All right everyone, I *HATE* asking cheezy favors like this, but…I’m trying to get this “Pic of the Day” award on ModelMayhem…so if you happen to have an MM account, wouldja please log in and vote for my pic at the link below? I was mistaken in my last blog post; it’s up TODAY, March 20, 2013!!
Astonishingly, I have no “Pic of the Day” awards and I need this feather in my cap…so to speak!
By far the most fabulous thing that’s happened to me lately was, I won $500 from my credit union! A couple summers ago I was ass-deep in foreclosure proceedings, cursing the banks and marching around town with a rag-tag bunch of freaks and commies associated with the Occupy Las Vegas movement. Ah… memories.
Well, one of the ways they tried to stick it to the Man was by urging people to withdraw all their funds from the big banks and start using credit unions, instead. So like any good commie bitch, I did…and BOY, am I glad! My credit union (the fabulous OneNevada, which is available to anyone who lives, works or worships in Clark County, NV) started this competition on Twitter, to get more followers and increase their social media presence. Every day in the month of February they posted a different money-saving challenge, which you were supposed to take a photo of yourself doing and then Tweet it. At the end of the month, they randomly chose one person from the list of people who completed all the challenges, and awarded them $500.
I’m a cheap-ass, broke-ass hack anyway, so most of the challenges were things I’m already doing…so it wasn’t really that hard. Astonishingly, only something like ten people completed all the challenges…and as luck would have it, they drew my name out of the hat!!! You would have thought I’d won five THOUSAND dollars, the way I carried on.
The best part was, I had to go down to the corporate offices to pick up a giant oversized novelty check with my name on it, and take a photo with the President of the credit union so they could Tweet it out and stuff. Well, the girls in the social media department told me they had read this blog and “loved” it…but they didn’t want their stuffed-shirt President knowing they were about to give $500 to a Hussy, so they didn’t tell him my Twitter handle (@wonderhussy). As far as he knew, I was just Sarah Jane Woodall, some random local hag in a Peg Bundy outfit (it was my day off, and I was lounging….haha). If that poor man only knew who he was posing with — he’d have died! There goes his chances for any sort of elected political office, EVER. But, still….he’s all right in my book. That bastard Jamie Dimon sure as fuck never gave me $500, I’ll tell you that much!
Alas, however, not all my money has been handed to me that easily lately — I had to actually work for the rest of it! I did a grueling 9-hour photo shoot on the Strip one day, and then another evening I went out to Valley of Fire for a nudie shoot (take that, Park Ranger!). I also worked the ASD convention, for the same company that I worked the potsmokers’ convention for last month — SunshineJoy.com, the people behind those amazing 3-D tapestries. Unfortunately I wasn’t paid for any of these gigs with oversized novelty checks…but at least I was able to pose with this oversized novelty hookah!! I guess that’s better than nothing!
I also did a scavenger hunt for VentureVegas.com, where I played a double agent and had to wear a wig and business suit for part of the game, then change back to normal for the rest. It was superfun, especially because it was a beautiful sunny day and I was stationed in front of the Bellagio fountains, which is one of the top people-watching spots in the world. But even all that was work, ya know? Thankfully, I did score one gig recently that allowed me to earn cash while having fun & doing something I normally do, anyway — I finally booked a paid date on What’sYourPrice.com!!
I think I’ve written before about WhatsYourPrice — basically, it’s sort of a dating/sugar daddy site where you explicitly charge a certain amount of money to go on a date. Like hooking, only there’s supposedly no sex. Another model I worked with last month told me she does it all the time, and although she was enthusiastic, I was skeptical. It sounded reeeeally skeevy — but then I realized I have at least two friends, men from out of town, who have come to Vegas before and tried hiring someone just as dinner company. It never went well, because all they could find were escorts who either tried to rob them or were super skanky-looking…so I thought I’d go on WhatsYourPrice and market myself as a dinner companion. I made it explicitly clear in my profile that I was/am not looking for sex, romance or a sugar daddy, and that I am simply offering my services as a paid dinner companion/fount of information about Vegas. I can even class it up a little if you need a date for a corporate event, ya know?
Well, shocker, I haven’t been getting too many hits on that site. I get a lot of “winks,” which are like “pokes” on Facebook I guess….but WTF am I supposed to do about that? I’m not on there to wink, I’m there to make money. I’ve also gotten maybe 4 or 5 offers for a date, in the $100-200 range, but none of the guys have answered me back when I message them to accept. I was starting to think that site is strictly for time-wasting losers….when this man hired me to go hiking with him one afternoon!
To protect his identity, I won’t give too many details about him…but suffice it to say he was older, extensively educated, and a raging liberal. I guess he also happened to be pretty well-off, since he said he uses WhatsYourPrice fairly regularly…although I think it also has a lot to do with his interest in economics (seriously!). In any event, we met at a Starbucks, he gave me a bank envelope with $100 in it (next to oversized novelty checks, bank envelopes full of cash are my favorite way to get paid), and then we climbed into his bad ass Tesla Roadster for the trip up to the hiking trail. I’m not a car person, but that car was sick!! He offered to let me drive it (!!!) but I was too big a puss, afraid I’d wreck it, and I declined.
