Covered in Warm, Melty Peanut Butter

I thought I was done with the porn convention when I left that late-night BDSM afterparty up in the Hard Rock penthouse early Sunday morning. WRONG! Apparently, there were a few stragglers left in town…so I was able to pick up a little extra work on Monday in the form of a suuuuper-fabulous

One of my enterprising new girlfriends needed a last-minute replacement to join her in a foot fetish video she was shooting for some website out of SoCal, so of course I said yes. Foot fetish is easy stuff — usually just having your toes sucked by some professional loser (yes, there are guys who perform as the “loser” for a living…and who really enjoy their work!). pic by Deep ExposureShe didn’t have many details, so I just threw some sexy stockings and hi heels and whatnot in a bag, and made my way over to the Alexis Park Resort, where the shoot was taking place in one of the rooms at that esteemed property.

It turned out to be fairly straightforward, easy work: the conceit was that my friend and I were bitchy sorority girls hanging out in our hotel room, getting ready for a hot date with some frat boys. I call the front desk to demand they send up a bartender to mix us our drinks, so they send up this shlubby room service attendant, sweating profusely, who nervously makes us drinks which we promptly spit in his face, telling him they are TERRIBLE and that he’s a total loser, and we’re gonna call the front desk and report him to the manager unless he worships our feet!

So then about 10 minutes of garden-variety foot worship follow, with the poor shlub licking our shoes and stockings and stuff, and then finally we invite him to be our sorority houseboy — IF he can handle us kicking him in the balls a few times each! (This is all per the script, such as it was…I’m a lover, not a fighter, and I don’t like hurting people, even when they profess to enjoy it).

So the poor idiot gets down on the ground, and I kick him. “CUT!!!!!” Apparently I fucked up: “You have to REALLY kick him — HARD!” “Oh…OK.” Take 2: “BAM!!!” Then my girlfriend: “BAM!!” “CUT!! Hey, would you girls be OK if he took his pants off…so the fans can see that he’s not cheating by wearing a cup or anything?”

pic by Deep Exposure“Uhhhh…sure!” I did something similar to this once, where the guy only wore boxer briefs…so I assumed this would be the same thing. Camera rolling, I tell him “If you want to be our houseboy, loser, you better take your pants off so I can make sure you’re not cheating and wearing a cup!!” And ON CAMERA, he took off his pants AND his underwear!!!


I swear, I will never forget the sound of that poor guy’s nasty-ass dangling nutsack whapping against the shiny black patent leather toe of my high heel. *Shuddddddder!* So we each kick him a couple more times, and then step over his prone figure as we head out to our “hot date” with the frat boys. Goooooooooood times — and easy money. If not somewhat grosser than my normal work. (I assure you, I went home and boiled those high heels!)

wamorama.comSo, right after that shoot I headed across town to the west side, to shoot a clip for, which is a Wet and Messy site featuring girls being covered in slime, goo, chocolate, etc. I had run into the producer of this site at the AVN Expo (when I was doing my angel wings thing) and he asked if I’d be OK being covered in peanut butter for a clip. YUM!!! Say no more, boss — I’m there!

So I go over to the condo where this guy does his shoots — bare bones decor, except for a kiddie pool surrounded by video and lighting equipment. He microwaved a gallon or so of creamy peanut butter, and I sat in the kiddie pool in a lovely bra and panty set, and proceeded to schmear the warm, melty peanut butter allllll over my skin — face, too!! Everywhere that wasn’t covered by the bra and panties (he did allow me to spare my hair, thank Dog).

Then I peeled off the bra and panties, revealing a bare-skin “tan line” that apparently really sets off the wet and messy fetishists. But I soon smeared the peanut butter all over that, too…so soon, I was totally covered in warm, melty peanut butter. YUM!!

wamorama.comNext, I grabbed one of those jumbo-sized Hershey’s chocolate syrup bottles, and proceeded to pour THAT all over atop the peanut butter. Normally, there is no dialogue in these clips…but for this one, he wanted me to say, ‘Ooops! There’s chocolate in my peanut butter!” LOL! I’m sure there’s a SAG award in my near future for that.

Finally, the producer poured a second jumbo-sized bottle of Hershey’s all over me — hair included — and then finished it off with about 5 tubs of Cool Whip. TRIPLE YUM!!! O my god, I love all three of those things, especially together. It was so hard not to lick it all off myself, but I maintained my professionalism, haha. Incidentally, the clip isn’t up on his site yet, so I don’t have any screen grabs to show you yet. These pics are from another shoot I did with him, last year.

Anyhoo, after the Cool Whip pies were thrown at me, I rubbed it all in, allllll over my body, and then rolled around in it like a piggy, for good measure. And that was it! The easiest money I ever made — until it was time to wash it off. O…M….G — you try washing off a gallon of peanut butter!! I was in that shower for 45 minutes, scrubbing and scraping and finally using dishwashing soap to cut thru the peanut butter. But I got it all off, and was none the worse for wear. They say peanut oil is good for the skin 🙂

So after that, the porn people scurried out of Vegas, back into their caves in the San Fernando Valley, and Vegas settled back down to normal. Well, as normal as it gets around here. I tried to have a nice, highbrow night of intellectual stimulation by going to the new Smith Center to hear a talk by Ray Kurzweil (a futurist who is always preaching about the Singularity — a time when technology will overtake human ability, and man and computer will become one…projected to occur around 2047, if current trends continue).

The Smith Center is Vegas’s classy new performance arts venue — a shwanky art-deco behemoth downtown by the railyard, home to bourgeois PBS-style affairs like Itzhak Perlman concerts and David Sedaris readings. You know…white people heaven. They also showcase a lot of low-brow dreck masquerading as high-brow art in the form of my most loathed of all art forms…Broadway musicals (SHUDDDDDER) (yes, Broadway musicals make me shudder even more than the sound of a bare nutsack slapping on the toe of my shoe).

Aaaaaanyhoo, this night it was featuring a talk by Ray Kurzweil, and every futuristic nerd, atheist and science dork in Vegas was in attendance (along with some season-ticket-holders who looked disgruntled and bored throughout the talk, like they were waiting for Kurzweil to break into song and dance and were confused when he did not) (I can see it now: “SINGULARITY! The Musical”). I got there before my friends, so hung out in the lobby watching wave upon wave of earnest, tweedy white people come pouring in. Bow ties! Wool! Beards!!! I myself bucked the trend by going commando and wearing fake eyelashes (I had a photo shoot scheduled immediately afterward)…but I still felt like a pretentious twat, truth be told. I have problems taking stuff seriously! class in a glass

The best part about the performance (other than Kurzweil and his kooky ideas, which I wholeheartedly endorse and take great comfort in) was the fact that the bar serves wine in these classy little sippy cups! (I jacked a couple for future use at Burning Man.) Also, the box seats (where I was sitting) have these little order forms for Intermission, so you can get your drink orders in ahead of the crowd and keep your buzz going. Is this commonplace at performing Arts venues? Or are we in Vegas just total degenerate boozers???

