Month: June 2013

One-Percenter Problems

What exactly do I do?! photo by Michael Maze
What exactly do I do?!
photo by Michael Maze

When people ask me what I do for a living, I never really know what to tell them. My accountant lists me as an entertainer, and my wealth-management adviser lists me as a tour guide (!!)…but when asked “What do you do?” I usually just say “Oh…this, that and the other. Emphasis on the other!” Wink, wink! Always good to keep ’em guessing…and titillated! I’m sure when people hear that, they assume I’m a prostitute…but I mean really; I’m a nude model, a fetish model, a trade show model, a writer, a prank actress, a paid companion and have even done data entry for pay. How to encapsulate all that in one word?! Impossible!

enjoying the broke life!
enjoying the broke life!

Living as I do, by my wits and my tits (and I don’t even have tits), requires some very strict budgeting, as I never know when my gig will come. So I allocate myself a mere $40/day for living expenses, and that includes everything: electric, internet, water, trash, sewer, homeowner’s insurance, home warranty, self-employment taxes, makeup, toiletries, clothing, booze and food (my house is paid off, so I have no mortgage/rent).

Of the $40, I allocate $10/day to food. Now, many people in the world live on $10/month, so that shouldn’t be such a big deal…but here in the First World, it can be tough! Especially because I’m no ramen & tuna fish girl — I like foodie food!

Thankfully, I am well-connected and have a wide variety of friends who take me out to nice places, so I usually end up eating quite well. Like, a couple of weeks back I went out to this gourmet place on the Strip called Sage, which according to its website is “Artisanal American” cuisine “with global influences in a sophisticated, yet comfortable atmosphere.” I was invited by a friend from Yelp, who comes to town occasionally with his girlfriend — a super-nice couple from back East, who were generous enough to pay my WhatsYourPrice rate for my time at dinner. So, not only did I get a bad-ass meal…I also got paid to go! Thank you, Mr. Black!!

Then the following week, another friend from Yelp (gawd I love Yelp) invited me to accompany him on a fabulous gourmet tasting excursion that took us to many of the Strip’s top restaurants! He was writing a piece for one of the airlines’ First Class section in-flight mag, so they sent him out to experience the “rich man’s Vegas,” and write about it. Man, I thought I was cool for making a few bucks to go to Sage — this fucker was paid $2000 to be pampered for the entire weekend!! Luckily, he invited me along as his date…and holy wow!

photo by my friend, SW Images
photo by my friend, SW Images

The evening began with cocktails in his magnificent Sky Villa suite at the Aria, looking out over the neon peons rushing to and fro on the Vegas Strip. Then we headed downstairs to a pretentious sushi joint called Bar Masa for sake and caviar atop a bed of delectable, melt-in-your-mouth toro tuna, plus a few pieces of toro tuna roll made specially by the chef. From there, we were escorted to the valet area (where a few short weeks ago I nearly got kicked out for faking a screaming orgasm in that cheesy golf tournament contest) and were driven across the street to the Bellagio, where we enjoyed more caviar at Michael Mina, accompanied by flutes of champagne and elegant shooters of chilled Belvedere, followed by a big fat slab of foie gras on these amazing little crumpet-like cakes, with some kind of genteel white wine. I don’t even like foie gras (I hate fat, and I hate liver)…but guess who lapped it all up like Eliza Doolittle on Henry Higgins’s balls???! Anything tastes good when accompanied by good champagne, LOL.

From there, we were next escorted across the casino to Prime steakhouse, where we enjoyed sampler platters of Wagyu beef, accompanied by veggies and some kind of baked-cheesy potato or macaroni side dish — I don’t remember exactly what it was, since they also gave us red wine and possibly more champagne. FUCK A DUCK!

At the MGM's Mansion with this amazing security guard, Warren, who is the only person I've ever met with bigger hair than mine
At the MGM’s Mansion with this amazing security guard, Warren, who is the only person I’ve ever met with bigger hair than mine

I was stuffed by this point — my belly distended to the point where it was stretching out my $7 Fallas Paredes dress (entire cost of my outfit, shoes and hair accessories included: >$40). But they made us get back in the limo and head over to the MGM Grand, which we entered via the private Mansion gates (the Mansion is like their high-roller enclave, separate from the rest of the MGM hoi polloi) and were escorted into Joël Robuchon for dessert — and not the bullshit Atelier, either; the real Joël Robuchon! There, were treated to dessert wine and a delicious assortment of pastries, sweets and truffles, followed by coffee. YUM!

 

 

With The Empress (holding the squirt gun) at Daylight pool club
With The Empress (holding the squirt gun) at Daylight pool club

The next day, I was afflicted with a miserable case of indigestion and a wretched champagne hangover — forget “First World Problems;” I had a bad case of “One-Percenter Problems.” I don’t know how these rich fuckers do it!! Nevertheless, I sacked up and went to a pool party with this amazing milliner/party girl/model/Vegas scenester who goes by the name The Empress. Don’t ask me how my abs look so flat after all that foie gras and Wagyu beef — ugh!!

But anyhoo, like I said…I certainly can’t afford to eat like that every night, since my daily food allowance is a mere $10. But fortunately, a friend and I devised a plan to eat like kings for free!!! 

a typical hotel EDR
a typical hotel EDR

As you may know, all the Vegas hotels have staff cafeterias in their basements to feed the thousands of worker-drones who toil away their lives making beds, dealing cards and mopping up party-girl piss. The Culinary Union (which most hotel employees are members of) contract demands a free meal each shift, so all the hotels in town have employee dining rooms (EDRs) where staff can enjoy free slop on their lunch break. During my 12-year-plus career as a souvenir photographer, I ate at many of these grease joints — most of them shitty, but hey…it was free!

Well, I told my friend Fabian about it, and he was intrigued. Being a man of means, he has no need to go schlepping around sneaking into places for free food…but it was the challenge that piqued his interest. So one evening, we set out on an EDR infiltrating mission.

We put on all-black outfits — button-down shirts, slacks — to appear as if we were some sort of blend-into-the-background hotel employees, and then plotted our course. I thought it would be funny if we did it like a gourmet, multi-course meal — not unlike my One-Percenter excursion! So we decided to have salad and appetizers at one hotel, then main course at another, and desert at a third.  For starters, I chose a hotel whose EDR I was familiar with — I worked there back in the day for about 3 years, and knew exactly where it was, and that the salad bar could be accessed easily without an employee ID card (some tight-fisted places have a turnstile that requires you to swipe an ID card to get in).

perusing the options
perusing the options

Now, this wasn’t even one of the better EDRs in town, but Fabian was completely gob-smacked! He said it was one of the most exciting things he’d done in Vegas — and this is someone who really gets around!! We loaded up our trays with salad, and washed it all down with Kangen alkalized water, which this particular EDR had on tap (!!). All around us, various hotel employees sat glumly munching their lunches and dinners — no one paid us any mind. Our carefully planned all-black outfits made no difference, either — there was such a variety of staff down there, some in casino uniforms, some in lifeguard attire, and some in freaky Cirque du Soleil makeup (the show performers eat down there, too), that you could basically just walk in there wearing anything and no one would notice.