We hiked for a couple of hours and had a very enjoyable conversation about everything from cabbages to kings, and then he dropped me back off at the Starbucks and that was it. Fabulous!!! He did message me a few days later to say that he enjoyed the hike, and would like to do it again…although he only pays for novel experiences, so if I could find a girlfriend to come along he would pay her, but not me. I guess I should be offended by that, but I just looked at it as an opportunity to make $50 — I’d take a 50% commission as pimp/madam/whatever, and split the take with my friend. I already found a girlfriend who’s willing to do it, so now I just have to figure out the logistics! I mean, why not get paid for something I enjoy doing anyway? It’s perfect hiking weather right now!
But anyway, what was really interesting was the feedback I got on Facebook about the outing: “Isn’t that escorting?” one of my girlfriends (who used to use SugarDaddy.com, incidentally) snarked cattily. What I’d like to know is, what’s so bad about being an escort? Though it’s not for me personally, I have no problem with prostitution — but I’m not even talking about sex; I just mean what’s wrong with being an escort? Is getting paid to hike/go to dinner/whatever so much more dishonorable than being paid to deal cards/carry drinks/take photos/write about shows? Seriously…WTF?!
Aaaaaaaaaanyhoo, lest you start to think I’m all about money and nothing else, rest assured I did plenty of stuff just for fun this week, too. I selflessly went back to my hoarder friend’s storage unit, to continue helping him clean out his junk so I can find that old photo of my ex-boss’s wife fucking a bulldog — although now my friend backtracked a little, and said “Well she’s not really fucking the dog…she’s on the bed, in lingerie, reaching for him.” WTF!!! Don’t tell me I’ve wasted hours of my life cleaning out this crap for something stupid like that!!! Still, I plan to keep helping him until I find it…mainly because he also promised me some more of his fabulous departed ballerina mother’s old costumes, ho ho!
I also visited a place I’ve been wanting to check out forever: the Italian-American Social Club, this faaaabulous old-school building on East Sahara where all the goombahs and their wives hang out/hung out back in the day. It used to be for dagos only, but now they opened it to the public and let a white-bread shiksa like me in. And it is exactly how you’re probably picturing it: fabulous!!! Flocked wallpaper, dim lighting, piano bar, cheesy banquet chairs, framed photos of Frank Sinatra et al. on the walls…you know!! In any event, it’s a fantastic spot for cocktails, and they also serve food…although I can’t vouch for the quality of the food, since I despise Italian food (it’s all carby cheesy meaty salty grossness…blecchhh). From what I could tell it seemed like pretty standard fare, if you’re into that kind of thing — meatballs, pasta, etc.
Then another night I went and saw the incomparably fantastic musical Rock of Ages — you know, the one with all the ’80s heavy metal songs? Where they made some dumbass movie starring Tom “Dickweed” Cruise? Well, I never saw the movie, but I’m here to tell you that the live version is fabulous! Rather than bore you with the details, here’s a link to my Yelp! review of it. I’ll just quote the opening line: “Rock of Ages is like watching fireworks made of diamonds, jizz and Aqua Net explode in the night sky, while a choir of leather-clad angels pour sunshine joygasms into your ears, and the naked Thunderbirds fly by overhead, trailing clouds of cocaine and pure cane sugar.” Yes…it really is that good!
The best part about it is, I took as my date my roommate, who is a total ’80s metalhead: long blond hair, weightlifter, etc. He enjoyed it immensely, singing along to every single number (!!) and really just having a blast in general. But the best part was when the monstrously beautiful freak who played Stacee Jacks came out. This actor is amazing — tall, tanned, shredded to within an inch of his life, long blonde hair and a really creepy Ken-doll face. He looks like a sex doll come to life — AMAZING. My roommate immediately leaned in and started telling me every steroid/supplement/injection/hormone/whatever that guy was on. I was like, “Oh yeah? How do you know?!” “Oh I can tell,” my roommate answered matter-of-factly. “I can tell you within 99% percent certainty that he’s taking [prolactin/whatever/blahblahblah bodybuilder talk].” It was a riot — his eyes never left that guy the entire show. I think he has a man-crush! But anyway, that show is awesome and I highly recommend it.
Speaking of high, I was finally able to make use of my medical marijuana card and score some clones — so now I can start growing my own! Thanks, OneNevada Credit Union!!! Talk about saving money — whereas now I have to shell out close to $60 for 1/8 oz. of medicine, soon I will be able to harvest my own stuff 🙂 I followed all the advice the guys at the dispensary gave me, and I must say these plants are already taking off. I named them Michelle and Renee, because those are two of the most fertile names I could think of — Michelle, after Michelle Duggar (the crazy quiverful Christian mom from “19 Kids and Counting”) and Renee after my Mormon friend’s mom, who had 5 kids and was very domestic. I’m hoping these names encourage the plants to grow big, strong and be bountiful. Lord knows I need it!!!!