After the talk was over, my friends were all headed downtown to the trendy East Fremont district for Thai food and cocktails, and I would have loved to have kept up the classy vibe and joined them…but alas, I had this nude photo shoot to get to down on Boulder Highway. If you know anything about Vegas, you know that Boulder Highway is about as far from the Smith Center (geographically and culturally) as it gets — so my foray into the classy life ended prematurely, as I slunk back to my truck and hauled ass across town to a motel room, where a photographer awaited with a fox tail, which he stuck it to my ass with rubber cement, and photographed me romping around nude, furry-style. !!!! The photographer actually turned out to be a very nice man, and he even took me out for dinner at the finest bar on Boulder Highway afterward…so there, East Fremont!

Now, speaking of East Fremont, this is a part of downtown Vegas that is being gentrified to cater to hipsters: there’s still good old Fremont Street proper, with its garish neon canopy, legions of crack hos, drunks, costumed street performers and winos….but if you walk too far east, toward where it turns into (of all things) Boulder Highway…they’ve started renovating it, with all these trendy bars and food trucks and whatnot. I’m on the fence: I live downtown, so it’s in my best interest to clean up all the crime and grunge and stuff…but on the other hand, I like the grunge, and I don’t want to live in Portland, OR or San Francisco! It’s the eternal dilemma for someone like me: I’m basically a hipster who insists that I’m not a hipster!!!

So the other night, I had a date with a guy I’ve known for quite some time, and we agreed to meet up at this new bar that just opened down there, Commonwealth. I’d been eyeing this new spot suspiciously ever since it opened — the facade screams pretentious hipsterville, and there’s even a velvet rope and some mookish bouncers out front. (You never used to see that shit downtown — downtown used to be the refuge from shit like that, which was confined to the Strip.) But, I was curious…and I heard it had a really badass rooftop patio with hot drinks (I love hot cocktails)…so I gave it a chance.

Here is the link to my Yelp review of the place. SHOCKER! I didn’t care for it!! I found it overpriced, pretentious, and full of people who were trying too hard. (Yes, yes, I know…I am one of them). Plus, it was really loud in there, and I really strained my vocal chords just trying to carry on a convo with my date — which was a shame, because he had some really interesting stuff to tell me. Worse, the rooftop patio was closed for indeterminate reasons, and they weren’t serving anything off the hot menu. BOO! I settled for a specialty drink they call The Dude Abides, which is basically a jazzed-up White Russian with a bourbon-infused cherry garnish…which they forgot to put in the damn drink. And they call themselves mixologists?! I would have been better off across the street at the good old El Cortez, where I’d have paid half the price and been able to carry on a conversation, while being comfortably surrounded by degenerate gamblers and bluehairs instead of twee dickheads in ascots and Morrissey glasses! Caveat Hussy!!

The only good thing about Commonwealth, in my opinion, was the DJ — instead of your typical douchewad, he looked like a child moslesting children’s party clown. Yay for busting stereotypes!!

deep creek hot springsAaaanyway, after all that Vegas nonsense, I figured it was high time I got out of town and out into my beloved Mojave Desert, which I haven’t been doing enough of lately. A new friend of mine invited me to check out these hot springs down near Hesperia, CA…and they are fantastic!!! Click here to see my Facebook photo album of the trip. Basically, you drive down the 15 from Vegas for about 4 hours to Apple Valley, just outside Victorville, and follow a dirt road out to this guy’s private ranch, where you pay $5 to park at the trailhead (you can go a different way that is free, but then it’s an EIGHT MILE walk to the hot springs, so just choke up the cash, I say). Then you walk down a sandy trail into this valley, for about two miles, at the bottom of which are the hot springs, in a BEAUTIFUL natural setting. I love natural hot springs — none of that resort shite for me!

The best part about this hike is…to get to the springs, you have to wade across this FREEEEZING icy-cold river that separates the springs from the trail. There’s no two ways about it — you just sack up and ford the fucker! The day I went out there it was in the 30s, and there were still patches of snow on the ground…so the water was reeeeeally cold, but I did it anyway. My legs and feet were burning by the time I got to the other side, but thankfully the hot springs are right there, and you can jump in and warm up quick. We spent about an hour or so soaking in the various pools, chatting with the other hippies and oddballs out there. Come to find out, unlike other hot springs, there are no flesh-eating bacteria in these waters, and you can drink them right from the source! They say there are trace amounts of lithium in the waters, so if you drink it, you get an extra boost of happiness. I took a few sips, but I was already so stoked to be out in the desert on a beautiful Monday afternoon when all the working shlubs of the world were sitting at their desks, that it didn’t help much 🙂

Anyway, after about an hour, the sun was starting to go down so we figured we’d better bite the bullet and get back out into the cold, ford that fuckin’ freezing river again (this time, no hot springs waiting on the other side), and hike back up to the car. There is a beautiful sandy beach down by the springs, perfect for an overnite bonfire…but camping is not allowed 🙁 BOO! Now that the weather’s starting to get nice again, I have a major itch to go camping again!

Here’s a video of me fording the stream on the way back:

BRRRRRRR!!!!! It took about an hour to hike back up the two miles to the car (not crazy-steep; my friend has asthma and he was able to do it), and then at the top one of the guys from the springs was playing his ukelele in the parking area, watching the sunset. Fabulous!!!! I love shit like that!! 🙂 What a great day.

Meanwhile, back in Vegas, all the usual shit went on. I did a photo shoot at the MGM Grand one afternoon, but this time not as the model — as a stylist!! Someone had contacted me on Yelp asking if I knew any photographers who could do a pinup-type boudoir shoot in their room, and if I could come along with some of my costumes and props and whatnot to help out. I hit up my friend Billy Ward, and it was fantastic!! We had so much fun — I helped the model curl her hair and figure out her wardrobe, then helped with posing…and even jumped in a few of the pics as a second model, haha. Good times! If you are coming to Vegas and this sounds like fun, hit us up — we’ll come to your room, at your convenience, with lighting and everything, and you’ll get some badass professional-quality images for your trouble. Our rates are very reasonable!