I had a photo shoot the next day, or I would have eaten more
I had a photo shoot the next day, or I would have eaten more

Next, we moved on for the main course. I had chosen this one hotel that has an amazing EDR — I’d only eaten there once, when I was stuck working this miserable fucking show they used to have, but I was pretty sure I remembered how to get there, and it had no turnstile or anything so we could access the hot food as well as the salad bar (the first hotel had their hot food locked up, but the turnstile had been jammed open by a thoughtful employee). We headed over there, found the employee doors near the parking garage, and followed a stream of employees down into the bowels of the hotel, right to the food. It was delicious! And the ambiance wasn’t bad, either. I had Thai stir-fry and hummus and greens and all kinda fabulous healthy foodie-food — that place is great!!!

getting creative with limited dessert options
getting creative with limited dessert options

For dessert, we decided to up our game and try a hotel that was completely unfamiliar to me. I’d never worked at this particular upscale hipster joint, so had no idea where the EDR was…but it was pretty easy to find, simply by walking around the casino and looking for a doorway with employees streaming in and out. We followed the stream down into the basement, salivating at the prospect of what must surely be in store from such a fabulous hotel — and when we got there, it was like El Dorado! TONS of delicious foodie-food! We grabbed trays and began to load up…but then noticed that there were prices on the displays, and a cashier at the end!!! WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I guess that tight-fisted non-Union joint issues scrip or something to their staff, to be used to purchase meals. Bogussssss!!! We bailed on that shit in a hot minute, and headed over to a different place I’d been to that had a slightly dumpier, but free, selection of desserts.

the best restaurant in town...no reservations required
the best restaurant in town…no reservations required

The next day, we did it again — first, we hit up a place I’d long heard touted as the be-all and end-all of Strip EDRs…but it was said to be locked down by a dreaded turnstile. I’d never been there, but we found it quickly by the usual means (it’s astonishingly simple to sneak into these places…there is no security whatsoever). And guess what?! There was no turnstile or anything — and it was fantastic!!! We gorged on veggie burgers, hummus, soup, greens, edamame and just about everything else under the sun. By the time we rolled out of there I was stuffed… and it’s a good thing, since the second two EDRs we tried that night sucked ass. They were both non-Union hotels, so maybe that’s why — either way, they were awful and I had to settle for cheesecake-flavored soft-serve topped with Oreo crumbles, Butterfinger crumbles, hot fudge and Cap’n Crunch.

Juicing!
Juicing!

Well, after all that piggery, Fabian decided to go on a juice cleanse. He spent about $500 at Whole Foods, bought a top-of-the-line commercial-grade juicer, and invited me over one night for juice. I helped him cut up veggies and stuff, which he fed into the maw of the juicer, grinding it up into a paste which was then crushed flat to extract every last drop of juice. We threw the leftover dry veggie paste into the sink, but it ended up hopelessly clogging up his garbage disposal!! I tried to unclog it, but only succeeded in making a geyser of green puke-like liquid erupt from his drain, splattering all over his walls and cabinets!!!! His entire kitchen was a fucking disaster — and as a result, his roommate asked him to move out at the end of his lease, haha. Ironically, I think his roommate is a chef at one of the swanky restaurants I went to recently.

trying to unclog the drain
trying to unclog the drain

We didn’t have time to worry about it, though, because we were late for a meeting with a nude magician!!! While at the Burlesque Hall of Fame Expo the other weekend, Fabian had met this amazing woman named Dusty Summers — the world’s only nude magician. She had invited him to this weekly magicians’ gathering over at a dive bar off the freeway, so that he might meet more interesting characters and magicians to use in pranks for his pranking company. I had long heard of this weekly gathering, and had always meant to go check it out, so I went with him. O…M…G!!!

We were about 15 minutes late, and Dusty and her daughter were sitting at the bar looking pretty peeved. You don’t keep a nude lady magician waiting!!! It was hip-hop night in the bar — a dingy, depressing wood-paneled affair cowering in the shadow of the Palace Station — so the front room was full of about 3 wannabe gangstas thuggin’ around drinking Henny. But Dusty led us through these double doors into the BACK room….and that’s where the magic began!!! This supposedly legendary, exceptionally vulgar, one-legged old coot we’ll call “Barry Garwin” was sitting in a wheelchair at a Formica table, holding court over a roomful of about 5 sad-sack old magicians and magic aficionados. Dusty took us aside and instructed us, sotto voce, that when we were ready to leave, we should get him talking to one of the other guys…or he would never let us go.  Then she introduced us to Barry, and beat a hasty retreat. Thanks, toots!!

happier times
happier times

Barry spent the next hour gas-bagging to his rapt audience of four: me, Fabian, and two old dudes, one of whom spent half his time bragging about all the stars he had photos with from his days in the Catskills, and the other half trying to peddle some weird pain-management technique he’d perfected, and wanted to try out on any local magicians he could get his hands on. It was pure comedy gold! Despite his lofty reputation, Barry wasn’t so much interested in talking about magic as he was about all the black women he’d fucked — he really liked black women, he told us repeatedly. “You wanna see a photo of my last girlfriend?” He pulled out a photo from his wallet, obviously cut from a magazine, of a ginormous-titted naked black woman spreading her vagina apart with elaborately manicured fingers. “That’s my last girlfriend.”

To his credit, Barry did pause briefly now and then in his vulgar joke-telling and dirty talk to demonstrate a few magic techniques, which were actually pretty damn amazing! The guy was really good…but it was far more entertaining to listen to to his dirty talk. The best part was, little flecks of spittle flew from his mouth with every foul word — he was one of those “wet” talkers, so at least the filth spewing from his bearded lips was diluted somewhat. He had some pretty good one-liners, too, which he had compiled into a little chapbook that he was selling — come to find out, that’s what all these magicians do there: try and sell crap. The table in front of Barry was stacked high with wacky gags, magic props and books, all of which this poor man was trying to make a buck off of, presumably so he could pay his medical bills (his one-leggedness was due to diabetes).

the ol' needle-thru-the-arm gag...get's 'em every time!
the ol’ needle-thru-the-arm gag…get’s ’em every time!

After an hour or so, we got him talking to one of the other dudes and then beat a hasty retreat to one of the other two “booths” in the room (really they’re just Formica tables piled with crap, but they treat it like a magicians’ swap meet or something). The poor obese man at this table was sweating profusely as he demonstrated all the gags and DVDs he had on offer, and Fabian finally decided to purchase a sort of knitting-needle gag kit, with which one can amaze and astound one’s friends by appearing to poke a long metal needle through one’s arm, without leaving a trace! He asked the man to demonstrate it, so he opened the kit, which he was selling for $20, and all it was, was a needle and a little bottle of rubber cement. I guess the idea was that you spread rubber cement on the inside of your elbow, and somehow it

you can't see it in this pic, but the man was really sweating profusely
you can’t see it in this pic, but the man was really sweating profusely

makes your skin stick together in such a way as to make it look like the needle is going through it. Problem was, the rubber cement was around 500 years old, and totally dried up!!! But that nervously sweating fucker still sold it to Fabian — at full price!! Fabian tried to get a discount on account of the rubber cement being dried out, but the guy was like, “Eh, you just need some new rubber cement…it’s only $3, you can get it anywhere!!”

So Fabian forked over the $20 and then went back to Barry Garwin’s table to buy a couple of his gags, too — and then we got the hell out of there!! That place reeked of sad desperation — it was simply astonishing!!! How have I never been there before?!?

Now speaking of the pranking company, things are proceeding apace and they are expected to have their official launch in September! I can’t wait…I’ll be up to my neck in pranking gigs 🙂 Meanwhile, a nationally-known reality show producer showed some interest in possibly creating a show around the company, so Fabian and his business partner arranged a lunch meeting with the guy, to discuss possible scenarios. And they thought it would be a fun idea to prank the guy while they were having the meeting!

With the good Doctor Jon
With the good Doctor Jon

The meeting was held at one of my all-time favorite spots, the Heart Attack Grill. The good doctor who runs the place was all for it, and even the waitresses got in on the prank. They had six planted actors seated at different places around where the meeting was going down, and then towards the end of the meeting, Fabian dropped his water bottle on the floor to signal the start of the prank. This cued one actor, who was playing a creepy perv, to start pumping his hot dog in and out of the bun in a very sexual fashion, which creeped out the waitress so that she threw a fit and kicked him out. That prompted my partner to get down on one knee and propose marriage to me, at which I started ranting and screaming about what a DICK he was to propose to me HERE, after what he did last night…which prompted another actress to butt in and tell me to stop being a bitch, at which I threw a French fry at her, instigating an entire crazy food fight among all six actors, with the reality TV guy in the middle!!!

