guy who was sartorially and dentally unremarkable. Good times there.

Then this week I worked three days at a BORING-ASS SAP conference. For those of you fortunate enough not to be in the know, SAP is some kind of database management software that big corporations use to keep track of whose souls they’ve bought and sold. I remember using it myself way back in the mists of time when I worked as a cubicle-bot/galley slave at Adobe Systems in San Jose, before I broke free of the Man’s yoke and moved to Vegas. My name is NOT Toby!!!! My name is Wonderhussy!

Anyhoo, there was some big conference for SAP users over at the Palazzo, and I was hired to assist with the “fun” game they cooked up to keep people “engaged” and “educated” (ah, how I detest corporatespeak). I was working for one of my favorite companies EVER, the Go Game (thegogame.com) — these are the guys I do the teambuilding scavenger hunts for, where I play Agent Hotpants or the Bawling Bride. Anyhoo, this conference wasn’t QUITE as fun as one of the usual games…but it was still pretty good times. There was tons of fairly high-quality free food and drink, plus I got to wear an orange flight suit (that’s the Go Game uniform).

Aside from all THAT, I also had to put in a night working at the dreaded show of a certain well-known molesting magician over at the MGM Grand. This show used to be really good money back in the day, but the magician has weakened his once-mighty brand by a)doing too many damn shows (2-3 per day, 40 weeks a year!) and b)allegedly molesting some chick on his private island in the Caribbean. Alas, said magician has never once  tried to molest me…even though I met him a couple times and even assisted him in rehearsing a trick once. What am I, chopped liver?!

So it wasn’t much fun over there…although, by sheer coincidence, one of my friends from New York who runs the Underground Rebel Bingo Club just happened to be staying at the MGM that very night…so after work I went up to his room and assisted him with some promo videos he was trying to record for his Bingo events. If you haven’t heard of it, the Underground Rebel Bingo Club is sort of a subversive rave/party/obscene bingo game that took off in London and NYC…but when they tried to bring it to Vegas, it kinda fizzled. Vegas just isn’t ready for that kinda edgy shit…we like our tits and ass in a more prosaic setting.

Thankfully, I only had to work one miserable night of the molesting magician, and then it was that holiest of all high holy holidays, Mexican Independence Day. Now, many of you rubes might think that Cinco de Mayo is Mexican Independence Day…but Cinco de Mayo is just when they beat the French in some dumb battle. The REAL Independence Day is Sept. 14th, which is when they finally kicked the Spaniards’ asses out of Mexico and succumbed to the rule of the 12 wealthy families that run their country to this day…who are all ethnically Spanish anyway, but whatever! The important thing is, hordes of obscenely wealthy Mexicans flock to Vegas every year and blow MASSES of cash on stupid stuff like baccarat, scotch and souvenir photos…and I’m always there to assist. For the last several years the showroom where I work has booked a certain hotblooded Latino heartthrob to perform for the holidays, and this year was no exception. That guy really brings out the ballers! The men all wear their most expensive Brioni suits, and the women all cake on an extra 5 pounds of makeup (in addition to the 14 pounds they already wear for everyday life) and squeeze into their sluttiest bebe dresses in the hopes of attracting the eye of the Latin Lothario himself, who is known to be an insane womanizer. Seriously, the women literally throw themselves onstage at this guy, and it’s a RIOT to watch!

So those gigs kept me busy all week…but I was also on the lookout for future gigs. I’m always looking for more grist for the mill, so last night I went over and interviewed to be part of this guy’s foot fetish website. This ain’t your regular foot site — this guy started one of the very first foot fetish websites back in 2000, and it’s still going strong. He has his models dress up like superheroines and stuff, and then karate-chop each other in the face and whatnot for the enjoyment of the “fans.” Sounded good to me! He’s not shooting anything new til October, though…so I’ve got a while to wait.