Then another night, I came home after working at the nightclub, and recorded this little gem. Just for fun!! I was trying to go for a creepy Miss Havisham-y vibe…but at least you can see the fabulous costume I wear for work:

Also, my alter-ego/boyfriend Johnny Areola got a hair up his ass!!! It seems he was fooling around with me one night, and found an RFID chip planted in my ass…and now he’s wise to what’s going on: OBAMACARE is taking over the nation! Damn Socialists are trying to turn us into a nation of pansies, etc. etc. etc. He got all riled up, changed his name to Johnny Freedom, and started cleaning his guns and listening to AM talk radio all day. Now he won’t shut up about the Second Amendment, deer, home intruders and tyrannical governments. It’s a riot!! You should follow him on Facebook, if you want to keep up with his cray-cray antics. Gooooooooooood times




Finally, here’s an oldie but a goodie. I can’t remember if I posted this pic at the time, but about 6 months ago the idiots I used to work for at the photo company accidentally cut me this ginormous paycheck, LOL! I am an exceedingly honest person, so of course I turned right around and went in to inform them of their error…but they were total assholes about it, and made me take the pic down from Facebook and everything. So now that I don’t work for those fuckers anymore…here it is!!!!! Fuckers!!!!! I wish I had cashed it….I’d be on a beach in Mexico right this very moment.

Oh well.

Incoming search terms:

  • peanut butter wam
  • peanut butter fetish

Sucking Adventures From the Teat of Life

Early January is always the shittiest time of the year for me, because of one thing:







(That’s supposed to be misery, fatigue and boredom emanating from the letters.)

That’s right, the Consumer Electronics Show is the biggest trade show of them all, and every freelancer with a vagina (and many without) within a 100-mile radius is sucked into its gaping fluorescent-lit maul, in one capacity or another –usually to shill for some shitty product or another by luring unsuspecting geeks into booths, suites and exhibits to look at and lust after the latest lamentable planned-obsolescent gadgetry.

pic by Garrett WinslowIt’s a HUGE production, staged at great cost to the exhibitors, and is traditionally a great boon to our local economy. Not only does Vegas get to gouge the 100,000+ attendees to the tune of $12 beers, $400 hotel rooms and $50 long-haul cab rides all week long…but us Vegas gash also gets a piece of the pie. Since CES is by and large a sausagefest, most companies hire T&A to stand around their booths, hold their signage at the airport, and even to come mingle at their after-hours receptions. It’s a great time to have a vagina…I guess.

Now if there are two things I hate in this world, they are 1.) getting up early and 2.) businesswear — and alas, CES demands both. In addition, there’s the insane traffic, the parking nightmares, and the extreme fatigue since I usually have two or more jobs going at once during that week. In other words… FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS!

Since it’s only a four-day show, I usually just suck it up and deal with it…although the dread of CES week starts creeping into my life shortly after Christmas. I hate it that much.  Yet, as a full-time freelancer, I feel unable to turn  it down, since it’s usually a pretty good chunk of change.

YAWN!Speaking of which: people are always asking me, as a booth hostess, how much money I make. Answer: not enough! It seems like a really easy gig: stand around looking cute all day. But that’s not all there is to it, lemme tell ya!! First off, looking cute at 8am is a real chore, and maintaining cuteness under the harsh glare of fluorescent lighting in a freezing-cold expo hall for 9 hours is even harder! Then there’s the fact that standing in one place doing nothing is perhaps the hardest thing  on Earth to do without one’s brain breaking. Some clients give you busy work, like, “Hand out these light-up dice!” which at least gives you something to focus on, and takes your eyes off the clock. But I’ve had other gigs where I literally did nothing but hold a sign all day, while trying to look cute and alert….and that is torture! Then, at the same time, many clients expect you to memorize their whole sales spiel and to really care if Joe Laptop buys 10,000 units of their 2013 Widget, and make you feel guilty if they’re not making their sales goals for the show. Because I am a conscientious person, this last one gets me every time. I can’t tell you how many sad-sack Willy Lomans I’ve worked for — and bled for, in my heart.

pic by Paul Whiteman for Cashman ProBack to how much I make: I’m going to name numbers here, because people are always asking this — clients and fellow models alike. Typical booth model pay varies, but is usually either a day rate of between $150-$400, or an hourly rate from as $15-$40 (I’m sure there are higher and lower extremes, but these are the averages). If you hire a model thru an agency, expect to pay around $400 a day — of which the model gets anywhere from half to 3/4. I did one show in October that they billed the client $350/day, of which I got $245.

If you don’t want to mess with an agency, you can just book some random chippy off craigslist…and that’s usually the $150/day or $15/hour end of the spectrum. For your savings, you risk having a crackhead show up…or worse, having no one show up at all. At least with an agency, they can send a replacement!

Here is my personal CES history:

  • 2000: Before I moved to Vegas, I worked as a secretary for IBM in California, and they brought me out to Vegas one year as the receptionist for their booth. I think I used to earn $13/hour, plus they paid my hotel, airfare, meals and expenses. Since I was not hired specifically for the show, this doesn’t really count…but it’s interesting to note the price point.
  • 2005: client was Sirius Satellite Radio. I was booked thru an agency, and made $17/hour to stand in the lobby of the Bellagio and hold a sign all….day….long (to point clients in the right direction of Sirius’s meeting rooms).
  • 2006: client was Imation. I was booked thru an agency, and made somewhere around $250/day…for the same basic sign-holding shtick, only this time, I got to escort clients up to the meeting rooms instead of just stand there all day. I remember it being like a 12-hour day with very few breaks, though — that’s another thing; as a 1099 employee, I guess labor laws don’t apply, so you don’t always get a 15 every 4 hours nor an hour lunch every 8 hours. And that can be a HUGE deal when wearing high heels on a marble floor all day!
  • 2007: client was Netgear. This was a great gig, thru an agency — I made about $240/day, got to SIT at a reception desk, wearing a cozy Netgear sweater, handing out light-up Netgear dice. CAKE! I <3 Netgear to this day!
  • 2008: client was Nokia. Another great gig, thru an agency, but I found it on craigslist. We made $40/hour, plus $25 per diem, for 10-hour days which consisted of our wearing Nokia-branded track suits and hanging around out in front of the Convention Center urging passers-by to check out the new Nokia phones. It was cold, but they provided long underwear and free Nike tennies 🙂 I <3 Nokia!
  • 2009: I got wise, and bailed on CES to work the Adult Expo instead. I worked for Audigier Condoms, which paid me somewhere around $250/day to lay on a bed, in a bikini, and tell people about the condoms “if you want to.” Mostly, I just posed for at the porn expophotos. BEST. GIG. EVER!
  • 2010: Stayed at the Adult Expo to work for AVN magazine — I don’t remember exactly, but somewhere around $30/hour to hand out copies of their mag to showgoers. Easy, but boring…and standing in heels all day 🙁
  • 2011 & 2012: They moved the Adult Expo to the following week, so I was back at CES again. Both years I worked for an unnamed super-high-end audio designer for $200/day, standing in the doorway to their suite at the Venetian, urging passing audiophiles to “come in and hear some really great tube audio.”