Then I stormed out of the restaurant in a “huff…” only to sneak back in a few minutes later to kibbitz with my amazingly awesome friend Dr. Jon, the owner of the Heart Attack Grill, who is without a doubt one of the smartest, coolest people I know. The hardest part of the prank was pretending not to know him when he came up to our table…he’s such a cool guy, and I hadn’t seen him in awhile. But every time I’m in the area and think of dropping in, the place is so jam-packed with anti-nanny-state lard-asses packing their greasy maws with LDL cholesterol that I don’t want to bother him! Seriously…that place does amazing business!

the Raintree
the Raintree

Now after all that craziness in the city, you can see why I’d want to escape up to the mountains for a little fresh air and nature. My friend Trixxie has recently gotten the hiking bug, so we headed up to the Spring Mountains about 30 min northwest of Vegas for a 6-mile roundtrip hike up to the Raintree, a 4,000-year-old bristlecone pine said to be the oldest living thing in the state of Nevada. Those bristlecone pines are amazingly beautiful — photographers, sample images of the trees are sprinkled throughout the rest of this blog, and imagine how fabulous they would look with a nude model draped over them (AHEM!!!). The best part is, even when it’s 150 degrees in Vegas, it’s always at least 30 degrees cooler up there. Be advised, however…it’s about an hour’s hike up a decent grade to get to the trees, so

a plateau fit for a drum circle!
a plateau fit for a drum circle!

you’d have to be in at least marginally good shape to do it. A little further on there’s also an AMAZING plateau, with views of the entire Vegas valley, that would make an amazing spot for an overnight campout/drum circle. AHEM!!!!!

Speaking of drum circles, that same night they were having a big one out on one of the dry lake beds in the area. I drove down from the mountain, stopped at home to grab my drum and some wine,

view from the plateau
view from the plateau

and then headed down south toward the Hoover Dam. By the time I got there, everyone was already in full beast-mode: drummers drumming, bonfire blazing, half-naked hippie chicks swaying and thrashing in the firelight. A friend who has an art car designed to look like a magic carpet was cruising around the desert with his disco ball flashing and chicks hanging from the rafters, so I jumped on that and rode around awhile, swigging wine from a genteel little sippy-cup and chatting with the others onboard. After awhile of that, I disembarked and joined the drummers for a mad, beatnik-style drum-boree that wrapped up with some crazy Asian guy on guitar playing Nelly’s “Hot in Herre.” I’m telling you…you haven’t lived until you’ve drummed along to that!!!!

another gnarly bristlecone
another gnarly bristlecone

I wanted nothing more than to stay out in the desert all night, eating mushrooms and drinking wine, but I had this damn photo shoot the next day, so I left around midnight. The shoot was at this house up near Summerlin — this crazy German fetish producer by the name of Goebbels who runs a site devoted to fully-clothed chicks jumping in swimming pools and splashing water all over their clothes. !!! It was around 500 degrees outside that day, and they had me put on a full black-leather ensemble, complete with leather jacket, and I was really sweating….until I jumped in the pool!! It was so weird…I basically got paid to swim around all seductive and soggy. Good times! After they shot 30min of that, I had to get out, dry my hair, and put on a whole new outfit and do it all again! Fun!!!!

more bristley-ness
more bristley-ness

The best part was, the Germans had just moved to Vegas, so hopefully I can work with them again sometime. They used to do all their work in Germany and the Czech Republic, and interestingly, they said Czech girls are the most reliable on the planet! They were in for a rude surprise here in Vegas, though…the model who was supposed to shoot right before me was a no-show! And that’s pretty much how it goes here.

Now interestingly, they were just renting the pool from the guy who owns the house, and he came up to me on my way out to introduce himself. He has a company called AnnieCreamcheese that sells vintage designer clothing, and they used to have a shop at the Palazzo until the rent got too high. Now they just

the pic in question...by Michael "Badass" Maze
the pic in question…by Michael “Badass” Maze

sell stuff online, and when I got home I checked out the site — and saw MY photo on it!! LOL!!! Somehow he had gotten ahold of this wacky pic me and Michael Maze took back in the day, and was using it to pimp his goods. When I alerted him to the fact that he was using our photo, he was super cool, and gave us all online giftcards for merchandise in return for using it. What a smaaaaalllll world…….

Now speaking of photo shoots, I also did a shoot last week with one of my all-time favorite photographer/artists…the one and only Barfing Rainbows!!! This is the guy who has me wear a melting-face latex mask in all my pics, so I really like shooting with him cuz I don’t have to worry about doing my hair and makeup. This time, he had blown up a kiddie pool in a trash-strewn empty lot just off the Strip, and had filled it with candy. My job was to get in and pretend to strangle this other model, a guy in stained Jockey shorts and a weird sort of Mardi Gras mask, while Barfing Rainbows’s long-suffering wife threw more candy, and Indian colored dye powder, all over us. It was fun, but I was a real fucking MESS by the end of that shoot! To make matters worse, I stepped on an ants’ nest while eating candy out of the pool after the shoot, and got ant bites all over my ankles. Those poor little fuckers were allllll kinds of riled up by all the sugar around them, and they really went to town on me!

another tree
another tree

Then another day, I did a gig as a background extra in this movie that was filming out here. I guess Nevada finally started offering up some tax incentives, so more Hollywood productions are filming out here these days. Whatever — I fucking hate being an extra, but I had nothing else going on that day and it did happen to pay marginally more than the usual minimum wage, so I agreed to do it. The scene was supposed to take place around Christmas time, so despite the fact that it was literally about 110 degrees outside, we had to wear boots, scarves, sweaters, etc. UGH!! Worse, our holding area was this bullshit parking lot behind the Planet Hollywood hotel, where they had trailers set up with totally sub-par air conditioning. Like there aren’t enough fucking conference rooms inside Planet Hollywood that they could have given us one or two to use?!? I mean, come on!

Infestation! by Chuck Berg
Infestation! by Chuck Berg

This is what I hate about Hollywood productions: calltime was 2pm, out in the baking heat of the parking lot. It took them about an hour to sign everyone in, then an hour for everyone’s wardrobe to be approved, and then — WHOOPS! UNION MEAL BREAK! Now we all have to sit outside in the blazing, mind-searing heat and eat hamburgers and pasta and shit for 30 minutes. Then it took another hour to get everyone loaded into vans, and bused over to the hotel entrance, where we were led to another holding area, and then another hour in holding, and then about four hours at a blackjack table, pretending to gamble while home half-rate British banty-rooster action star did his 30 sec. of dialog. Then another hour to bus everyone back out to the parking lot, at which time it was WHOOPS! UNION MEAL BREAK! again, and we all sweated our balls off eating steak and chicken and salad and whatnot for 30minutes. Then another hour to bus everyone over to Caesars Palace for the next shot, another hour in another holding room, but there were no chairs in that holding room, so Caesars staff had to bring in chairs and tables and kept making us get up when all we were trying to do was catch a few fucking minutes’ sleep, for Chrissake! Some of us had to be at a gig at 7am, and the way this was going, I’d be lucky to get there in time!!

What's going on HERE?! pic by a photographer that wanted to remain anonymous, I think
What’s going on HERE?! pic by a photographer that wanted to remain anonymous, I think

Then, whooooops, that holding room wasn’t big enough, so they had to transfer us all to the poker room. Now, if you’ve never been in a Strip casino poker room at 3am, you haven’t lived. Those people are weird!! I spent about 4 hours in the poker room holding area, trying to fall asleep and catch a few winks, but this guy was trying to hit on me and I finally just gave up and went looking for some coffee. Due to conflicting unions, the production staff, which belongs to one union, was unable to bring coffee onto Caesars property, which is strictly Culinary Union. So I ended up just going down to the EDR and grabbing some fucking coffee myself!!!! The P.A. in charge of the extras was all, “Where did you get that?!” and I was like, “I bought it.” Fuck it — it was like 4am by this point, and I was exhausted!!!!

Finally they let us out of the holding area and into the hotel lobby, where we walked back and forth in the background while the aforementioned banty-rooster recited another 20sec. of dialog, which only took an hour to complete….and then finally we were done!! Another hour to be bused back over to the empty lot behind Planet Hollywood, and around 5:30am I finally signed out. Is it any fucking wonder it costs so much to make a movie?! I was onset for 15½ hours, all so they could film 5 minutes of footage. GET A GRIP!!!!