And why do I need it, you ask? Because I still suffer terrible insomnia. And why do I suffer insomnia, you ask? Well, I think it has something to do with the fact that I do too many things in life, and find it hard to rest!! Take last night: I was exhausted from working til 3am, then only getting 5 hours’ sleep before going in to work the ASD convention…but it was St. Patty’s Day, and they were having a costumed Leprechaun pub crawl downtown and I just couldn’t refuse. So I went home from the convention, got costumed up, and went downtown…where I drank and carried on with a bunch of other bozos in green costumes til late at night. After a day like that, I’m simply too amped up to sleep without my special medicine 🙂
Now speaking of amped-up adventures…I’m always on the lookout for the next one, and I think I may have found it! This upcoming 4th of July, Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club is attempting to set the World’s Record for the largest topless skydive!!! Check out the flyer here. I’ve always been a huge pussy about skydiving, and never had the urge to do it….but topless skydiving??? I feel this is something I have to do. The only thing stopping me is, it costs $260…and I’m too cheap/broke to cough up the cash. So…if any anonymous benefactors want to pay my entry fee, let me know and I’ll do it. You can either contact me directly, or call Monica at (702) 795-3131…either way, I’ll write alllll about it and take lots of pictures, I promise!
Finally, if you can’t afford to sponsor my skydiving thing but you’d still like to help a sista out….you might consider voting for me in the Model Mayhem Pic of the Day contest tomorrow (3/19/13). You have to have a ModelMayhem profile to vote, but if you do…check it out! The pic at left is the one we submitted…it was the photographer’s idea. My friend Adam Sternberg runs an awesome and very informative photography blog at vegasphotographyblog.com, and he had the idea to do a photo incorporating every stale, cheese-ass amateur modeling motif you’ve ever seen. Girls with guns, girls in gas masks, girls with caution tape…etc. You know what I mean! All that dumb shit amateurs do, that they think is edgy and cool but is really tired as fuck. If you can, please stop by this link and cast your vote on 3/19:
I know it’s cheesy as fuck to harangue your friends into voting for you in some dumb contest, and I hate when chicks do that shit on Facebook and whatnot, but….this is, alas, the way Model Mayhem awards their Pic of the Day prize, and as fabulous as my portfolio is, I still don’t have one of these awards. (I prefer the way OneModelPlace awards their showcases — based on the decision of professional judges, as it should be.) Soo, if you can find it in your heart to vote for me, that would be fabulous! If not… whatevs!
Las Vegas, NV — Using high-powered telescopes capable of magnifying at over 1000x, scientists in Nevada have announced with more than 99% certainty that they had identified the long-sought Higgs Bosoms.
Commonly referred to as “God Particles,” the Higgs Bosoms were identified on the body of Las Vegas resident Wonderhussy, a nude model previously believed to be completely flat-chested. But upon closer inspection with a number of high-powered devices at Groom Lake Research Facility, scientists noticed previously undetected elementary particles in the pectoral area.
A series of experiments conducted last year hadn’t collected enough data to say the particles were, for sure, Higgs Bosoms — the last undiscovered piece of the puzzle predicted by the Standard Model, the reigning theory of how standard nude models should be built.
The Standard Model defines a successful nude model as having long, flowing hair, a trim physique, neatly trimmed pubes, and ripe, full bosoms. Wonderhussy boasts all these features save the last — yet somehow remains a successful model, which led scientists to question the validity of the long-held theory.
The theory was proven correct, however, after several successive tests on Wonderhussy’s chest area, which ultimately revealed the presence of tiny, subatomic particles with quantum properties consistent with that of typical bosoms. Under a high-powered microscope, these particles were even found to harden when blasted with cold air…leading scientists to announce Thursday that they had, indeed, identified the long-sought Higgs Bosoms.
“The preliminary results with the full 2012 data set are magnificent, and to me it is clear that we are dealing with Higgs Bosoms,” spokesperson Hugh Jass said in a statement.
He did caution Ms. Hussy not to get too excited, however: “There’s no need to go buying a bra or anything. These Bosoms are not detectable by the naked eye, and need little if any support.”
“But she still has to cover them up in public,” he hastened to add. “And photos may not be posted on Facebook, nor used as an avatar on Model Mayhem. Higgs Bosoms may spell the universe’s doom in the distant future, and we don’t want our children seeing them.”
For some reason, I just got to thinking about how much I love all the weird shit out in the desert….so I created a small database of my favorite desert locations, with photos and witty commentary from my visits to them. The link is on the menu at the top of this page!
I especially wanted to write about my fabulous trip to the Saline Valley Hot Springs back in April of 2011, right before I started this blog. Check it out!!! It’s one of the most fantastic places on Earth…but deadly to get to.
I love the desert for many reasons, but mainly for all the squirrely little hidden outposts and enclaves you stumble upon when exploring its depths. You never know what you’ll find out there!!