So you can see, pay kinda fluctuates depending on the gig you score, and doesn’t seem to follow any inflationary trends. Variables such as amount of clothing seem to matter little ($40/hour to wear a Nokia tracksuit vs. $25 to wear a bikini), nor does level of comfort ($30/hour to sit on my fat ass in a Netgear sweater vs. $17 to stand around the Bellagio lobby all…day…long).

So, now you know how much booth models make. Are they obscenely overpaid? Not in my experience — it’s legitimately mentally draining work!

Anyway, as mentioned, my client this year was a group of really nice high-end audio salespeople, headed up by the inventor of their product line — a tall, gaunt, charmingly eccentric, Tolkien-esque Englishman with abominable personal habits and a fabulous disregard for the fawning of his geeky fan base. Audio nerds would come by to pay their respects, and he would sort of absentmindedly stare off into the distance while offering a half-hearted handshake and a distracted “Yes, yes, very good.” He was fabulous! One of those super-intelligent Asperger’s types. (I took this into account when he slapped my ass one day, and told me that I have “quite a good chunk of meat” on me. Those krayyyyyyzy eccentric Englishmen!)

pic by Michael MazeBut even more interesting were the high-end audio nerds who flocked to see him. Apparently high-end audio is still a really big thing, though I guess not so much as back in the day — nowadays we’re happy with our shitty mp3s, and have little need for extravagant hi-fi systems and whatnot. But there is still a segment of the population who buy $60,000 speakers, and set them a certain distance away from the walls, etc., for optimal sound. Interestingly, in my experience most of these audiophiles were Swedish and/or Jewish, and nearly ALL of them are male — so much so that there’s even a term in audiophile circles called “WAF:” Wife Acceptance Factor. As in, “These new speakers have a pretty good WAF, since they’re under $10k, have a sleek modern finish and don’t need to be set in the middle of the living room for good sound quality.” (Wives, you see, take issue with shit like unsightly $60,000 speakers sitting out in the middle of the room.)

Working the show as a sort of honeypot used to lure in passersby, I had to wonder what my own WAF was. Fairly high, probably, since this client had me dress fairly conservatively in what’s known as “business sexy,” and since I have no cleavage to display, anyway. Hmmmm, that gives me an idea — maybe I should market myself as a high-WAF booth model, an appeal to all the conservative, pussy-whipped schmucks out there in corporateland!

pic by Deep ExposureANYWAY, I basically spent four days of my life standing in a hallway at the Venetian, talking to audiophiles for 9 hours a day. As if that weren’t draining enough, the nightclub where I’ve been working was also open extra hours to accommodate all the corporate parties being thrown, so I had to put in extra shifts there, too. There were two nights that I had to dance til 2 or 3 am, then rush home, pic by Deep Exposureget to bed, and be up by 7am to work the show. EXHAUSTING! I had a feeling I’d get sick from all this rushing around, so I made sure to eat a bunch of vitamins and stuff…but my best-laid plans were put to waste by the visit of an old photographer friend of mine from California, who came out for CES but wanted to go out to the desert for some nude shots before the convention started. So the Friday/ Saturday before, I froze my ass off running around naked on the dry lake bed and out by Valley of Fire with four other models. It was good times, but way to cold for those kinds of shenanigans!! Still, that photographer is SUCH a nice man, and such a good friend, that I couldn’t say no. Plus, he took us to dinner at Fogo de Chao to make up for it 🙂 What a great guy! Then, too, my sister was in town for CES, so I spent a couple of nights hanging out with her, boozing and carrying on, which I really oughtn’t to have done if I wanted to be rested :-/ Oh, well!

As a result of all this carrying on, by the end of CES week I was E.X.H.A.U.S.T.E.D! The next day, I had to get up early AGAIN, for this weird medical conference I had signed up for. I did this once before, last summer — they basically pay you to lay on an exam table, while doctors practice their ultra-sound techniques on your various body parts. Last time I did it, they were just looking at my piriformis (ass muscle) or something, so I was able to lay face down, pass out and fall asleep on the job. But this time, since I was the only model who didn’t mind getting nekkid, they did my piriformis, my knee AND my hip flexor — so that not only was I naked from the waist down, but I had to keep switching position and couldn’t really fall asleep! I was SO exhausted that I did sort of doze off a few times with my mouth open, awakening now and then to the sight of a crowd of doctors around me poking at my goo-covered groin. Surreal!

Even better, the main doctor who does all the teaching (and most of the ultra-sounding) at this institute is totally hot, and when he saw me he said something like “So, we didn’t scare you off last time?” I said, “No, it was good for me…was it good for you? I felt like I needed a cigarette last time!” We both had a chuckle, until his wifey (who, unbeknownst to me, was the receptionist who hired me) gave him a look. He later told me she busted his chops over it, and now I’m totally embarrassed…especially since she’s the one who does the hiring! Whoooooooooooooops! There goes my WAF!

After the doctors had finished their training, I went home and passed out HARD for about 3 hours, then went in and did my last shift of the week at the nightclub. Now that my hell week was over, I thought I was free to FINALLY sleep in.

red rock loopWRONG! By now, my crazy Arkansas girlfriends were in town for the big gun show, and one of them is training for a marathon, and she somehow roped me into going for a 15-mile run with her up in Red Rock Canyon the next day!!! WTF!!!! Why I said yes, I’ll never know — I haven’t run even ONE MILE in the last couple of months, let alone 15, but I figured the adrenaline would kick in, plus the fresh air, and I’d pull it off. How wrong I was!

First off, I couldn’t drag my ass out of bed in time to get an early start, so we headed out around 2:30pm — and the temperature was already down in the 40s! As the sun got lower, it got colder and colder up there (Red Rock is at a higher elevation than Vegas), until finally by the time the sun dipped below the mountains, it must have only been in the low 30s. BRRR!

If you’re interested in running Red Rock, here’s the lowdown: the scenic drive loop is about 13 miles long — a perfect half-marathon. But the entrance and the exit are about 2 miles apart, which makes it a 15-mile trek, total. We parked at the exit, then ran to the entrance (thus saving the entry fee, haha). 2 miles down and I was already BEAT — at this point I considered turning around and running back to my truck, where I had a pillow, blanket and Elizabeth Taylor/Richard Burton biography waiting for me, so I could read in peace and comfort while my girlfriend ran her fool ass off.