Now I only had an hour or so to get to my 7am gig, which was a scavenger hunt, so I went home, freshened up, and put on my executive spy lady costume, then hit up a Starbucks. Thankfully, the scavenger hunt was super easy — all these super-enthusiastic Singaporeans running around getting clues and doing stunts — so in a few short hours’ time I was able to go home, collapse into bed, and sleep all day 🙂 Whew!!!!

Now, you might think I’m nuts — my friend Joe is even nuttier! This is the guy I mentioned a couple blogs ago who is a sort of amateur porn producer — he discovers talent out here in Vegas, then drives them to L.A. to perform in lesbo DVDs, and he gets a cut. Mid-50s, ex-lounge singer, all-around nutjob. Well at one of his shoots in L.A. the producers saw his penis (don’t ask me what was going on at THAT shoot!), and were like, “Hey, man, you have a really interesting, silky-looking dick! You should take some photos of that…we could find a market for you and your Silk Dick with the gays!”

So for the past couple months, he’s been on my nuts wanting me to take some photos of his penis. He also wants me to photograph some of his ladies — especially this new chick he just discovered, a Latina spinner who looks about 16 but is really 28. I was all for it, but my schedule has been so busy lately it was hard to figure out a time we could all get together. Well, we finally all agreed to meet up Monday morning at 10am (who the hell shoots porn that early?!) at Joe’s house, so I dragged my ass out of bed and went over there with my camera and stuff.

But come to find out, the very evening before, Joe had gotten a call from a guy in L.A. who needed a last-minute fill-in for this Latina Incest DVD he was filming, so Joe and his protégé had to fly out there, shoot all night long, then get the morning flight back to Vegas. This was the girl’s first-ever shoot — she had to play the shy niece who gets molested by her hot Auntie — so she was passed out asleep, at home. But Joe had stayed up all night, drank about 50 cups of coffee, and was rarin’ to go. He had promised to pay me for 4 hours’ work, and by golly he intended to give me 4 hours of work!!!

watching fetish porn at Joe's ex-girlfriend's house
watching fetish porn at Joe’s ex-girlfriend’s house

The first hour or two, I sat around with him watching this weird fetish DVD all about this Belgian dominatrix who was beating up a guy in a tiger-skin Xentai suit — you know, one of those full-body suits that covers the face and everything? Only this one was customized with ears and a tail, and these little zippers by his dick and nipples, so she could reach in and pinch his nips and slap his dick with her riding crop and whatnot. CRAZY!!!

Well, after the DVD was over, Joe was all riled up — he had just only discovered the world of fetish and BDSM, and come to find out it really turns him on. Whatever, I’m just there to get paid — let’s take some photos! So he pulls out these bags of stuff he’d bought at Savers — he’d gone thrift shopping in search of anything studded/black leather he could find, and what a haul! He had these two pairs of leather pants he’d cut the asscheeks out of, like poor man’s chaps, so I photographed him in those while he was bent over a black metal quilt rack (we were shooting all this at his ex-girlfriend’s house, so he had to make do with her womanly furnishings, LOL).

The only bummer was, he wanted his dick to look its most impressive, but he was having a hard time getting a boner — so kept trying to peek up my shorts, and asking me if he could photograph me naked!! For once in my sorry life I stood up for myself and was like, “NO!!! I’m not here to be photographed! Back off!” He even offered to pay my nude modeling rate, which is considerably more than my photographer rate, but I demurred.

shoulda showed Joe THIS pic -- he'd have a boner in no time! photo by Randy Fosth/Shutterbug Studio
shoulda showed Joe THIS pic — he’d have a boner in no time! photo by Randy Fosth/Shutterbug Studio

So finally he went into his Savers bags and pulled out a bunch of studded leather women’s belts — you know, the kinda shit you buy at Hot Topic — and sort of fashioned them into various harness-type things around his asscheeks, dick and balls. And that did it for him! He got wood in no time, wrapping the belt around his balls and slapping his thigh with the end of it. Man, it was too early in the morning to be looking at this kinda of stuff!!!!

Finally his amateur fetish fumblings did the trick, and he jizzed all over his ex-girlfriend’s bathroom countertop — grosssssssss!!! I snapped some pics of glistening jizz dribbling down his wrinkly ballsac, and it was pretty artsy, if I do say so myself. I’m not sure it was what he was looking for — I don’t think he cared much for artistry; I kept trying to get him to open the windows so we could use natural light, but he wanted me to just use the flash. But whatever the case, he was happy with the results and he paid me AND gave me an extra bonus for harassing me. UGH!!! He’s already on my nuts about shooting again, but I’m not sure I can stomach it. I’m kinda curious to meet his stable of porn chicks, though…so I’ll go if I can film them all together or something. I can’t help it; I’m curious….

Anyway, after that I had to go straight to the dentist…and I’m not sure which was more unpleasant — the morning, or the afternoon! Either way, it was just another crazy day in the life of W O N D E R H U S S Y…….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Magic of Makeup

By special request, here is a step-by-step look at how I make up my face every single day of my miserable existence! Well…not every single day; five years ago I would never dream of even going to the gym without makeup, but over the past few years I’ve grown lazy and will occasionally schlep around town sans cosmetics. Quel horreur!!!!!

Anyhoo, grab a stiff drink and get ready to be shocked and appalled!!!!! Note: these pics are from 2010, but it’s basically the same ordeal now.

my virgin face
my virgin face

I start out with a freshly washed and moisturized face. I use CeraVie facewash, then apply alpha-hydroxy glycolic acid from acne.org (I am acne-prone), and then I use CeraVie moisturizer with an SPF of 30. I also use various eye creams, depending on the state of my eyelids (they get really dry and red sometimes, so then I use prescription ointments…but usually I use cheap-ass Jergens Face Cream on them, or sometimes Mario Badescu Control Cream). Time elapsed: 10min. Estimated cost: $0.50/day.

eyeliner

Next, I apply MAC water-resistant gel eyeliner in “Blacktrack,” with the teeny-tiniest little brush MAC sells.

Time elapsed (for this step): 2 min

Cost (for this step): $0.08

mascara on top eyelashes
face powder
bronzer/blush
bottom eyelashes
lip stain
lipstick
eyeshadow
cat-eye liquid eyeliner
eyebrows
finished product

 

 

Now I curl my top eyelashes, which are pretty sparse and short, and then apply copious amounts of mascara — at least 5 coats. I use Colossal Volum’ Express by Maybelline…and if I plan to be in the water, I’ll use the waterproof version.

Time: 3 min/ Cost: $0.12

 

 

Next, I smooth out my blotchy complexion with MAC StudioFix powder in NC-25. I have been using this same powder since 2000! I love it! If I have zits, I’ll dab them with some cheap-ass concealer or another.

Time: 1 minute/ Cost: $0.24

 

Now I put on bronzer and blush, to give my pale-ass face some color (I’m pale thanks to the fact that I wear sunblock on my face every day no matter what). any bronzer will do — whatever’s cheapest. I currently use Wet ‘N’ Wild bronzer in “Bikini Contest.” For blush, I use Wet ‘N’ Wild in “Pearlescent Pink.”

Time: 30 sec.

Cost: $0.03 (they last a looooong time)

Then I put mascara on my bottom eyelashes, which are also wussy, sparse and short.

Time: 3 min

Cost: included in estimate for top lashes

 

 

Now I put on lip stain, to make my thin white-lady lips look fuller. For this I use CoverGirl Outlast Lipstain #450…basically a marker for your face!

Time: 30 sec/ Cost:$0.04

 

 

Over the lipstain, I use regular CoverGirl Outlast lip color in “Brazen Raisin” (who the fuck comes up with these names?!). I have been using this shit forEVER, and it REALLY WORKS! I’ve said before that it stays on thru banana splits and blow jobs — and it’s the truth! I apply two coats for best coverage, then the glossy top coat.

Time: 3 min (you have to get it just right before it sets). Cost: $0.25

Next, I apply MAC eyeshadow in “Star Violet.”

Time: 15sec

Cost: $0.00 (MAC has this awesome program where if you bring in 6 empty plastic makeup containers, they give you a free eyeshadow or lipstick. So I recycle my old eyebrow pencils and StudioFix compacts and get my shadow for free!)