Last week, I was all pissy because I blew off a friend’s invitation to go to a “German techno rave shack” in the desert in favor of going to the Cee Lo show, which sucked ass. Thankfully, the party never really ends out there at that funky little shack…so my friend invited me out again, yesterday, for a small dinner party and sleepover at said shack.
I wasn’t sure what to pack, since he kept cryptically describing it in his text messages as a “shack” or a “lean-to.” “Well… should I bring a tent?” “No, it’s a lean-to!!” he replied…like, “DUHHH! Who the hell brings a tent to a LEAN-TO???!” Well, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t spent the night in many lean-tos lately…so I had no idea what I was in for! I packed a sleeping bag, my toothbrush and my pipe, and pretty much headed out there in a state of ignorance.
It was a 3-hour drive from Vegas, down near Twentynine Palms, so I had plenty of time to wonder about it as I cruised along. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of a dinner party/sleepover at a techno rave lean-to with two Germans living in it. My mental image of a lean-to is like a little shed you keep your firewood in, leaning against the wall of your house. Maybe my friend was being facetious, and it was really a swanky estate?! In any event, I loooooooooove surprises and weird stuff, so the suspense was right up my alley.
I was supposed to meet my friend at this bar called The Palms, located in a place called Wonder Valley. Wonder Valley!!! How fabulous is that?! Google Maps found the address with no problems, but when I got to the desolate roadside bar, it was closed (come to find out they are closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, darn it). So my friend (Fabian, from the unicorn/Elvis thing) met me on the corner by the community center instead, and led me the rest of the way from there.
O…..M….G! We rolled in right around golden hour, when the sun is low and the light is all warm and fuzzy…and by golly he was right; it was a lean-to! A sort of mega-lean-to — a sort of palatial, Mad-Max-meets-Georgia-O-Keefe-by-way-of-the-Manson-Family-lean-to. Fabulous!!!!!!!
The rave shack is inhabited by these two crazy German artists from Berlin, who come out there every January to escape the miserable German winter. We’ll call them Hans und Franz. When we rolled in, Hans was away in town stocking up on pudding cups at the 99cent store in Twentynine Palms (they are both obsessed with pudding cups. Literally obsessed), but Franz greeted us warmly and we all went up this wacky wrought-iron spiral staircase to the roof, where we sat and watched the beautiful desert sunset. Fabian had brought a shitload of fabulously ripe grapefruit with him, so as we sat there and chatted, Franz squeezed them with his bare hands, making us glasses of delicious, fresh grapefruit juice.
In addition to Franz, Fabian and myself, we were also joined by one of Fabian’s girlfriends from Portland, Ore., a waifish, blond sort of hippie-raver chick with a distinctly Mennonite aesthetic. They kept telling stories about Hans — how they had all gone out “clubbing” at some bar in Twentynine Palms a few nights before, but the bouncer refused to let Hans in due to his unorthodox footwear, which consisted of Adidas shower sandals over a pair of cable-knit MukLuks (!!). In addition, he was said to be polyamorous and addicted to South Park, which he had to watch each night as part of his bedtime routine (after eating a pudding cup). I could not wait to meet this person!
Well, soon enough it got chilly on the roof, so we all climbed down and had just started to go inside when Hans rolled up with bags and bags of pudding cups. He and Franz are an amazing pair, I must say: Hans is tall, thin and bald, with wispy strawberry-blonde Amish whiskers… and, as promised, MukLuks and Adidas shower shoes on. Franz is shorter and stockier (he’s a weightlifter), with a sort of devilishly cherubic face and the most amazing vocabulary of any non-native English speaker I’ve ever met. They were both amazingly nice people, and fantastic hosts!
In addition to pudding, Hans had also brought home a bunch of groceries for the dinner party, which Franz was to prepare later on. But first, it was time for sauna!!! Out back in the compound was a rickety little cedar shack, just barely big enough for the five of us, were we all sat naked, cheek to jowl, soaking up the intense heat from the woodstove in the corner. Hans tended the fire, periodically pouring eucalyptus-tinged water onto the rocks to create steam, as he told me the history of the rave shack.
Apparently it was built back in the early ’80s by some jazz bassist, but had fallen into disrepair over the years and was home to one hundred feral cats by the time Hans bought it!! About ten tons of bleach later, the place was fresh and clean again, and Hans set about fixing it up a little. The ramshackledy-ness is part of its charm, so he didn’t fix it up too fancy, though. Besides, he only stays there for a few months a year…so by the time he comes back out the following January, it’s already all ramshackledy again anyway.
The main structure was actually pretty solid, built of stucco (or something similar) and wood — sort of one big room, divided into a bedroom area (with a skylight for looking at desert stars), a little kitchen (complete with a propane stove and refrigerator scavenged from an old RV), and a sort of living area with a woodstove that put out a surprising amount of heat. Every nook and cranny of that crazy house was full of bric-a-brac, knick-knacks, books and assorted odds and ends. It was a really cozy space!