But, my innate stubbornness kicked in and I decided that I could DO this, so I kept running. The first 4.5 miles of the loop are uphill, which REALLY made me reconsider my plan a time or two, but somehow I made it to the 5 mile marker (plus the two at the beginning) and kept on going. By now, my girlfriend was WAY ahead of me, and I couldn’t even see her any more, so I was afraid she’d get stuck waiting for me forever, which added another layer of stress. The downhill was a lot easier, but by this time I was already so tired that I thought of giving up and hitching a ride many times (many cars passed on their way around the scenic loop, so I had ample opportunity to puss out). But around Mile 10, it was getting so freaking cold, and I was soooo exhausted, that I just couldn’t go on. I tried walking, but that was too cold and took too long, so thank goodness some kind old ladies in a minivan happened by and gave me a ride to the end. I got to my truck just in time to get the heater going before my girlfriend showed up, ruddy-cheeked and frostbitten but in good spirits, the crazy bitch. She cranked out 15 miles like it was nothing!!! Meanwhile, the 12 I did almost killed me. Gah — guess all that go-go “dancing” I’ve been doing at the club isn’t really a workout, after all. Back to the gym for me!!!

Now, to her credit, my girlfriend did reward my persistence with a nice, relaxing afternoon at the spa the next day. She bought me one of those body-scrub treatments, and then I sat in the steam room for about 3 hours afterward til I was so hot I didn’t think I could stand it. But, as soon as I got out, I was already cold again. I have to face the fact that I’m pretty much freezing cold non-stop from November thru March. I HATE COLD WEATHER!

After my spa day, my kooky math genius/violin virtuoso/professional gambler friend Fred took me to dinner at this fabulous tapas place at the Aria, then drinks at the Peppermill Fireside Lounge, and I went to bed fairly early. I thought I had recovered from my crazy hell week…but guess what?! I STILL got sick! It just goes to show…no matter HOW many vitamins you take, if you work two jobs and then run a half marathon in Arctic conditions, you’ll get sick, no matter what. Lame!

at the AEEJust before the flu gripped me, though, I managed to milk two more fun adventures from the teat of life. The porn convention was in town by now, and despite my best, most fervent efforts, I was unable to score a paid gig as a booth hostess at this show. WTF!! It seems the pervs were cheap this year. Maybe it has to do with the red-blue dichotomy: in years where the Democrats win, they say the gun biz booms. In years where the Republicans win, the porn biz booms. I guess each is afraid the other will take away its cherished rights – in any case, in this year of the great Obama (and I say that with ZERO irony, haters!!!), the pornmongers were tightfisted…but I did get a casting call for the gun show (some warmonger needed booth babes).

I had just resigned myself to missing out on all the pornilicious fun, when a resourceful girlfriend called to ask if I wanted to go with her for free, and pose for photos for tips. My first reaction was “WTF??? Tips?! From those cheapasses?!” I remembered my stint back in 2009, when I posed for photos in a bikini, on a bed, alllll dayyyyy long and made not one dollar. I almost turned her down, but at the last minute decided what the hell.

pic courtesy AVN.comNow, this girlfriend doesn’t fuck around – she makes a living posing for photos out on the Strip, where she and various girlfriends don these giant angel wings, along with slutty angelic lingerie, and make a dollar here, a dollar there posing for photos with tourists. I’ve seen her out there hustling, and I’ll admit I was skeptical – until now. I met up with her at the porn expo, where her mom was hanging out helping her hustle – and that’s the secret to her success, right there!

I guess the two of these platinum-blonde lovelies moved out here from Georgia a couple years ago, and the daughter is like the mom’s meal ticket or something – Mama has a vested interest in helping Baby hustle, that’s for sure. Baby is in her very early 20s, and Mama can’t be much over 40 – a tiny, platinum blonde little cougar with the sweetest Southern drawl and the fiercest attention to detail – when I met her, she was adjusting Baby’s sparkly white bra to better show off her cleavage, and admonishing her to remember to ask for tips: “Tell ‘em ‘We like big ’uns, y’all!” This was woman was half pageant mom, half pimp…and 100% amazing. I love her!!!!

Meanwhile, Baby appeared sort of dazed throughout all this…but I’ve come to realize that it’s somewhat of an act, and she’s really keeping close score behind her air of blank blondeness. This girl can hustle! She and her Mama helped me into one of their spare sets of wings, and then Mama took off and left us girls to fend for ourselves, standing in front of the booth of this stripper-pole manufacturer, who was kind enough to let us use his space (we brought lots of traffic to his booth, let me tell ya).

no WAY!Now, I always thought I’d totally suck at photo-op hustling, because I HATE asking for money – but I soon learned the ways of Baby and Mama. If a guy asked if he could take a pic with us, we’d say, “Sure!! We take pictures for tips…is that OK?” After awhile (and a Captain & Coke) I got brassy enough to add, “And we like big ‘uns!!!” Har, har…but astonishingly, it worked!! Schmucks were emptying their pockets, right before my eyes. I made a little over $200 in about 3 hours, which by my reckoning is pretty good money. If that’s the kind o’cash this girl brings in on a regular basis, then watch out – you’ll be seeing my white ass out on the Strip in a pair of angel wings come the spring!!!

Anyhoo, after a few hours of hanging out posing for photos with porn fans, I had to bail so I could head over to this local bar that was hosting a chicken-wing-eating contest  that evening (don’t you enjoy how I went from wearing wings to eating them, all in a day’s work?!). It was a qualifying round for the finals, at which the grand prize is a sweet $5,000 at the end of the month…and knowing my prodigious appetites for everything, I figured I’d enter. I can eat a lot, and I could really use the five grand.

in the dressing room at the nude photo seminarNever one to half-ass something, the evening before, while on break at a nude photography seminar I was modeling for, I looked up some “wing-eating” tutorials on YouTube (astonishingly, these exist)…and did my due diligence, studying the best and fastest ways to down a chicken wing. I thought I had my ducks all in row…until I faced my competition: a gang of big, beefy mooks with nothing better to do than lie around all day playing video games and eating mass quantities of processed foods. Have you ever noticed how “boyhood” somehow stretches well into one’s ’30s these days? To wit: the classic 1950s “little boy” ensemble of shorts, t-shirt and ball cap is now the standard uniform for tubby mooks ages 18-35!!!!! They all look like fuckin’ Spanky, from Our Gang!


Anyway, facing off against these behemoths, I was doomed. I only managed to scarf a paltry 15 wings in the allotted 5 minutes…whereas one young fellow downed thirty-six! I’m telling you, I give up. This is the third competitive eating contest I’ve entered and failed…I’ve had enough. ¡No s!

Still, I had a pretty good time. Some of my more adventurous friends came with me, and tried their hands as well: my friend Guy managed to down 16 wings, and my vegan friend Tanayaa (VEGAN, I said!) ate 8!! But since she’s vegan, I guess that’s like 64 wings in vegan numbers…ya know?? Gotta give her props for compromising her beliefs in pursuit of fun!