Now I apply a thin cat-eye line of liquid eyeliner to my top eyelid. I LO-O-O-VE Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen’s waterproof liquid liner, but they don’t make it anymore so I use Wet ‘N’ Wild H2O black liquid liner…but with the old Mary-Kate and Ashley applicator, which is much more precise!

Time: 1 min/ Cost: $0.06

 

Last, I do my eyebrows. I use MAC gel eyeliner in “Dipdown,” sort of lightly filling in the bald spots/sketching them on with an angled brush from MAC. Then I use the MAC eyebrow pencil in “Lingering” to sort of blend it all together.

Time: some days it takes forever to get them right, but usually about 5 min.

Cost: $0.28

Total time elapsed: Around one hour (and that’s without doing my hair!! To pass the time, I listen to NPR…except on the weekends, when they play all those lame-ass wacky non-news shows)

The total cost of all this adds up to $1.60/day, which is $576/YEAR!!! And THAT’s why men should pay for dinner…it’s already costing us gals a fortune just to show up looking good. Unless you happen to be one of those naturally beautiful bitches….grrrr.

 

Naked in Ireland

pic by SW Images
pic by SW Images

When I left off last time, I was trying kooky new therapies to “cure” my insomnia before my trip to Ireland…so that I would be able to sleep over there, without the aid of my medical marijuana — which I wasn’t going to be able to bring with me. As you may recall, my efforts failed miserably! So what did I do?

Well, I’m here to tell you that things got even WORSE! A few days before my trip, I got an email from one of the guys who had hired me for that golf tournament that I caddied — you remember, the one with all the “sexy caddy” shenanigans (in Vegas, “golf” = “hijinks involving scantily clad caddies, copious amounts of booze, and MAYBE a golf club or two”). ANYhoo, the main guy who had set up the golf event emailed me to see if I would vouch for him — apparently he was going to be in the Santa Barbara area for work, and had scheduled a photo shoot while out there, and had booked a local model who might want to check a reference.

pic by SW Images
pic by SW Images

Of course I agreed — he’s a nice enough man, and I’m sure any model would be safe shooting with him. But then he goes, “Well actually, I get the feeling she’s gonna flake on me. Would YOU be interested in doing it? I could fly you out to Santa Barbara and we could shoot on the beach at sunrise!”

Now, this was about 5 days before my trip to Ireland…and I was kinda sweating my finances. I had paid work booked in Ireland, but only enough to cover my travel expenses — I still needed to make my monthly nut to pay my regular bills back here in Vegas. My plan was to bust my ass working the week before my trip, and then again the week after…thus covering my nut, and allowing me to enjoy my time abroad as vacation.

pic by ME
pic by ME

But, inexplicably, all my usual gigs here in town dried the fuck up before my trip…so I was just sitting around getting nervous. I did go busking a few nights with Jay Joint, and made a little cash…but not enough. So I told the golf guy photographer “Why, sure! I’ll just drive out to Santa Barbara and shoot with you!” I figured I could just spend the night with a friend in L.A., then drive up to S.B. early the next morning for the shoot. I could even make a little pre-vacay vacay out of it. Maybe I’d even stop by Venice Beach in my Mary Jane costume, and try busking out there.

Alas, it wasn’t that easy. It turns out the photographer — we’ll call him “Ludovico” — had this cockamamie plan to shoot at sunset Wednesday night, AND then again Thursday morning. He was flying into Santa Barbara at 5:30pm Weds, so he asked me to drive out ahead of him and scout a good beach, then text him my location so that when he landed, he could get a car and drive out real quick to shoot me at sunset. Then, we’d both drive up to Pismo Beach, where his meeting was — 80 MILES AWAY! I’d share his hotel room, then get up to shoot again at sunrise on the beach near his hotel. Oh, and I had to supply my own camera, as he couldn’t/didn’t want to bring his own (or maybe he doesn’t even HAVE a camera…who knows?!).

Hmmmmmmm!!!!!

He assured me he would behave himself if I shared his bed, so I figured I’d just deal with it later and agreed to the plan, for the price of $500. I packed my D-70 and a bag of clothes, left Vegas around 11am Weds, and basically hauled ass to Santa Barbara, making it there in about 5 hours. I found a perfect beach just outside town, and settled in to wait for Ludovico. Of course, his flight was delayed, and blah blah blah….so next thing you know, he didn’t expect to arrive in Santa Barbara til 7:30…which would put him on the beach well after sunset 🙁

pic by ME
pic by ME

Since I was already there anyway, I made the best of it: I ran 4 or 5 miles on the beach, then set up my D70 on the timer, and took my own damn sunset nudes!!! They came out pretty good, if I do say so myself. The only bummer was, I couldn’t figure out how to set the timer to take multiple frames…I could only do one at a time. So I would hit the shutter, then run out into the water and get into position before it took the shot….then run back out, check it, and repeat. Thank Dog the beach was pretty much deserted, so there was non one around to see this naked maniac running back and forth!!!

pic by J.E. Setsaas
pic by J.E. Setsaas

After all that, Ludovico finally landed…but by the time he got his car and everything, the sun was already pretty much down, so we decided to just meet up in Pismo Beach and have dinner. We ate a great meal, washed down with gallons of wine, and then went down to the beach and smoked a bowl while looking at the stars and having bullshit quasi-philosophical conversation. Ludovico is actually a very interesting person — part Kenyan, part Indian, part British, living in Canada — so it was pretty good times. He didn’t protest too much when I insisted on sleeping on the sofa in his room instead of sharing his bed — and it was actually really cozy, right by the balcony door, which he left open to the sounds of the crashing waves right outside. I passed out in a hot minute, and slept pretty well for once in my life…

…EXCEPT for the little fact that we were shooting at SUNRISE, which meant I had to get up at 4AM to get ready!!!!!! UGH!!!!!!

pic by Shutterbug-Studio
pic by Shutterbug-Studio

I dragged my ass out of bed when my alarm went off, made some coffee, and went about my business performing my morning ablutions. By the time the sun came up I was photo-ready, and we headed down to the beach right in front of the hotel, where by some MIRACLE it was a clear, sunny morning that wasn’t too chilly. I pranced around in the sand and rocks and surf for two or three hours, even getting IN the damn water at the very end…and while I can’t exactly lie and say it was enJOYable, it was at least TOLERABLE! I didn’t freeze my ass off….yay!!

Pirates Cove nude beach, near Pismo Beach
Pirates Cove nude beach, near Pismo Beach

Ludovico’s meeting was at 11am, so we went back up to his room around 9:30 and I got cleaned up, packed my bag, took my money and headed back out onto the road. Some relatives in the area had clued me into a nearby nude beach called Pirates Cove, so I headed up there to check it out before driving back to the desert. I’m originally from California, and I do miss it dearly — the beach, in particular, and the whole fog/palm tree/eucalyptus vibe…so I wanted to hang out at least a LITTLE before I went back!

 

 

 

Pirates Cove
Pirates Cove

Pirates Cove is up by Avila Beach, just north of Pismo….and it is AWESOME!!! I highly recommend it. I laid out for an hour or so, and no one fucked with me — although there were several other people out there that day, everyone just sort of kept to themselves. It was great!!! I worked on some writing I had to do for one of the local papers, and then laid back to decide where I should go next.

The direct route back to Vegas goes through Bakersfield, so I figured I could do that and stop off to have dinner with a doctor friend I met on WhatsYourPrice.com, who lives out there. OR, I could go south to L.A. and spend the night with another fun friend. Decisions!!

In the end, I went the Bakersfield route…because I really needed to get home and finish my writing, and do some stuff to get ready for my Ireland trip. I cruised inland from Pismo, and it was a really beautiful drive. I just love California; northern, southern, coastal, inland…it’s so amazingly diverse. The central area around Santa Barbara is underappreciated; there’s this one area called Summerland, which in my esteem is like the greatest name ever. What’s better than summertime? NOTHING! I want to live in the land of perpetual summer!! Too bad it’s all rich old people 🙁

Oil field outside Bakersfield
Oil field outside Bakersfield

After leaving the coast, the highway goes inland through endless fields of yellow grass and HUNDREDS of oil derricks. I had to stop and take a pic for my friend J.R., who’s in the oil biz back east — come to find out, Kern County (wherein lies Bakersfield) produces 1/10th of the oil in the entire U.S.! Ahhh, California…is there anything you don’t have in abundance?? (Well, affordable housing….which is why I left, haha.)