Another future gig I’m pondering: my friend and fellow blogger Tatiana, from the Fargo Sisters (fargosisters.com), invited me to join her this winter on one of her kooky stripping expeditions to North Dakota or Alaska or some other remote part of the frozen tundra. This chick has a great business model: she heads out to the sticks, to some little town near a big mining operation or fishing town or someplace where there are a lot of men with a lot of money but no women… and then dances in the local titty bar for a few weeks or months at a time, until she gets bored or the well dries up. FUN! I’ve long thought about becoming a stripper, but I just don’t seem to have the guts to try it. YET! Who knows what the future holds? Wonderhussy in Winter — why not in Minot? What do you think?? Yea or Nay?

One other future adventure I’m planning for sure is Ye Olde Renaissance Faire. I’ve always been a fan of the costumed nerdiness of the Ren Faire, and last year I finally scored a long-lusted-after invite to the after-hours bash that all the Ren dorks hold after the fair closes to the public. I always WONDERED what kind of crazy shenanigans went on after all the moms and kids left, and all the creative anachronists could get freeeeeaky…well, last year I found out: they PARTY!! I went over there after work last year just in time for this big fireside bellydancing drum circle, and it was AWESOME! Alas, due to a noise complaint we had to quit about 15 minutes after I got there…but it was the best 15 minutes of my LIFE! I was swigging wine from a bottle and feeling fiiiiiiiiiine, until the Man showed up and ruined it all.

Anyhoo, this year they’re holding it farther out in the boonies, so maybe it’ll be a little wilder. Either way, I made sure to get in good with this kooky guy I know who’s in a pirate guild ( a group of hobbyists who dress up and talk like pirates in their free time), so that I can come along to the guild’s afterhours jamboree at the Ren Faire. A quick word about this guy: he is one of the BIGGEST NUTS I know…and that’s saying a lot! I met him at a photo shoot (he’s a photographer), and the first thing he did was bust out a giant black leather $500 horse-head mask, which he had me model for some extremely freaky photos. Come to find out he used to be an 8th-grade science teacher, but quit that nonsense to immerse himself in the Vegas party world…and pirate culture. Arrrrr!

So lastly, here’s a photo from the nude shoot I did a couple months ago with that swinger couple… remember? When they trucked me and a buncha naked models out to this fake ghost town in the desert?? Well, the photographer FINALLY sent me the pics, and they’re great — except for the minor fact that he DIDN’T PHOTOSHOP OUT MY TAMPON STRING!!!!  Seriously?!?!?!? He gets every dimple on the bimbo’s ass next to me, but misses my tampon string. Sheesh!!!!!!

Speaking of kooky nuts, this photographer actually reminds me quite a bit of that other kooky photographer (the pirate one) — this guy has a garage full of crazy wheeled conveyances and contraptions he’s built to get around Vegas; weird stuff like Pegasus Wheels and hang gliders and recumbent bikes. He tools around town armed with a can of wasp spray, which he prefers to pepper spray and mace because it has a far greater reach (it sprays something like 12 feet!). A total kook — but a fun one!

So anyhoo, that’s all for now. In other news, I FIIIIINALLY got an offer from my bank for a permanent loan modification…after 3 years of banging my head on the wall, crying, not being able to sleep, and generally gnashing my teeth and cursing fat capitalist pigs. But that’s not very sexy or glamorous to write about…so never mind! Forget I said anything! Carry on!!

Incoming search terms:

  • Brandi Bottoms
  • nudism
  • nudismlife
  • tampon string
  • nudist couple
  • Megan avalon nude pics
  • nudismlife com
  • phantasia nudes

Flashback From My 2001 Diary: Slot Machines in the Time of Strife

 

It being the 10th anniversary of Sept. 11th, I’ve been obsessively poring over all the photos and testimonials and stuff from that terrible day. And it made me think back to my own 9/11 experience…which was really lame and superficial. I had been living in Vegas for about a year, and had grown tired of it. I had just decided to move back to California anyway…when the attacks happened, and Vegas basically closed down.

Back in those days, I maintained a GeoCities blog called “The Scandalous Diary of a Vegas Playgirl.” I’m such an OG that when I started that site, the world “blog” hadn’t even been coined yet…so I called it my web diary. I updated it once a week from July 2000 until September 2004, and it was a truly fantastic chronicle of my move to Vegas and my subsequent adventures. Remember, I was a virginal teetotaler when I moved here…now look what’s happened to                                                                                  me!