Anyway, I fumbled my shot at the $5,000…but didn’t really care too much, since I was pretty much in the throes of the flu by now. I went straight home and took to my bed, where I remained for an astonishing 46 hours!!! That is unheard of for me! But I really needed it. I even turned down fun and money in the form of another day at the porn expo, and a shift at the nightclub…which was REALLY hard for me to do. As a freelancer, it’s feast or famine…so I never like to let a meal slip by, ya know? But I stayed in bed, resting my poor battered body.

All this made me think of the plight of the uninsured in this country, and how it affects the rest of us. If you’re so anti-Obammy-care, riddle me this: what do you do if you’re a minimum-wage-earning member of the working poor, who doesn’t get paid sick days? You most likely don’t have insurance, so you can’t go get meds…and if you take the day off, you miss out on pay. Most people in this situation sack up and go into work, because they have to pay their bills. So they go in, and make pizzas or scrub toilets or ring up your Tampax and Trojans, all the while coughing up germs onto everything in sight, so that now, all of us get sick, too. It’s well and good if you get paid sick leave and have a good insurance plan…but what about the rest of us??

Now, as a bohemian freelancer I chose this lifestyle – I get it; I have no right to complain. I could/should shut the fuck up and work for some giant corporation who will give me paid sick days/insurance/401k, right??? RIGHT…right up until the day they find someone to do my job cheaper in India, and fire my ass at the unemployable age of 55, at which point I’m fucked. The sad fuckin’ truth is, the days of lifelong employment and rock-solid pension plans are waaaay behind us. These days it’s every man for himself…so I say, don’t be so fucking cheap, and give your minimum wage employees paid sick days, for the love of Jesus Christ. (WWJD? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm???) Meanwhile, I’ll take time off myself if I’m really sick…because if I don’t, it might develop into something worse, at which point I’ll have to take my pneumonia-having ass into your emergency room, and have it treated at the expense of your tax dollars. (I myself do have hard-won private insurance, but I’m making a point here.)

So anyway, to get off my soap box, I finally rallied enough to go into work and do a shift at the nightclub, where I somehow managed to dance gaily thru a haze of discombobulation and phlegm, all while listening to this poor Indian immigrant I was dancing with complain about his own First World Problems! It seems this poor drunken kid had emigrated to Canada on an H-1B visa (or whatever they have in Canada), and was making “reeeally good money.” “It’s oll about money, isn’tit?” he kept saying, waving his wallet around, trying to shove $20s into my garter belt as we danced. But he was unhappy, it transpired, as his parents had recently arranged his marriage to a young nurse for whom he had no affection whatsoever. Married for two months now, he felt despondent and trapped, and kept trying to grab my ass in the depths of his existential despair. After the first $40, I refused to take any more of his money (see?? I told you I’d make a terrible stripper), and tried to counsel him instead. But trying to explain First World Problems to someone so recently arrived from the Third World was weird. I didn’t want to come off as patronizing, but come on, dude! You make “reeeally” good money, and are from some uppercrust family in Kerala…yet are “unhappy.” It’s a sign of the times, bro – welcome to the fuckin’ club!!!

After that, I was ready to get back in bed and sleep another 50 hours…but a coworker from the club invited me to come over to the Hard Rock Hotel afterward, for the last gasp of the porn convention. Apparently, every year they have some big “afterparty” up in the penthouse, and it’s a really big to-do…so despite my lingering malaise, how could I say no? I still had on my costume from work, but it didn’t matter – my colleague was dressed in her “‘70s key party” wig and caftan (I love the people I work with), so I was in good company. I arrived at 3:30am to find a seething penthouse swarming with latex-and PVC-clad partygoers in various states of fitness and personal hygiene, all spanking and tweaking and fucking and sucking each other, putting literal truth to the phrase “bumping uglies.” Alors!

To be honest, I found it all kinda boring…I’ve seen it all before, and it doesn’t do much for me. I ran into a few friends I knew, so spent a few minutes chatting with them…and then retreated to the safety and warmth of my precious, beloved bed… which, incidentally, has lately been covered by this fabulous blanket made for me by my photographer friend Steve 🙂



P.S. the haters at Old Homestead Steakhouse whined loud enough that Yelp ended up taking down my review of their lame-ass joint again. So I’m adding it to my “Banned by Yelp!” feature at the top of the page. Fuckers!


Partying With the Sister-Wives!

IMGThe big news around here is……


For twelve long years, I labored as a souvenir photographer in various Vegas Strip showrooms. I got the job the very first month I moved here — I had planned to become a cocktail waitress, but at the time it was a solidly union gig…and since I didn’t know anyone in town, the prospect of working my way up the ranks of the Culinary Union sounded too shitty to even bother with. I had always liked photography, so when an acquaintance suggested I try working for Cashman Photo (see that?? Now I can name names without fear of retribution….bwahahahahahaha!!!), I thought it might be fun.

Anyway, I have a *TON* of dirt to dish about my time with that company…but I’m saving it for my next blog, which will be allllll about it. For now, let me just say that it was a decent job back in the day…but ever since the advent of the iPhone, overpriced souvenir photo sales have been on a dramatic decline, and I wasn’t making much money anymore. Worse, the owner of the company started freaking out about it and meddling in our business, making life miserable.

I fantasized about quitting many times over the years, but with increasing frequency over the last 12 months. I had all these great ideas as to how I would actually do it — like, how to go out with a bang, and really twist the knife, etc. — but in the end, I kept it classy and just fired off a polite email, with a full two weeks’ notice given. My only regret is that I never got to stick it to that GOD-AWFUL FUCKING CELINE DION MANNEQUIN! Yes that’s right; now that I’m no longer hostage to those fuckers, I can call her by her real name. No more cutesy pseudonyms!!

I have worked the shows of many, many shitty entertainers over the years, but always discreetly referred to them by fake names. For those who have been reading/following me over the years, now I can finally reveal just exactly who these awful headliners were.