Even more interesting, after passing

James Dean death memorial
James Dean death memorial

through the oil fields, I also passed the spot where James Dean died in a fiery car crash! Back in 1955, at the height of his popularity, James Dean was driving his little silver Porsche Spyder up from L.A. to a race track in Salinas, to compete in some amateur racing event…when he collided with another car in the middle of B.F.E., Cowtown County, CA. He was pretty much killed instantly, and since there’s little else in the area to draw in tourism, they milk the whole affair shamelessly. There’s a James Dean gas station, a James Dean Memorial intersection (at the exact site of the crash)…and this weird-ass memorial sculpture dedicated to him by some wealthy Japanese fan, wrapped around an oak tree outside a nearby diner. Back in 2001, my Mormon friend Turqouise and I drove down to check it out, but I hadn’t been back since. It was exactly the same!

I didn’t have much time to dally though, so I chugged on to Bakersfield, had dinner with my doctor friend at the local Elephant Bar, and then continued on to Vegas around 9pm. I rolled into town around 1am, finished writing my column for the paper, and finally collapsed into bed around 3:30am. This all after rising at 4am for that photo shoot, you may recall — talk about a loooooong day! I had tried to take a nap earlier at Pirates Cove, but I have a really hard time falling asleep more than once in a 24-hour period, so I was unsuccessful, despite how exhausted I was.

superheroes!
superheroes!

Anyway, now I was back in Vegas and I still couldn’t sleep well! To make matters worse, because my sleep is so shitty, my immune system is worn down…and I get sick really easily, so of course I caught a nasty cold. I should have stayed home in bed to rest, but I made myself go out busking Friday and Saturday nights, which only made it worse. And even WORSE, some friends had invited me to a charity fundraiser Saturday afternoon, where some half-baked women’s shelter was trying to set a Guinness World’s Record for the largest number of people in superhero costumes — so I rode my bike downtown in my Wonder Woman outfit to take part.

Now, riding a bike in a superhero cape is something everyone should do at least once — it’s great!! The wind blows your cape around like you’re really flying; it’s a trip. Plus, there was some kind of classic lowrider car show going on in the parking lot at the dive bar across the street from my house, and I rode through all the cholos, causing quite a stir: “¡Órale homes, it’s Wonder Woman!”

superheroes!
superheroes!

But once I got to the actual event, it was pathetic. They needed about 1,500 people to break the previous record (that such a record even exists is a testament to the sadness and lameness of people)…but less than 100 people showed up!! And half of them were SAD FUCKING street performers in shitty, sweat-stained Transformers costumes. REALLY depressing. I was feeling really sick and feverish, and I REALLY should have been home in bed…but I hung out and had a cocktail while they tallied up the results. The second that shit was done, I was out like a boner in sweatpants. I rode my bike home, tried to take a quick nap, then rallied for a late-night busking session. Even busking wasn’t any fun, as sick as I was. When we were finally finished, I went home and passed out in bed.

My plan was to sleep all day and get well for my trip, but since I couldn’t really sleep, that kinda fucked everything up. I tried to just take ‘er easy the next few days, but this was a NASTY, lingering cold, and it just wouldn’t go away! I went to Jamba Juice every single day, and overdosed on Vitamin C in both pill and juice form, but nothing helped. I even went to the steam room at my gym and tried to shvitz it out…to no avail.

SICK!
SICK!

So on the day of my flight, I was severely congested. Bad news!! You’re not supposed to fly with stuffed-up sinuses — you can cause permanent ear damage! I know, because I did it before….and to this day I have issues with my sinuses. I called a doctor though, and she gave me some advice to get through it: Sudafed, nasal spray, and these weird special ear plugs. This all ROYALLY fucked up my plan to eat a pot brownie and pass out blissfully for the entire flight — I had intended to get some much-needed sleep on the plane, so that I could be semi-fresh for my photo shoot in Ireland on Friday. Well, there was no way I was sleeping when I was amped up on Sudafed!!!!!

Instead, I sat awake the entire fucking flight. You know how on those transatlantic flights, they try and close all the windows and pretend it’s “nighttime” so that you can catch a few Zs and then “wake up” and start a new day when you land? Well, I basically skipped that whole night’s sleep. My sister (who came with me) and I were even angrily shushed by the guy in front of us, because we were talking too loudly (about inappropriate subject matter, no less) during the fake-night. D’oh!!

Ahhh...makeup.
Ahhh…makeup.

As a result, I arrived at Heathrow airport all groggy and nasty and pissed off…although the good news was, my sinuses were dried out. Before my connecting flight to Dublin, I sat in the airport and put on my makeup — the photographer was picking me up at the airport, and I didn’t want to freak him out by looking too ghastly. So by the time I got off the plane in Dublin, I looked semi-alive. True to his word, the photographer met us at baggage claim, and turned out to be a super cool guy — a true bohemian artist-type, with gray ponytail and beard and all, who also happens to be a SHAMAN, who runs sweat lodges out in some Irish bog!!! Hello!! I always meet the coolest fucking people 🙂

Anyhoo, he took us out to a suburb of Dublin to this bed & breakfast he had booked us, just down the street from his studio. It was one of those great old Victorian houses with high ceilings and fireplaces in every room — super quaint. The only downside was, it was freezing fucking cold!!!!! I couldn’t believe how fucking cold it was there — I’m from the desert, for chrissakes, and apparently they were having an unusually late spring, so temperatures were in the 40s or 50s or something crazy. And I was supposed to get naked!!!!! I was basically bone-chillingly cold the entire time I was in that country, start to finish.

So anyhoo, I was really in a fog at this point, but it was only about noon local time, and much too early for bed. My photo shoot wasn’t until the next day, but my sister and I made ourselves stay awake as long as possible, to try and adjust to the time difference. We went over to the photographer’s studio, located in an amazing old 1850s carriage house
(where the keyboard tracks for U2’s “The Unforgettable Fire” were laid down, incidentally) for a quick costume fitting (this photographer is into some craaaaazy, conceptual stuff…right up my alley!). Then we walked down to the seafront, and looked around in the cold gray afternoon mist. Thank Dog I brought my warmest pea coat, I tell you — it was that cold! We ended up hiking all the way up to the top of this hill to a giant stone cross, along beautiful trails lined with bluebells and gorse bushes and whatnot, and it was really cool. Then we went down to a local pub for a bite and a drink….and then it was finally 8pm, and we were able to crawl into bed!

weeping, tossing and turning in the middle of the night
weeping, tossing and turning in the middle of the night

And guess what???? I still couldn’t sleep!!!!! Of course I didn’t have my pipe with me — I could hardly clear customs with a baggie full of weed. But I did have a bag full of the last of my pot cookies, and one brownie a friend had given me. But I figured I was soooo tired, I wouldn’t need any of that, and I could save it for later in the trip. WRONG!! I slept about 2 hours, then tossed and turned the rest of the night, despite the fact that the beds at this bed & breakfast were super cozy, and that it was freezing in the room (being in a cold room is supposed to help one sleep better).

So I woke up groggy and pissed off, and that’s pretty much how the rest of the trip went. I slept miserably over there! The last time I remember sleeping so poorly was when I went on a cruise once, and couldn’t bring my weed on there, either. D’oh!! Nevertheless, I sacked up, painted on my game face, and headed down the street to the photographer’s studio. My sister took the commuter train into Dublin and spent the day looking at museums and the Book of Kells and whatnot — their museums are FREE over there, astonishingly! Meanwhile, I froze my ass off posing for really cool, conceptual, mythological photos at the photographer’s amazing old house. It really was fun, despite how cold I was; that guy is super fucking cool!

drinking cider
drinking cider

After we finished shooting for the day, he drove me into Dublin and we met up with my sis, and had drinks at some super old historical pub, where I felt obligated to have a Guinness. Now, I’ve never drank a beer in my entire life — I despise beer; like, completely despise and loathe it. The smell makes me want to vomit!!! But “when in Rome,” etc….so I ordered and drank an entire glass of Guinness. I didn’t die…but I can’t say I’ll ever drink another, either!