Unfortunately, Yahoo! shut down my site because I violated their terms of service (who, me?!)…but when GeoCities folded back in ’09, the Internet Archive dredged most of it back up via the Wayback Machine. About 1/3 of it still survives here. It’s a hoot to look back on — I had a TON of crazy adventures back then…but amazingly, my adventures have continued to get even better since then. I’m not sure how this is possible, and if this trend will continue. Can my adventures just keep getting exponentially better? Only time will tell…but I’ll try my damnedest, you can be assured of that!

I have also dredged up some old photos to decorate this old blog post. Back then, I didn’t have a digital camera (?!?!?!?!?!), so my blogs were solid text. It’s amazing I had any readers at all! I did have a photo page on my site with some laughable “semi-salacious” photos of myself I had laboriously scanned in, to lure illiterate fans. (What did I know from salacious photos back then?!)

Anyhoo, enjoy this oldie, and please don’t judge me — this was TEN YEARS AGO. What the hell did I know? I make a couple of semi-racist asides in there about Arabs, but it was the national mood at the time, don’t ya know.

Slot Machines in the Time of Strife
diary for the week of September 14, 2001

Last week I was invited by one of my e-fans to come to this whacked-out pro-gun website, on account of my own pro-gun views.  To be polite, I went on over and posted a message in their discussion forum with a link to this page, and…

The next morning I couldn’t even access my own web page anymore!  This site was flooded with gun enthusiasts hoping for a peek at some luscious pro-gun booty!  There were so many visitors that GeoCities could not handle the pressure.  The switchboard got jammed or a fuse was blown or something, and when I tried to check up on the old home page all I got was an error message!

Boy, was I pissed.  I was thinking that I better just buckle down and start paying for space on a server for “sarrrahjane.com,” when — Hallelujah!

I don’t like to say that anything positive came out of this whole World Trade Center/ Pentagon mess, but at least it got those pro-gun wackos away from clogging my circuits.  I guess even they felt foolish ogling underdeveloped titty at a time of national crisis.

Speaking of national crisis, the state of affairs here in Vegas has been dismal.  On the first day of the “Attack on America” (TM) I was snoozing peacefully in my pink canopy bed when my mom called at 11:00am, alerting me to the news.  For the next 48 hours the TV and I were inseparable!  I didn’t have to work that night, but I did have a previously-arranged blind date… so around 10pm I dragged my ass off the couch and went down to Caesars Palace, to the hot new Shadow Lounge.  Driving down the Strip was wonderful.  First of all, the Stratosphere Tower and the fake Vegas Eiffel Tower were closed, because as everyone knows, both are major terrorist targets.  Then, all the casinos that had a heart (the MGM-Mirage-owned ones) had changed their giant TV screen marquees to read “GOD BLESS AMERICA” over the graphic of a proudly waving flag at half-mast.  All the others (Park Place- or Mandalay Resorts-owned properties) kept up their regular “98% payback!” and “$2.99 Steak and Eggs!” shtick.  Boo!  Hiss!  Where is patriotism, I ask?  The MGM was especially careful to show their patriotic colors because their president is an Arab fellow named Gamal Aziz.

Anyway, back to Caesars.  For those of you who are not in the know, the Shadow Lounge is the hot new bar at Caesars where they have sexy dancers contorting and cavorting behind screens, up behind the bar.  It’s a great place.  My date (the man who sent me a gift in exchange for the hot link photos) was a little late, so I whiled away the time chatting with a New York City man next to me who was “freakin’ out” about the day’s events.  It transpired that he had supplied much of the World Trade Center with its electrical wiring when it was first built.  He didn’t want to sound opportunistic, he told me, but “they’re gonna need a lot of new wiring when they rebuild that sucker…”  Seriously though, he was very upset, so much so that he had not even enjoyed that morning’s golf victory, where he had won $50 from his buddies.  He was now on his way to the Olympic Garden topless club, where presumably he could smother his troubles between the man-made mounds of a nubile young stripper.