A huge wooden patchwork sort of wall enclosed the house and grounds. Within the compound walls was a warren of weird little corrals, nooks, patios and seating areas, all sprinkled liberally with weird desert knick-knacks and fabulousness. There was an outdoor gym set up for Franz, who takes his workouts very seriously, and a firepit area out back near a grave/shrine dedicated to the artist Jason Rhoades, who used to keep some of his art stuff out there before his untimely death from a cocaine overdose.
Other than all that, there was nothing else around for miles — just the occasional neighbor’s trailer, and a few rusted-out old oil drums and whatnot. It was perfect solitude — the most fabulous desert retreat I’ve ever seen!
Anyhoo, after we couldn’t stand the sauna anymore it was time to shower off in the outdoor (cold) shower. There is a very specific methodology to how one showers off after a sauna at the rave shack — in order to spare your body the shock of the cold water, you first rinse your feet. Then your hands. Then your calves. Then your forearms. Then your thighs, then your upper arms. Then your chest, then your back. Then your “pooossee” and then, finally, your face. They made me repeat all this before allowing me in the shower, and it really worked! Showering in freezing cold water under the desert stars never felt so good!
After sauna, we all went inside and drank wine and bullshitted while Franz prepared a sumptuous feast. That was really good company, I must say — those people were all fantastic! I haven’t had such a good time in at least a week! After we all pigged out on Franz’s delicious meal, Hans was ready for sauna again — apparently he’s sauna-mad, but I was down for it, so we all traipsed back out to the shed and and went through the whole process again. Good times!
After that, it was so warm and toasty inside that we all sat around half-naked, drinking and smoking and bullshitting late into the night, as the sound of Dutch techno played faintly yet insistently in the background (Hans had his iPod hooked up, thanks to solar power). Speaking of power, that place is totally off the grid — no running water, either, but a guy with a water truck comes by to fill their tanks now and then.
When it was time for bed, my hosts graciously dragged in an air mattress for me, and I snuggled up very comfortably with my sleeping bag and pipe in the bedroom area. Hans and Franz were so gracious that they gave up their beds for us guests, and they themselves retreated to the guest cottage out back — an even more charming little shack cunningly fitted with two pallet beds and a tiny, dusty old stove. Every corner of that place was amazing, I tell you!!
In the morning, Franz was back at it making blueberry pancakes, while Fabian sliced up papaya and Hans drove over to invite the neighbor woman over for breakfast. The neighbor lady is a total badass Roseann Barr-type, super friendly, and as we sat around eating breakfast and bullshitting in the morning sunshine, she offered to help the boys out with their barely formulated travel plans. Sadly, the season was nearly over, and they were leaving back to Germany soon — Franz was off to L.A. for a couple days first, for half-price night at some bathhouse he likes, and Hans was following him in a few weeks. He had received a surprise call from his cabaret-singer girlfriend, who had been touring Scandinavia and had decided at the last minute to fly to L.A. instead of Berlin, and meet him in the desert.
Since they don’t keep a car out there, they were going to take the Greyhound into L.A., and Roseann offered to drive them to the bus depot in Palm Springs (it was Roseann’s car Hans had used to get the pudding the night before…they’re friendly neighbors). So, everyone got all packed up and said their goodbyes, and Hans invited me to come back next year and stay longer — which I totally will!!!!! I already have it all planned out — I’ll hit the big swap meet in Quartzsite, AZ, then swing up to Wonder Valley and stay at the Rave Shack for a week or three, soaking up the sun and listening to techno while I work out in Franz’s outdoor gym. Hopefully by then, I’ll have saved up enough to have my Scamp travel trailer, and I can set up camp right outside the compound walls and make myself at home. How fantastic would that be?!
**NOTE: I did go back the following year, and it was EVEN BETTER!!! Hans wasn’t there, but Franz (whose real name is Christian) came back with his friend Käpt’n Rummelsnuff — the two of them have an electro-pogo act in Berlin, and they are the COOLEST PEOPLE EVER! They filmed a music video there, and put my sis and I in it as background dancers. Check it out!
Anyhoo, back to my story about my first visit. I left the Shack around 11am and headed back toward Vegas. It was such a beautiful sunny spring day, and the desert lay all spread out before me, that I just couldn’t go straight home — I had to stop off at the Kelso dunes, and hike to the top. This is a punishing hike and an excellent workout — the dunes are some 600 feet high, and it’s a real bitch to get to the top! I did it once back in 2009 with my sister, at which time it took us about an hour. This time, I hauled ass and did it in 34 minutes — but it was soooo windy at the top that I didn’t stay long. Just long enough to completely destroy my camera by trying to take video 🙁 Sand got into the lens, and it’s completely ruined now. Booooo! Time for a new point-and-shoot, I guess!
In any event, the Kelso dunes are known as “booming dunes” because the sand is composed of some kind of silica that makes a rumbling booming sound as it falls down the slope of the dune face — supposedly like the sound of a low-flying aircraft. There are only 10 sets of dunes in the entire world like this! When I hiked them back in ’09 with my sis, I did hear it sort of faintly…but this time, it was too fuckin’ windy, and you couldn’t hear a damn thing. So I just slid down the dune face and got the hell out of there.