After that, the photographer drove us around a few more sights, then dropped us off at our B&B and we crashed pretty early. Again, I spent a miserable night tossing and turning…but it was OK, as my second day of work (I was hired for three days) consisted of just laying around while a bunch of Irish artists painted me. They all set up their easels in the photographer’s fabulous high-ceilinged drawing room, and I laid naked in the middle, with a space heater cranking away beside me. The photographer played classical music CDs while they sketched and painted, and I basically dozed off and slept the whole day, except for during our frequent tea and cake breaks. It was GREAT!! A surreal, dreamlike, very pleasant day. The artists were all super nice people, and they had nothing but kind words about how “elegant” I was, LOL. Elegant!!!!! The first and last time I’ll ever be described as such, no doubt!

on the train into Dublin
on the train into Dublin

After that, I took the train into Dublin and met up with my sis at this wacky Viking pub, then walked around and had dinner. I don’t usually like to eat much the night before a shoot, to keep my stomach flat, but it was so freaking cold over there that I just had to stoke my fires with something, and ended up eating all this heavy, hearty, gravy-covered stuff. I was kinda apprehensive, because the next day was the final day of my shoot, and the photographer wanted to do some outdoors shooting in a valley he knew of out in the countryside, that was said to be carpeted in bluebells this time of year. Well, I was all for that — I didn’t come all the way there to shoot in a studio; you can do that anywhere! But I was very leery about getting naked outdoors in this freezing land.

hiking out to the bluebell valley
hiking out to the bluebell valley

The next day dawned gray and cold, like all the others, and I headed over to the studio for the morning’s work, which would be indoors. The plan was for my sister to join us around 2pm, when we would all drive out to the countryside together and shoot at the bluebell valley. Well, by some miracle, the sun came out and the temps warmed up to around 60 or 65 degrees — still fucking cold in my book, but definitely sack-up-able! We cruised out into this amazingly beautiful valley — all green and lush and Lord of

tramping around the Irish countryside, naked under a bathrobe
tramping around the Irish countryside, naked under a bathrobe

the Rings-y, totally Garden of Eden — and we shot some more amazingly artsy, conceptual costumed stuff which I can’t wait to show you!! After shooting, the photographer drove us around the country and showed us some sights, including an incredible old monastery from around 600 A.D., and then he took us to dinner at a little country inn-type place. So much fun! He really was an amazing host.

Even more amazingly, he offered to pick

mmm...black pudding :-/
mmm…black pudding :-/

us up at 7am the next day and drop us off at the ferry terminal — we had to take a ferry from Dublin over to Wales, and then a train into London. So the next morning, after yet another sleepless night, we boarded this 3-hour ferry ride. It was actually pretty fun — we had this giant Irish breakfast, with beans and toast and black pudding and all whatnot, and then snoozed off on the couches in the lounge until we arrived in Holyhead, Wales, where we boarded a train for London. It was so much touristy fun to look out the

the ferry to Wales
the ferry to Wales

windows at the green fields full of sheep rolling by….but even more fun to look at these awful British tabloid magazines my sister bought from the snack trolley!! We spent about an hour laughing our asses off at this pictorial spread about the woodland-fairy-themed wedding party of Sir Richard Branson’s daughter’s marriage to some D-list English nobleman. Everyone was there, in fairy costumes — even Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York! The idle fucking rich…..arrrgh.

unpacking in the kitchen of our apartment
unpacking in the kitchen of our apartment

Anyhoo, we arrived in London right at rush hour, and rolled our bags through the train station like real hillbillies to the the subway, where my sister figured out how to take the underground to the little apartment she had rented us for the week, in the South Bank area of London. Now, the B&B we stayed in in Ireland was much more quaint and picturesque — I forgot to mention the fact that the proprietress of the B&B was this awesome sort of brusquely friendly 50s-ish woman named Mary, who laid out breakfast for us every morning downstairs in a formal dining room. But that being said, this apartment was the shit!! We had the heater up to about 1,000 degrees Celsius, and my sister went downstairs to the ground floor Tesco’s supermarket and bought us all kinds of supplies for the kitchen — crumpets and scones and sausage rolls and whatnot. Fabulous!!

boozing at the wine bar
boozing at the wine bar

We didn’t have time to lay around though, because after unpacking and freshening up, it was time to get back on the subway and meet up with a friend of my sister’s who lives over there. This awesome guy, we’ll call him Caleb, was a total Goth pal of my sister’s in high school — I knew him too; we used to all tramp around the California suburbs in 100-degree summer weather in velvet cloaks and shit, like real idiots, back in the day. Well, now he’s a lawyer in London, and lives with his husband in this awesome little apartment that used to be a brothel above a pub!!!!! We met up with them at a wine bar, where we proceeded to drink about 4 bottles of wine over several hours. Then we hit up a pub for a nightcap, and then my sister and I stumbled around for about an hour trying to find our way back to our apartment.

when you're high as fuck, these flowers look AMAZING!
when you’re high as fuck, these flowers look AMAZING!

When we finally found our way back, I finally ate a pot cookie (I didn’t want to eat any in Ireland, because I was afraid I’d be groggy for my photo shoots)…and guess what?? I conked the fuck OUT! I slept hard…and truthfully could have slept for about a week, but I didn’t want to waste my time in London, so I dragged my drugged, high, groggy ass out of bed and got ready anyway for a day of sightseeing. And that’s how it pretty much went all week — I slept great, but was still high in the morning, and consequently spent much of my time wandering around England in a London Fog. Because I was high so much, I took a lot of really boring macro photos of stuff like textured walls, flowers, and lamp posts. D’oh!!!

Stonehenge!!!
Stonehenge!!!

So we did all the usual touristy stuff like go to the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, etc…and then one day we took an awesome bus trip out to Stonehenge. Stonehenge!!!! LOL!!!! The site itself was cool, but even better was the bickering fights going on between the other American bus passengers –it was too fucking cold out there to look at the monument too long, anyway…although some artsy-fartsy halfwit was sitting out there with an easel, stippling away at a rendering of the stones.

D'oh!!
D’oh!!

Now you’re probably wondering about the food — is it as gross as they say?? Well, sort of. I had a steak and kidney pie one night that was pretty “offal….” but then another day I had a weirdly delicious sort of wrap consisting of French fries, lettuce and hummus in a giant tortilla. We kept seeing these signs at all the Subway sandwich shops, for a chicken Tandoori flatbread…but alas, they weren’t in stock yet, so we couldn’t try this strange delicacy. The best meal we had all week was when Caleb and his hubby had us over for dinner, and made a fantastic sort of traditional English dinner with roasted chicken and potatoes and kale and stuff, with a fabulous Victoria sponge cake with clotted cream for desert (both guys are accomplished chefs). Again, we drank a ton of wine and then closed down the local pub afterward.

hello!
hello!

Well, after all that it was time to head back to our apartment, as we had to check out the following morning at 11am. I woke up so fucking high it was ridiculous — I had eaten the last of my pot cookies a couple days before, so had eaten some of this brownie my friend had given me, but hadn’t been sure of the dosage. Holy mother of Dog! That fucking thing was strong!!!! I woke up covered in a cold sweat, trembling and clammy and nauseous and NOT feeling like packing up and heading out into the cold. My sis tried to get us a late checkout, but it was a no-go…so somehow I managed to sack up, pull it all together, stuff my shit in my suitcase and slap on a little makeup, and we headed out into the rain.

We were flying back out of Dublin, so had to do the

LOL haha etc!
LOL haha etc!

whole train/ferry thing in reverse…but our train didn’t leave til 7pm, so we basically had all day to walk around London in the rain. We checked our bags in at the station, and then slogged around town all day. My sister’s husband is obsessed with collecting silver bullion, so we went over to the Silver Vaults to buy him something…then we had some Indian food for lunch…and then killed some time in a bookstore, so I could buy something to read on the flight home. I ended up getting “50 Shades of Grey,” just to see what all the fuss is about……OMG!!! BARF! That book is awful dreck!!!