Well, after my date, which was enjoyable enough, I had arranged to meet a girlfriend at Studio 54 for EDEN Night (every Tuesday they have this lame Industry night for dancers and performers in Vegas… it really is the best night to go to that club).  I thought it was kinda inappropriate to go to a club in a time of national strife, but I couldn’t reach my friend by phone and didn’t want to stand her up.  Anyway, the club was PACKED!  Today’s youth gives not a whit for terrorism.  I myself ducked out after 20 minutes to go home and watch more news, because I CARE.

Ever since then, Vegas has been in limbo.  The airports were closed, so no one could leave… and no fresh blood could come in for me to prey on.  So I made very little money the last couple of nights.  In fact, tonight I made $11, pre-tax.  No one is in the mood for overpriced souvenir photos!  Last night I was lucky — I ran into a jovial Arab and his girlfriend who bought $100 worth of photos from me, so I did OK.  But things are so bad that even David Copperfield has canceled his shows.  So I’m blowing town for a few days, going home to lie low in Cal for a while.  It’s my mother’s birthday tomorrow, so I’ll just surprise her by showing up.  I expect to return to Vegas by Tuesday.  Hopefully by then the nation will have forgotten the thousands of lost lives and crushed babies and will be ready once again to buy my overpriced souvenir photos.

Before the national Crisis, all was well in Vegas Towne.  Last Friday night it sounded like the opening line to a joke:

Don Johnson, Patrick Swayze and Alice Cooper are all at this titty show…

only it was no joke!  Actually, there was sort of a punch line: Patrick Swayze was in the booth next to Alice Cooper, and at the end of the show everyone MOBBED Patrick Swayze, and left Alice Cooper out in the cold.  Serves him right!  When I had asked him if he’d like photos, before he could say “Yes, please!” his bitch piped up: “NOT TONIGHT…”  Oh, well.  I just thought it would have been a cool surprise for the guy who prints out my photos — he’s a hard-core, old-school stoner.

My social life has also been a real whirl.  I went to see one of my girlfriends perform at this open-mike comedy nite down the street from where I live — whooo-eee!  I have never seen an odder assortment!  The host of the club was the frizzy-haired owner of a local hairstyling salon who is also in a ZZ Top cover band.  Enough said there!  The comics themselves ranged from the unsightly (this big fat guy who came up to me once at Barnes & Noble back in January and asked me for a date — and he remembered me!!!!) to the horrific — this one cab driver whose jokes were all sadistic necrophilia-type sex jokes delivered in a scary, pre-Kalashnikov-massacre monotone!!!!!!

Then the next day I decided to make a break from the freaks and indulge in some down-home American football. I went to both Sunday and Monday night games at this sports bar with a couple of girlfriends, and I spent a total of like $40 on potato skins and chicken wings!!!  Oy.  My one girlfriend brought her 2 kids with us on Sunday, and the really amazing thing was they wasted $20 on that stupid machine where you manipulate this grabber-claw and try to snag stuffed animals and stuff.  You know what I’m talking about!  Anyway, these kids were amazing!!!  I have *NEVER* seen anyone get *anything* out of one of those machines, and they got 3 stuffed animals plus a Phoenix Suns hat!!  Wow.

Then, looking for some peace and quiet, I went to the good old public library.  Wrong!  As soon as I pulled into the parking lot I was all but run over by a truck containing an excited man and his toddler son — he said it was his first day in town and he was so excited to have found the library!  Then when I got inside, I began the looong process of browsing around, looking for interesting books — but every aisle I went down, this one guy would follow me!!!!  I could tell he was working up his courage to ask me out, so I grabbed the 3 nearest books (2 of which I had already read!!) and busted a move to the checkout.

I did get a lead on a hot new job, though.  A friend of mine who is Thai said she used to work in Japan at this bar where Japanese businessmen pay big bucks to buy you drinks.  It costs them like $100 to buy one bottle, of which you keep $50 and the mama-san (boss lady) gets $50.  So you just bullshit all night, talking to the businessmen and secretly pouring your drinks down into this bucket under the table so that they buy you more!  I asked her if prostitution was involved and she said absolutely not.  So I may just jet off to Tokyo one of these days… as you know my days as a camera girl are drawing to an end.   I already gave my 2 weeks’ notice.