But what a fantastic day! And what a fabulous adventure!!!
For more photos of the rave shack, see https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.436654346415438.1073741825.166339516780257&type=1&l=f4d7fac54e
Now that I’m debt-free, AND spring is in the air…IT’S ON!!!! I love this time of year for three reasons:
It stays light longer (important for someone who is prone to melancholia, yet doesn’t get up til noon so frequently misses out on all-important Vitamin D)
It’s finally warm enough so that my feet and hands aren’t ice bricks 24 hours a day, and I can actually run around in less than a fucking snowsuit.
It’s FLIP FLOP SEASON!! I *hate* wearing sox and shoes — I like being able to wiggle my toes. Wearing closed-toe shoes is the bane of my fucking existence.
Also, I can finally get back to the business of doing nude photo shoots in the desert. I like shooting in hotel rooms fine, but the desert is really where it’s at. Photographers — call me!
My excitement of late is such that I jumped the gun a little bit — at the first sign of sunshine a couple weeks ago, my friend invited me to go out on Lake Mead in his speedboat for an overnight campout. It seemed warm enough at the time, so I threw a few things in a bag and we cruised waaaaay out on the lake, through the Narrows and down into Arizona, toward the Grand Canyon. We found a beautiful little sandy cove and beached the boat, and then my friend rigged up a sort of shade canopy over the open part of the boat where I planned to sleep (he does have a cabin with a double bed, but I’m such a shitty sleeper, and need to smoke weed throughout the night to stay asleep, that I didn’t want to bother him). Then we made a fire on the beach, had dinner, sat around and bullshitted awhile, and then climbed back aboard the boat to watch a movie on his laptop.
About halfway through the movie, though, the wind really kicked up — the shade canopy/tarp started flapping so loudly we couldn’t hear the movie anymore, so we turned it off and went to bed. But then the wind got so bad, the whole damn canopy blew off! So my friend battened everything down and made me go down in the hold with him to sleep. I was already pretty high by then, so I crawled into bed without much protest. The waves and wind were really rocking the boat around, and I was juuuust barely drifting off to sleep at last when I guess the wind got bad enough that my friend got up, started the boat, and headed off to find a safer berth. In my high, half-lucid state I was sort of half-asleep, half-worrying about what I would do if we hit a rock in the dark and I had to swim to shore in the frigid water. What can I say, I’m a worrier. It made for a VERY uneasy night.
After awhile, he ended up docking at Temple Bar in Arizona, and crawled back into bed. To his credit, he did not molest me — but I still slept miserably due to the fact that I couldn’t get high. Halfway through the night I did get up to piss over the side of the dock (what can I say, I’m a real lady) and take a quick hit, and I guess I did finally end up sleeping for an hour or two. I HATE INSOMNIA! I couldn’t WAIT for morning, so we could cruise back to shore and I could drive home to sleep all day.
But in the morning, everything was so beautiful and sunny that I changed my tune. We tooled back over to the Las Vegas Boat Harbor by Boulder City and had breakfast in the awesome nautical-themed diner there, and then cruised back out onto the lake for a relaxing day of nude sunbathing. Naked in the sun at long last!!!! It seemed like that miserable fuckin’ winter would never end. It was heavenly!!
After that I had to get back to town, though, because I had a busy week ahead of me. There were a couple of big conventions going on, and I was booked solid. The first day, I worked the MAGIC show. Now, that might sound like fun, but I’m here to tell you — MAGIC has nothing to do with magic; it’s an acronym that stands for something to do with the garment/fashion industry, and I hate that fucking show. It’s all cheapass fashionistas and wannabes from New York, and I don’t normally work it because the rates are TERRIBLE. You see ads on craigslist like: “Models needed, 5’10” and above, C-cup, must be fluent in Russian, Chinese and German and must be able to write orders while standing on your head with a bottle of Krug up your ass. $75/day.” R U Serious??
Thankfully, someone contacted me through this blog to offer me a gig based on my sparkling wit and personality — for a legit pay rate! So I worked with him selling these weird little elastic band-type things you slip over a baby’s socks, to keep its socks from falling/being pulled off (I’d mention the product by name, but I’m sure those good people don’t want their product associated with a wanton hussy like me). It wasn’t the most glamorous product to hawk, but the day went pleasantly enough as the guy himself was very personable and we had a good time chatting.