  • Sally Dingdong = Celine Dion (as much as I hate her shtick and her fans, Celine herself is a sickeningly nice person, and impossible to dislike on a personal level. But I still hate that fucking mannequin)
  • Sir E.J. = Elton John (his first show, The Red Piano, was excellent. But his current show, The Million Dollar Piano, is mediocre and frankly boring.)
  • Shennany Twang = Shania Twain
  • La Bête = Bette Midler (without question the WORST show I’ve ever had the misfortune of working. The crowd was MISERABLE, and the show itself was pretty lame)
  • 70s Dancehall Diva = Cher (her show and her crowd were actually OK…I have no beef with Cher. She’s fabulous!)
  • Redneck Ventriloquist = Jeff Dunham (thankfully he only plays a few times a year…but those few times were TERRIBLE)
  • ex-British Boy Band member = Matt Goss (also super-cool in person…but his crowd sucks and I don’t much care for his show, although his band is excellent and he’s not a bad entertainer himself)

I have also had the misfortune of working the following shows on and off, but don’t remember what fake names I used for them at the time:

  • David Copperfield (I worked his show for years, and that fucker never hit on me once)
  • Rick Springfield (in EFX back in the day at MGM…met him a few times and he was CHEAP AS FUCK, never tipping me ONCE for any of the photos his wife made me comp them)
  • Paul Anka (enough fucking said)
  • George Carlin (alas, I wasn’t there the night he lit into the audience, calling them out for being losers…I would have DIED laughing and toasted him with a magnum of champagne for his honesty)
  • Engelbert Humperdinck (a lot of gypsies came to see him, oddly)
  • Jerry Seinfeld (TIP: his show is EXACTLY THE SAME, every time he plays Caesars. He doesn’t change one word! Talk about phoning it in…..GET SOME NEW MATERIAL, JERRY!!!)
  • Stevie Nicks (her show and crowd were OK, I just didn’t make much money off them)

I also had the privilege of working a very few shows that were actually GOOD.

  • Tom Jones (fanTAStic entertainer)
  • Kylie Minogue (aMAZing show!! I wish she had an extended contract in Vegas! WAY better than Shania Twain!)
  • Chris Rock (hilarious, of course)
  • Rod Stewart (astonishingly great performer; I fully expected to hate him, but was won over by his genuine appeal)

Also, now I can finally mention the name of that douchebaggy steakhouse that made me take down my Yelp! review: Old Homestead, at Caesars Palace!! The executive chef over there read my harsh (but totally fair) review, then went all the way to the CEO of Caesars to try and get me fired. FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE! I WIN!!!!!  I ended up taking the review down at the  “request” of my bosses at Cashman (if I didn’t take it down, I bet they would have figured out a way to stick it to me)…but now that I no longer wear their yoke, I put it right back up: CHECK IT OUT!!

On a serious note, I will kinda miss going into Caesars Palace every night (or at least 3-4 times a week)…I basically grew up there, having worked there for around 10 years. I LOVE THAT PLACE! It will always be the #1 coolest hotel in Vegas, and believe me, I love every inch of every nasty-ass cockroach-infested hallway on the property. (I’m talking about the underground employee areas…no cockroaches in the classy above-ground guest areas, of course. But underground? Holy shit! You could put a saddle on those things and ride them!!)

The only other thing I’m sad about is the fact that I missed out on playing this amazing practical joke on the Celine mannequin. A friend gave me a remote-controlled fart device, which I had planned to stash under the mannequin’s dress…then hide behind a pillar and set it off when dumbass Frogs came to take pics with the stupid thing. Alas, Celine was on break the last few months, so I never had the chance to use it. But, here’s a link to a piece I wrote for City Life about it! 

So, anyhoo……I’M FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Trust me, I cannot WAIT to write all about the things I never could, as an employee…so look for that coming up soon on this blog! Meanwhile…I have other fabulous stuff to tell you about!

So, it was Christmastime, and since my Christmas last year was so shitty, I went balls-out this year. I put up lights and a tree and all that, and even baked fucking cookies (!!)…but aside from the traditional stuff, I also did some Wonderhussy-style XXXmas stuff. The ever-fabulous Michael Maze came over one night for a photo shoot, and during my pre-shoot brainstorming I came up with the idea for one of my most fabulous photos EVER! I was able to get most of the props at the dollar store across the street, but I needed a Santa suit. Whenever I need something, I turn to my Facebook friends — I have around 1600 wackos on there, among them doctors, lawyers, actors, musicians, strippers, prostitutes, transsexuals, transvestites, dominatrices, drug dealers and at least one bank robber. Someone always comes through!! Sure enough, within minutes I had arranged to borrow a Santa suit from one of my friends from the Strawberry Alarm Clock (here’s a link to their new video, incidentally) and I was good to go. Here’s the pic:

pic by Michael Maze

LOL!! I’m making damn sure I get what I want from Santa this year!!!

Special thanks to my long-suffering roommate, for standing in as Santa. All joking aside, I do have one of the coolest roommates of all time — he’s a chimney sweep, window cleaner, model and all-around beefcake; just a great guy all around!

Vixen, the naughty reindeerIn fact, my roommate and I were both supposed to be bodypainted together at the monthly Wonderground event — the fabulous Suzanne Lugano wanted to paint him as a Bad Santa and me as a naughty reindeer, but my roommate flaked so it was just me, shivering naked in the cold (Wonderground is held indoors at a Mediterranean restaurant, but the painting area is near the door, so I was freeeeeeezing). Still, it was totally worth it because she did a SUPER BAD ASS job! After she finished, I posed for pics with people from the show, including this pic with Kyle & Mistie Knight, this painfully adorable magician couple I know who were about to embark on a Disney cruise ship gig! In fact, those cute little fuckers are in the Bahamas as I write this!!!!! Must be nice! Now that I look at this pic, they’re like the Donny & Marie of magic — LOL!

Vegas Santa

Aaaaanyhoo, after that it was the usual round of holiday parties — friends, neighbors, family, etc. Our local neighborhood group had a party in the park down the street, and I took my dog down there to meet Santa, who happens to live two streets over from me (NOT the same Santa as in the above pic, LOL!). Forgive me if I look like hell in the pic, but I had *just* woken up after a long night partying at the nightclub where I work — and my damn phone died, so my alarm clock didn’t wake me until 2 minutes before the Santa party ended, so I basically had to throw on a wig and haul ass down the street without even having my morning coffee!!!

To make matters worse, I was supposed to go on a 1,000-mile road trip the next day, to visit my family up in Northern California…and of course, everything went wrong: I had a leak in my rear differential that had to be fixed, and my homeowner’s insurance agent refused to cover my house until I replaced 5 missing shingles that blew off the roof last week. ARRRGH!! Why does this shit always happen right before I’m supposed to leave town?!?!?! Not to worry though; I climbed up on the roof and replaced the shingles, then took my truck in for repairs at this awesome place called Dan’s Driveline, which fixed it fast and for super cheap. Yay! I was kinda concerned about the repair job, because they had a “Christian Business Directory” prominently displayed in the waiting room, and I have a Planned Parenthood sticker on my truck, plus a photo of my vagina on the passenger-side visor….but 1,000 miles later, I’m pleased to report that my truck is running fine, and I wholeheartedly endorse this business.

a visit from Hanukkah HarryAnyway, back to the parties. I partied hearty in California with my family, even going to various relatives’ houses to visit with my entire extended family!! It’s always weird seeing these people, since they are my Facebook friends and see all the sordid shit I post all year long. Also, come to find out, many of them read this blog (!!!), so I basically have no secrets from them. It’s always weird when your grandma greets you with “Hey you wonderhussy!” But it was great to see everyone, and everything was super cool. We even took a walk after Christmas Eve dinner to visit the area where my poor dad committed suicide by walking in front of a train in 2011, which happened to be right down the road. Awww! Then my immediate family holed up at my mom’s cabin in the woods for some real partying. My Israeli brother-in-law dressed up as Hanukkah Harry,  bringing lame practical gifts for everyone: long johns for my mom, sugar-free candy for my sugar-addict brother, a pregnancy test kit for me (!!?). Goooood times!