I was thinking back on some of my more memorable nights in the camera biz, and the Tom Jones show came to mind.  This one night there was this drunken-ass lady who kept giving me kisses on the cheek and telling me “Tell your Mom that a lady named Phyllis from Chicago thinks you are a really classy girl!  Tell her she did a grrrreat job raising you!”  She bought $100 worth of photos from me, so I was trying to be nice, but while I was talking to her I felt someone kicking my leg.  I thought it was the other camera girl in the showroom trying to tease me, but when I turned around it was this cantankerous old bitch hitting me in the back of the knee with her cane!!!  I was like, “What do you want, Miss?”
“WHERE WERE YOU when Paul Anka was here the other night????  He came over and sat next to me and sang in front of the WHOLE CROWD!!!!”

I told her, “Well, I’m sorry but we’re not allowed in the showroom once the show starts and besides, I don’t work the Paul Anka show…” but this old bitch didn’t listen, she just wanted everyone in the vicinity to know that she was “good friends” with Paul Anka.  She buys tickets to ALL his shows, but she buys ’em back in Long Island.  Like I care!

But it’s bitches like that, that will make me really miss my job.  You just watch, in a month I’ll be sitting slaving away in front of some corporation’s PC, and I’ll be PINING away for the glamorous camera girl job I once had…

[END OF OLD ENTRY]

After this entry, I drove to California to visit my family, and then moved from Vegas back to the Bay Area. However, it was so BORING (no one in my family ever wanted to do anything), that I sooned bailed on that and decided to move to Hollywood.

But I found L.A. overwhelming, expensive and impossible to park my ginormous 18-and-a-half-foot-long Lincoln…so I crawled back to Vegas, to suckle on the neon teat for another TEN FREAKING YEARS. Wow!

Return from Burning Man

Waaaaaaaaaaaah, Burning Man is over 🙁

I’m not the only one pissing and moaning about it — this week, many a dust-covered sparkle pony is lamenting their return to the “default world” (as Burners somewhat pretentiously call real life).  I can see being bummed out about having to return to a soulless desk job in some corporate behemoth somewhere…but even MY fabulous, entertaining life can’t compare to the no-holds-barred mayhem of the Playa. I miss it! Vegas simply cannot compare.

To recap: my sis flew down from the Bay Area on Saturday afternoon, so that I wouldn’t have to make the long, lonely drive alone. I picked her up at the airport, we packed up my truck with all my costumes, booze and assorted camping supplies, and then made one last Wal Mart run to buy a Bota Bag (wineskin) for her Greek Goddess costume…and then I went in to work one last miserable shift of souvenir foto hell at the theater where I work. Then first thing the next morning, we were off!

We left Vegas around the ungodly hour of 8:30am, and hurtled up the highway as fast as we could. The plan was to arrive at the gates around 6pm — they SAY they don’t open until midnight, but if enough overexcited jackasses show up, they open early…which is what happened last year, and which is why rule-abiding dumbasses like my sis and I got there too late to grab a good campsite (we were stuck waaaaay out in the boonies last year).

We planned on arriving in Fernley, NV around 2pm, and meeting up with our other camp mates at this awesome restaurant called the Wigwam, for one last cooked meal before we all headed to the gates together. Alas, however, our plans were waylaid by the fact that it took SIXTEEN HOURS for my brother-in-law and his crew to get from the Bay Area to the playa! That’s supposed to be a 5-hour drive, tops… but they had issues. First they had to stop and pick up some stranded French Burners whose RV had broken down…and then they had to stop in Reno for groceries…and THEN they could only drive 45mph because their RV was so heavy 🙁 One way or another, a 5-hour trip ended up taking them 16 hours.

Meanwhile, my sis and I traversed the ENTIRE state of Nevada in about 10 hours! No mean feat, considering that we stopped for gas twice, and blew out a tire once. Fortunately, the blow-out happened right after we had stopped to pee at a brothel/truck stop/convenience store in Amargosa Valley, where we met some European Burners who then pulled over to help change the tire. I was sweating balls, though, because I only had one spare — and it was old and crusty as hell (my trailer dates from circa 1985, and I’m sure the tires are just as old). We decided to slow down from 80mph to a more sedate 60mph…at least until we got to a town big enough to have a tire shop open on Sunday. And that’s no easy feat in central Nevada!