Alas, I could only do one day of that show since I had already been booked for another, lesser-paying gig at a pot tradeshow that was going on right next door. The CHAMPS Expo is officially a pipe show, but it basically caters to pot heads with all kinds of pot-related paraphernalia ranging from detox kits to salvia to 3-D tapestries — which I was hawking for a fabulous company called SunshineJoy.com. These tapestries are OFF THE CHAIN! They make all these different prints and designs, and then you put on 3-D glasses and they come alive. I’m buying a bunch of them for Burning Man — they are AWESOME! 🙂
It was really interesting walking around that expo, though. First, I scored this sweet pink titanium-encased pipe off a magician friend who was working at the Pyptek.com booth. Awesome! Then I just kinda ambled around checking shit out. Some of the products on display were NUTS! One booth was showcasing a product called something like Monkey Bizzness, which is basically a little flask you fill with a friend’s piss (or synthetic piss), then stash in your pants so it stays warm. A little hose comes out the end so that you can realistically piss into a cup for a drug test, even if it’s one of those ones where you’re being observed — and now you pass the drug test! What was interesting to me was that it was marketed as a “novelty urine kit.” HA!!!!!!! Novelty, my ass!!! I love the bogus shit people say to sell OBVIOUSLY drug-related, law-breaking products. Funny! But hey, it beats the way I passed a drug test for Hooters one time — I had a girlfriend piss into a Ziploc baggie for me, which started leaking halfway thru my drug test appointment, so I got her piss all over my chest (I had the baggie stashed in my bra). Either way, I passed the test — but then quit that loser-ass job after a few weeks anyway (I mean, Hooters….come on!)
The other thing I noticed at the pot show was the proliferation of NASTY-ASS skankbag “models” roaming around in booty shorts and furry boots, promoting various products. Aren’t there any good-looking pot heads?? Jeez! These bitches was beat the fuck up, for the most part. But it gave me an idea — I already made a showgirl costume once with red feathers and sequins and stuff; why not make another one in GREEN, with giant pot leaves instead of feathers for the headdress?? Then I can rent myself out for pot shows and events, and even pose for pics down on Fremont Street and whatnot! Why the fuck not??? I’m on it!
Right after my last shift at the pot show, my neighbor came and picked me up and took me over to the airport, and I flew out to sunny Florida to meet a friend of mine for the Daytona 500 NASCAR race! This friend of mine is obsessed with NASCAR, so much so that he even bought a hi-rise luxury condo on the beach down there, so he has a place to stay for the races every year. It was fabulous!!!!
He had a bunch of other friends down there with him, and we all spent Saturday and Sunday hanging out at the races, lounging in this VIP hospitality tent and boozing up a storm together. I was the only chick in the group, so it was like the Redneck Rat Pack — with me as Shirley MacLaine, haha. We had a pretty good time — especially when, on Saturday afternoon, there was a terrible crash on the track and this one car came crashing into the stands right below where we were sitting!!! AMAZING!!!!!!!
Of course, you know those race fans all secretly hope and pray for something like this to happen — but dumbass me made the mistake of saying as much out loud to some rubbernecking redneck beside me, and he turned and looked at me like I was Jane Fonda mixed with Barack Hussein Obama!!! So I kept my mouth shut after that, or else stopped it up with booze.
Then on Sunday we went back to the track bright and early, and my friend gave me a VIP tour allllll around the grounds on this golf cart he uses out there. It was fabulous! We had what they call “hot” passes, which allow all access to the pits and whatnot — so we went and ogled Danica Patrick’s car and everything with all the other looky-Lous. But far more interesting to me was when we drove around through the camping area, where all the fans park their RVs for the week. We went down the row where the drivers themselves park their million-dollar RVs, and WOW! It was fantastic! It was almost like Burning Man in a way — many camps had their own little bars set up, with wacky decorations and stuff. Who knew??? (For more photos from Daytona, plus witty commentary, check out my Facebook album.)
After the race weekend was over, everyone went home except my friend and I. We stayed on a few more days just relaxing on the beach, drinking and getting high, basically indulging in the Jimmy Buffett lifestyle. I can totally see the appeal of Florida now — that place is fantastic!!! I could have stayed there at least a month — there were so many things I wanted to see, but didn’t have the time. There’s supposedly an amazing nude beach nearby that I didn’t get to, and I also heard about a fabulous tiki bar in Daytona proper, as well as a super-skanky strip club that I want to go back and check out sometime. Fortunately, my friend goes down there all the time, and his lavishly appointed condo has four bedrooms, a full bar and all the amenities you could hope for….so hopefully, I’ll be back soon!!
I flew back into Vegas just in time to head to work, and what a shocker that was — coming from balmy, humid Florida and then going into a dry, dark, smoky nightclub. UGH!!! Still, it’s all worth it — gotta make money to sock away in my adventure fund for the next trip. Speaking of which, my next big adventure will be a whirlwind tour of the British Isles in mid-May — this fabulous photographer invited me over to do a photo shoot, so I’m bringing my sister with me and we’re hitting up Ireland, Scotland and England over the course of 10 days. I’m super stoked — I’ve always wanted to go over there, and besides…this photographer is truly exceptional!!! Check out his work here: dougrossart.com. It will BLOW YOUR MIND!!
But meanwhile, I’m languishing in Vegas. You might wonder how I spent my Valentine’s Day, incidentally — well, I’ll tell you. An extremely kooky math-genius/professional gambler friend of mine took me to dinner in exchange for my helping him clean out his storage unit full of crap, that has been collecting dust for the last 16 years! I had an ulterior motive in helping him, of course — somewhere in there, he claims, is a photo of my ex-boss (from the shitty-ass photo company where I used to work)’s wife fucking a bulldog!!! He’s “not sure” which box this photo is in, but I vowed to help him go thru every single one until we find it, by golly!!!