The EmpressThen it was back to Vegas for yet more partying. When you party professionally, one night is pretty much the same as any other — New Year’s, Thursday, whatever. The only difference I noticed at the nightclub where I work was that it took 10 times as long to get there, because of all the miserable traffic. Otherwise, it was just another night — dancing, partying, swilling champagne! Although I did get a fabulous gift from this amazing woman who comes into the club Duck Lips!!!regularly — the Royal Empress, Miss Tarah Lee. The Empress is basically a local party girl/model/milliner (she makes mini top hats) who kinda looks like a thin Marilyn Monroe, and she always rolls into the club late at night in some fabulous, glamorous ensemble involving an evening gown, fox stole and long cigarette holder. And you never see her without a glass of champagne in her hand! She is indescribably fabulous, and she loooves the nightclub where I work. So much so, that she made beautiful gifts for many of the dancers and performers there, myself included! She brought them into the club one night, all wrapped up in boxes, and it was so exciting: I got a fabulous pink fascinator for the ginormous pink wig I wear there, and she also made me this amazing white satin corset, with pink laces and a huge frothy pink bustle on the back!!! It’s incredible! I’m just afraid to wear it at work, since it’ll get drooled on by the drunken dickwads who are always grinding on my ass. So I’m saving it for a photo shoot — which I must do at once!

NOW!! Speaking of parties…I totally saved the best for last. I got a call the other day from an ex-Mormon friend (and when I say “ex-Mormon,” I don’t just mean “jack Mormon” — this guy was excommunicated from the church, and even had his degree from BYU revoked, because he published a calendar featuring shirtless Mormon missionaries that became quite successful). Anyway, he has another friend who grew up as part of a polygamist family in Arizona (you know, those wacky FLDS guys who have 12 wives and live on a compound in the desert), and this friend had invited all of us to this extravagant polygamist bash at a mansion up in Seven Hills (a ritzy golf-course community, incidentally right near where I used to shoot my breath-holding/medical fetish videos).

I couldn’t believe my luck — apparently, this friend of my friend’s is a pretty cool guy with a good sense of humor about his upbringing, and he totally didn’t mind a bunch of random looky-lous showing up at his party. I was told it was a swanky affair, so I totally overdressed, taking a page from The Empress’s book by wearing an evening gown and a fox stole (I didn’t want to offend anyone by wearing a short skirt…and all my other party dresses were pretty slutty). My friends and I rolled in around 8 — you had to take a shuttle there, as it was in an exclusive gated community — but when we walked through the grand entryway…what a freaky scene!!!!!!!

CENSORED TO PROTECT THE INNOCENTFirst of all, I’ve been invited to some “mansion” parties in my day that turned out to just be really big houses. Not so here! This was a true mansion, set on a hillside with huge panoramic views of the Vegas Strip. And the place was chock full of Mormons, eating and and dancing and partying and drinking!!! Apparently, the homeowner/party host is a man of great wealth. Aside from 15 wives, he also has a desert compound (where they live — this mansion is just for occasional parties!!!!), a Learjet… and his own vineyard, so we drank quite a bit of his own wine. It was fabulous!

The best part was the puzzling anomaly of seeing all the demurely-clad sister-wives sitting around in their long skirts and pouffy updos…guzzling wine. Weird! I’ve never seen so many wine glasses in one place…it was crazy. Everyone was drinking! True Mormons don’t drink — not even coffee, for chrissakes — but then I guess true Mormons don’t really practice polygamy, either. I guess when you’re fabulously wealthy, you make your own rules! So everyone had a wine glass, but then there was this one beautiful young chick who had an extra-ginormous novelty glass of wine — like, it must have held an entire magnum! I guess the host singled her out for it, so maybe it’s like this weird tradition where he marks his next wife by giving her the big glass.

Aside from the free-flowing wine, relentlessly wholesome-looking men, women and children milled about bearing giant plates of lamb and beef, and the party host himself greeted everyone with boisterous enthusiasm. I had a glass of champagne on the fabulous deck overlooking Vegas before heading downstairs to the rec room/wine cellar. On the way down, I noted the host’s fabulous collection of nude art — paintings and photographs reminiscent of my own oeuvre, ranging from classy sepia-toned naked-cowgirl-in-a-rusty-washtub-in-a-barn prints to glossy color renderings of nude blondes on red Corvettes. Fabulous!!!!!

MARIACHIS!! Chick with giant wine glass in the middle!!After a few glasses of fantastic wine from the cellar, the mariachis arrived! Yes, a full mariachi band showed up and played all my favorites, from “El Rancho Grande” to “Cielito Lindo.” The friend who had invited us kept trying to get me to dance with him, but as mentioned many a time, I am a terrible dancer, so I preferred to stand and wiggle in place, sloshing my wine merrily. But then the mariachis left, and the host put on his favorite music — Lady GaGa! All bets were off, as I could not resist dancing to that!! Aside from GaGa, the mix included all the lame-ass current-day party hits — but no matter how much one despises the Black Eyed Peas’s “I Got a Feeling,” it is fantastic when you hear it at a polygamist party!! EVERYONE danced — men, women, kids, sister-wives, Looky-Lous — IT. WAS. AMAZING!

After the dancing wound down, everyone gathered around the grand piano for a good old-fashioned sing-along. A prim, matronly (yet wine-guzzling) woman played the music, and the host handed out binders of sheet music so we could all sing along. I figured it would be all hymns and shit, but to my astonishment it was all bizarre, old-timey cowboy trail music and whatnot! We did “The Timber Trail,” “Edelweiss,” plus a bunch of old-timey shit I’d never heard of, but sang drunkenly along with anyway. SO. MUCH. FUN!!!!!!!

I swear, I’ve been to a lot of parties in my day, but this was far and away the best. As mentioned, this mansion is used exclusively as a party house, so I hope to be invited next time they throw a bash! Apparently, the host’s birthday is coming up next week, and another big soiree is on the books already. So, who knows?! I think the host took a special shine to one of the other chicks who came with us (although not to the point where he gave her the giant wine glass), so hopefully she hooks it up and I’ll be partying on a hillside with a bunch of drunken sister-wives again very soon!!! LOOK OUT!!!!!