MEANWHILE, when we were about 2.5 hours out of Vegas, I suddenly remembered that I forgot to pack TWO VITAL COMPONENTS of my trip — possibly the two MOST vital components: my mirror (can’t get fabulous without one) and my mushrooms (I wanted to make a vegetarian pizza for my campmates, don’t you know). FUCK!

I considered turning back, but I was already 2.5 hours out — ARRRRRRGH! Thankfully, I remembered that my roommate was coming up on Wednesday…so I figured I’d just have her bring my stuff up, and I’d make do til then. But boy, was I pissed! After packing all that other dumb shit — to have forgotten the two most important things! Ever the optimist, I figured the good Lord was trying to tell me that I shouldn’t worry so much about my appearance, and that I should sober up — but then I remembered that I don’t believe in the Good Lord, and that I was just fucked, plain and simple.

Thankfully, we made it up to a decent-sized town (Fallon, NV…a creepy little town that’s home to a Naval Top Gun flight school, and which is also home to seriously poisoned groundwater that causes leukemia, so don’t drink the water) without incident, and I was able to buy two new tires at the Wal Mart while my sis stocked up on last-minute groceries (although they were sold out of water, booze and limes). From there, we made it up to the gates of Burning Man by around 7pm — and shockingly, traffic was pretty thin! It was still light outside, so we figured we’d have plenty of time to get in and find a good spot.

WRONG! Despite the “thin” traffic, we ended up sitting in gate traffic for 2.5 HOURS! I guess they had to do an extra super duper hardcore job of searching everyone’s trailers on the way in, to make sure no one was trying to smuggle anyone else in, since this was the first year the event sold out and there were a million pissed off, panicking hippies who were desperate to gain ingress by whatever means necessary.

Since we were just sitting there, we decided to start partying anyway and mix a drink — but we had to be careful, since the po-po were EVERYWHERE this year! They were ready to bust you for the slightest little thing, too — one Burner I spoke to said the cops caught them sparking up a joint, and they were fined $500 and had all their weed confiscated. Seriously?! Here we are, traveling waaaaaaay out into the farthest reaches of No Man’s Land…and we STILL can’t have a little fun? It’s not like we’re lighting up across from an elementary school in downtown Des Moines, for Chrissakes!

I was in kind of a foul mood by then, due to all the beer-swilling mookish jackasses in line around us — exactly the kind of frat-assholes I despise, but unfortunately they dig Burning Man, too. Plus, the asshat “Greeter” who let us in was kinda snarky to me, so when I finally entered the vaunted gates I was in a pretty shitty mood. Nevertheless, we cruised in and found a decent spot along Hajj road between 8:15 and 8:30 (the roads are laid out in a half-circle, lettered A-H going outward, and intersected by roads numbered like a clock, from 2-10). We had to save a pretty big spot, not only for our Bay Area peeps but also for some friends from Vegas who were coming up later in the week…but we found a suitable place, set up my camper, and waited for the Bay Area contingent to arrive.

Unfortunately, the only music I had on my iPad was mellow, sleepy-time music…so after a cocktail or two, my sis passed out curled up in my pink fur coat, and I gave up shortly thereafter and went to sleep myself. The rest of our crew rolled in around 3am, and I vaguely remember my sister’s husband yelling “HAPPY BURNING MAN” in my ear, which I did my best to ignore and went back to sleep. Then in the morning, we set up camp.

In all, it was my sis and I, plus her husband and about a million of his crazy Israeli friends. As mentioned in my last blog, many Israelis are no-goodniks referred to as Shimonim — basically loud, aggressive, white-trash freeloaders. Well, our original crew was solid — my brother-in-law, his good friend, and a married couple they knew… but over the course of the week, some very sketchy Shimonim drifted in and camped with us, uninvited! WTF?! Apparently, the one guy wasn’t really a “shimon,” but just more of a “lab-lab…” basically a useless deadweight as opposed to a malicious freeloader. But the rest of ’em were MOOCHES! They ate ALL MY MUSHROOMS, the fuckers! So I wasn’t even able to make a pizza!