Unfortunately, it was kind of an emotional expedition for my friend, since a lot of the stuff in his storage unit used to belong to his dearly departed mother, a world-famous golfer and ballerina, whose untimely passing left my friend really emotionally bereft. Everytime we found something that used to belong to her, he got misty-eyed — it was heartbreaking. Astonishingly, he said I can have all her old costumes (!!!) — but so far the only thing we unearthed was this awesomely funky old turban with a fabulous big jewel on the front, which I took home and washed right away. Score!! I’m keeping her memory alive!
Anyhoo, we only got through about 1/10th of his stuff before he was too emotionally exhausted, and called it a day. The bulldog photo remains elusive, but I did find photos of another bitch ex-coworker topless, and of another ex-coworker posing provocatively in lingerie. HA!!!!!!! Anyhoo, we’re going back next week for more, and I can’t wait! My crow’s eye already spied something red and sparkly and feathery in the very back corner which I can’t wait to get my hands on!!
Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to find fun stuff to do around Vegas, but times have been kinda dry lately. One night, a girlfriend called to invite me to dinner with a well-known local nightclub impresario and a bunch of other bigwigs at the swanky new Nobu restaurant at Caesars Palace, so I got all dressed up and headed down there to see what was up. Apparently, she knew these people from having met them at Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch (!!!!)…but when I got there, it was kind of humiliating — the bigwigs were all having dinner in a private room, so me and my girlfriend and these other three hags she’d invited were left out in the cold in the lounge area. Not to worry — we immediately racked up a huge tab on their dime, ordering sushi and cocktails and what-all else we could think of, but the conversation was pretty lame since the other chicks were all professional trade show models, and all they talked about was work. I can’t think of anything worse than doing trade shows for a living — unless it’s having dinner with someone who does trade shows for a living!!!!!!
But the worst part was when the bigwigs finished dinner, and came out to say hello. Turns out they had a couple of A-list bimbos with them, who had dined at the main table — so I guess we were essentially the B-listers. D’OH!!!!! Those two were a real piece of work, though — they made the trade show models at my table look like Nobel Laureates, let me tell you. Where the fuck do guys find these women?! And what the fuck do they get out of being around them?? After two seconds listening to their drunken blather, my eardrums were bleeding, my brain was atrophied and my soul had withered up worse than Celine Dion’s uterus! JESU!!!!! Get me out of here!!!
Then another night, I faced a real quandary: I had scored free dinner at this new Gordon Ramsay burger joint and tickets to Cee Lo Green’s new show at Planet Hollywood, which I was pretty excited about — UNTIL my fabulous friend Fabian showed up. You might remember Fabian as the guy who wore the white unicorn suit on Halloween, whose back I rode into that shitty Elvis contest at the El Cortez. He’s basically one of the most fabulous, fun, interesting people I have ever met, but he’s been down in South America for the past several months, so I haven’t had the chance to hang out with him. Well, he’s back!!!!
He showed up at my house to store a few things in my garage, and while he was over he casually asked what I was doing that night. I thought I had a pretty good answer with Cee Lo…until he casually replied: “Oh, bummer…we’re going to this German techno rave out at a shack in the desert in Wonder Valley…I was hoping you could come!” Apparently, these crazy Germans go out there every spring and throw this great rave, near some kind of lean-to they stay in, and it sounds fabulous! ARRRRRGH! Why can’t there be two of me?
To make matters worse, Cee Lo’s show was the worst tripe imaginable! I was all fired up expecting it to be unabashedly fabulous — the show is called Loberace, and it’s made to look like an over-the-top-fabulous spectacle the likes of which have not been seen in Vegas since that fuckin’ tiger bit Roy. But I’m here to tell you — it sucked!!! The set design was sorely lacking, the dancers were trite and aggressively slutty, and Cee Lo himself looked and sounded like nothing so much as a giant, BeDazzled Mr. Hanky (the Christmas turd from South Park). Ooooooooooo-ooooooooooooooooh, I got some news for you: a golden bathrobe does not make you Liberace, Cee Lo!! You have some major work to do to get that mess up to par. It was horribly cruise-ship. I can’t believe I turned down a German techno rave in a lean-to for that!!!!
Not to worry, though — Fabian invited me out there tomorrow, for a dinner party celebrating the Germans’ last day in the desert lean-to. So I have to wrap this up and get to bed, cuz Wonder Valley here I come!!! I’m not sure what awaits me…but hopefully it is FABULOUS!!! I had to blow off a photo shoot for this, but it’s all good because the other day I won $500 from my credit union, for doing this contest on Twitter they were running…so I guess that buys me one or two days off, huh?
P.S. Fabian also gave me this amazing silicone Table Tit! I’m not sure what I’ll do with it yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something… he makes them as gifts for friends, so hopefully I can get a few more, and make something really freaky!!!