Aside from the Shimonim, everything was great. Our camp setup was solid, our drinks were good and the weather was great. After setting up, we proceeded to get drunk — and stayed that way for the next 7 days! It was FABULOUS!

Rather than blather on and on about how fabulous the art was, I posted all my photos here, so you can check ’em out for yourself. I also took a few videos and posted ’em here, so you can see even better what kind of nuttiness goes on up there!

Suffice it to say, I rolled around all week in various dusty states of undress, in varying degrees of altered consciousness, with swamp ass and a fierce buzz. I intended to do a few photo shoots up there with some photographers I’d contacted prior to the event…but I was just too out of it to get it together. I did do one shoot with a group of photogs from Arizona who I met in Center Camp one day…but other than that, I just ran around in fabulous outfits, looking at fabulous art and having a fabulous time.

One afternoon I was riding along in my boots and pasties, when I ran into the annual Critical Tits parade — a very popular event at Burning Man where hundreds of topless women ride bikes through the city. Since I was there anyway, I joined the parade…and the route took me past a bodypainting booth that had a painting of me on the side!! Come to find out, the artist was some guy from Vegas who had seen my pic on some website, and was inspired to paint it. When I told him it was ME, he said, “You’re Wonderhussy?!” Right on, bro! You bet your sweet bippy I’m Wonderhussy! It was fabulous — since I didn’t create any art myself this year, I felt somewhat validated to have contributed in even this small way.

Now aside from  riding my bike around by day, I also partied by night. I’m not a big druggie, so I didn’t go balls out (much to the dismay of my camp-mates)…I slept fairly well in my cozy trailer, and didn’t eat or drink toooooooooo much. I did have a couple of benders, however: Wednesday night there was a big Infected Mushroom concert out on the playa, and being that I was camped with a bunch of Israelis (Infected Mushroom is some kinda weird Israeli electronic music group), we all simply HAD to fire up and go. I didn’t much care for the music, though (it was very aggro), so I wandered off and found my own party dancing at a bad-ass solar-powered art car that was decorated to look like a taco truck! Apparently the DJ knew me, but I was so out of it that I didn’t fully recognize him and just kept dancing like a madwoman in my all-white Madonna-meets-Dr Zhivago ensemble (the Infected Mushroom concert was supposed to be a White Party, so we wore all white). Goooooooooood times! I danced until around 6am, then crawled into my cozy trailer bed and tried to sleep for a few hours. I wasn’t much good the next day, however 🙁

The second bender I went on was even better! There’s nothing I love like a good drum circle, and there was a big one at the Temple at sunset on Friday. I got there early and nabbed a good spot atop a sort of platform, and proceeded to dance and drum like a RAVING METH-HEADED LUNATIC for three solid hours!! I swear to you, I have rarely if EVER had that much fun!! I didn’t feel like lugging my drum all the way out there (the Temple is located way out in the Deep Playa), so I just brought one of those fake drum heads you use for practice, and banged on it with one of those little bellydancer cymbals that fits over your finger with a piece of elastic. It made a great sound, plus I could “diiing” it on the rim of the drum head for extra effect. I went APESHIT with that rig!

Around 150-200 people ended up joining in the drumming: drummers and didgeridoo-ers and dancers and trancers; all manner of blissed-out hippies came from far and wide across the playa to join in the jubilation. Better yet, that mystical little man showed up — you know, the one I wrote about last time… the little man who appears at every drum circle, at every Burning Man! He’s about 4 feet tall, and wears Birkenstocks and a blissed-out expression as he dances amidst all the drummers. I was really hoping to see him this year, and I was sooooooo excited to spot him that I finally worked up the nerve to introduce myself. As with all mystical legends, however, he couldn’t live up to his reputation — he’s from L.A., and had a very pedestrian California accent. I guess I was expecting him to be Finnish or Icelandic or something and sound more like Björk. Still, he was SUPER cool!

Alas, I have no photos from the actual drum circle because the rest of my crew blew off the drums in favor of this dumb Trojan Horse party they were having nearby — some asswads built a full-scale Trojan Horse from wood, and then all these nuts dressed up like Greeks to tow it out to the playa and then burn it. The party ended up being lame, though, so my crew came and found me at the Temple after all, and we ended up having a fabulous evening dancing on various art cars on the playa. This one car in particular had a trampoline in the middle, which was fan-fuckin’-tastic…and another one was built to look like a hillbilly front porch, complete with pickin’ and grinnin’ grannies. *F*U*N*!

From there, we wandered on and stumpled upon this SICK-ASS performance by a crazed marching band who were playing dubstep, while half-naked weirdos spun fire out front and a hundred whacked-out dubsteppers danced on a double-decker art bus in the background, putting severe strain on the shocks of that poor bus. After that, it started getting really cold…I was fine, since I was wearing this ginormous fur coat I bought at the St. Vincent de Paul warehouse in downtown L.A. and then dyed pink, but my sis was freezing so we made our way back to camp.

Speaking of the cold, the weather was pretty good all week (except for a few dusty white-outs on Tuesday) and it didn’t get too hot during the day — only in the 90s. But nighttime was a different story! Our camp had the idea to dress up like Arabs, or Bedouins more precisely, and head out to the remotest corner of Deep Playa late one night, where we would set up a little stove and serve Turkish coffee to passers-by. But the weather was so freaking cold that we never really got around to it — we sort of half-assedly did it in the street in front of our camp, but that was all.

The week passed waaaaay too quickly, and before you knew it it was time for the big Saturday night burning of the Man. I’m not a fan of this rigamarole — just a crowd of drunken idiots yelling and hollering and pissing on the playa — so one of my campmates had the awesome idea of just climbing up on to the roof of his RV to watch from a distance. We lugged lights and cushions and drums up there, and had a little party with just our camp peeps. It was great!

The next day, Sunday, was the day they burn the beautiful Temple. This was to be even more poignant this year, since my dad had killed himself back in April and my sis and I made a little memorial for him and hung it up in one of the Temple rooms — and it would have been most cathartic to watch it all burn away. HOWEVER, my lame-ass camp mates had to be back at work by Monday…which meant they all left Sunday afternoon!!! I thought about staying on alone, but it just seemed too lonely and depressing. Besides, I didn’t relish the thought of sitting in traffic for 5 hours with everyone else — I figured leaving early, before the temple burn, would mean less traffic. Which it did — it only took 2 hours to get out, and I met up with my campmates in Fernley, NV for a delicious cheeseburger meal before we went our separate ways. Then they turned west toward the Bay Area, and I continued south toward Vegas…alone, since my sis went back with them.

I was feeling pretty good on the way home, although a bit pissed that I was leaving so early for no reason (I didn’t have to be at work til Weds. night)… so I decided to take ‘er easy and mosey along back at my own pace. I was so dry and dusty that I turned off at Walker Lake — this ginormous, beautiful lake in the middle of nowhere — to get my feet wet and maybe swim a little. HOWEVER, come to find out the water is very alkaline (super salty and stinky) and there are unexploded munitions on the shore…so you must bathe at your own risk! Still, I waded in a little and had my fun…but when I tried to leave, my truck got stuck in the sand! Two English Burners who had also stopped tried to tow me out, but it was no use…I was totally buried. I had to call a tow truck driver from nearby Hawthorne, and all in all it added 2 hours to my already 10-hour trip. I finally rolled into Vegas at 3am, dusty, bruised, scratched, banged up…and exhausted!

So, now I’m back in the “real” fuckin’ world. Waah waah, poor me — it could be worse! Check this shit out: a friend of mine left Burning Man on Tuesday morning, headed for Yosemite. On the way he stopped for breakfast at an IHOP in Carson City…and before he knew what was happening, some jackass with an assault rifle busted in and started shooting people up!!!!!!! It was all over the news — at least 4 dead, and several more injured. Talk about a welcome back to reality! Thankfully my friend managed to escape safely…but his trip was kinda ruined after that brush with mortality. Crazy, huh??!!?

Anyway, all this confirms my longstanding belief that one must live every day as if it were the last. I feel like I’ve been slacking in the adventures department lately…so now, it’s ON! Watch out, Vegas….here I come!

 

Incoming search terms:

  • burning man porn
  • nude burning man
  • can you drive to the boonies at burning man