 

 

in front of a cathedral. The museums are free…but you have to PAY to go in the cathedrals. WTF!!!!

Finally we just headed over to the train station, to begin the long journey home. Our train was supposed to leave London’s Euston Station around 7pm, but when we looked at the “Departures” board, there was no mention of what platform it was arriving at. Odd! We noticed there was a crowd of hundreds of people in the station, all staring up at the Departures board…and then we figured out the shocking truth: over there, they don’t announce the platform number until the train actually pulls into the station…and then hundreds of people all RUN toward the platform, elbowing each other out of the way in a mad rush to get on the train before it’s full! WTF!!!! Where was this famous, orderly British reserve I’d heard so much about?!?!?!? Nowhere to be seen!! These people were animals!!!

So our train pulled up, we ran like the devil’s boner was poking against our buttholes, and we STILL didn’t get a fucking seat on the train!!! This despite the fact that my sister had booked our tickets in advance, and we had reserved seats! The guy on the platform kept yelling at the crowd to ONLY GET ON THE TRAIN IF YOU HAVE A RESERVED SEAT…but of course, no one listened whatsoever, and the entire fucking train car was jam-packed…so much so, that we had to stand by the bathroom the entire way, wedged in among several other travelers. It was more like Mumbai than London, I tell you! WEIRD!

booze and tabloids
booze and tabloids

But one thing I’ll say for the British, they know how to make the best of a shitty situation — by drinking!!! I guess it was the start of a 3-day weekend, so everyone was in a good mood, and our fellow travelers wedged in by the bathroom all cracked open bottles of wine and canned cocktails from the train station shop, and proceeded to merrily booze the entire way to Wales. My sister and I had bought some canned pink gin & tonics, which we enjoyed while reading more awful British tabloids, and the time passed fairly pleasantly.

The Queen was having a garden party right at this same time, on the other side of the fence. I wasn't invited :(
The Queen was having a garden party right at this same time, on the other side of the fence. I wasn’t invited 🙁

We got to Holyhead ferry station around midnight, and then had to wait in the ferry terminal until 2am, at which time we made sure to be among the first to board, so that we could find a comfy bench to sleep on before they were all taken. WRONG!!! Despite the fact that we were among the first walk-on passengers to board, we had failed to take into account the number of CAR passengers who had already boarded…and they had hogged every single motherfucking bench on the damn boat!!! So we just sat at a table and drank wine the whole time. I read some more 50 Shades of Grey, and was generally miserable the entire 3 hours, until we finally got to Dublin and caught a taxi to the airport.

Irish monastery graveyard!
Irish monastery graveyard!

Because of all the hold-ups, we barely made our flight — but once we got on the plane, it was ON. I ate half of my remaining pot brownie…and zonked the fuck out!!!!! I don’t normally sleep well on planes, but this was fantastic!! I HIGHLY recommend edibles on a long flight — it’s the SHIT! I slept for a few hours, then woke up to find a hot tray of food in front of me, which I ate in the best high-as-a-kite stoner fashion. Then I fell back asleep, and woke up a couple hours later to find a second meal in front of me! I snarfed that down, then fell back asleep again. It was a stoner’s dream!!!

Mmmmm...Wine Gums!
Mmmmm…Wine Gums!

We had a layover in Newark, so we had a couple Bloody Marys and then I ate the rest of my pot brownie, and again passed out SOLID the entire way to L.A. I even slept on the short flight from L.A. to Vegas! It was fantastic…..except for that fact that because I did not move my legs at all the entire trip, they got hideously swollen, and I had awful cankles going on for a few days afterward :-/ D’oh!!!

So anyhoo, now I was back in Vegas, and I was kinda depressed…as one is after a trip. Thankfully, work picked up all of a sudden, and I was so insanely busy that I didn’t have much time to think about how depressed I was. I did a few photo shoots, and a fundraiser  party for a clean-water awareness charity (did you know that in order to sanitize dirty water, all you have to do is place a plastic bottle full in the sun for 12 hours, and the sunlight will kill 98% of the bacteria in it??! This charity goes around Africa teaching villagers this fabulous fact) and some movie extra work, and then I got booked to work the jewelry convention.

baking in the desert upon my return. Ahhhhhh! pic by Shutterbug-Studio
baking in the desert upon my return. Ahhhhhh!
pic by Shutterbug-Studio

The jewelry convention was pretty boring — I had to stand in the same spot for 8 hours a day, for 3 days, handing out magazines. But the attendees were an interesting lot, and it was good people watching. There are a lot of Orthodox Hasidic Jews in the jewelry biz, so you saw them running around in their hats and forelocks and whatnot. The show ran Friday-Saturday-Sunday-Monday, but because Saturday is the Jewish holy day, they all took that off and stored their jewels in a specially designated onsite “Sabbath Vault.” Then I guess they spent the entire day in their hotel rooms, praying or whatever it is they do all day on Shabbos. I can’t imagine anything weirder than sitting around a Vegas hotel room, unable to even flip a light switch, for an entire day. Religion!!!! Is there anything fucking nuttier???!!!

in the desert. Pic by Chuck Berg
in the desert. Pic by Chuck Berg

So one evening after my jewelry shift, I went out to the desert near Pahrump with a group of photography hobbyists and did a group shoot, which was great. Then the next day, I did a photo shoot in some guy’s room up at the Suncoast hotel…which was supposed to be a “sensual couples shoot.” You know, artsy photos of a couple caressing each other and whatnot — “NO SEX,” the Model Mayhem ad assured! But sex or no, I didn’t realize how fucking awkward it is to fondle and caress a total stranger, whilst simultaneously shrinking your ass and vag away from contact with his dangling penis. Exhausting!! But it brought up an interesting thought: if you ever wanted to hire a prostitute, it seems like all you’d have to do is have a 3rd party in the room taking photos…that way you’d never be busted by vice, as you could say it was all an “artistic sensual couples shoot,” haha. I mean, seriously! Where do you draw the line?!?

In the desert. Pic by Harry
In the desert. Pic by Harry

So then after all that, I got booked as a movie extra on this action movie that’s filming here in town. I despise extra work, since it’s all sitting around waiting for 12 hours while surrounded by wannabe actors and bozos…but I figured since I had nothing else booked, it was easy work and why not. We were filming a Christmas scene, so had to wear sweaters and scarves and all whatnot, even though it was 105 degrees out…OUCH! Basically, I sat around set all day from 2pm until 5:30am (!!!!!!!), and only filmed about 10 minutes or less of actual footage the entire time. I mean, REALLY??! No wonder Hollywood movies are all such grossly bloated affairs!! It takes forever to shoot one fucking scene, because they have to keep stopping every fucking few hours for meal breaks and whatnot. SO LAME! How about you wait til the fuckin’ scene is shot, then eat?? I mean, I understand the purpose of the union and all….but really. There has to be a better way!

More desert. Pic by Fit Image Photography
More desert. Pic by Fit Image Photography

To make matters worse, the star of the movie was some Australian or British manly-man-type actor I didn’t really know of, so it wasn’t even fun to watch. I spent most of the night laying around the poker room at Caesars Palace, waiting to be called out for my “scene,” during which I walked back and forth in the hotel lobby, so far in the fucking background that I don’t know why they didn’t just use a blow-up doll and save us all a lot of effort!!!!

The worst part, however, was that I had to be at the Cosmopolitan by 7am for another gig. So basically, I worked the movie all night, until 5:30am…then went home, changed, stopped by Starbucks, and headed over to the next gig. It was really easy — a scavenger hunt, not much brainpower required — but it was still exhausting. I finished up at 11am, and went straight home to sleep all day after that.

So, now I’m back and it’s really time for me to concentrate on curing this fucking insomnia. My next plan is to try neurofeedback — specifically, brain training. It costs around $3,000…but I am desperate!!! Supposedly they play all these weird tones and feedback into your skull, which “re-balances” your fucked up imbalanced brainwaves, and sets everything back to normal. My friend J.R. did it, and swears it helped him…so I’m going to look into it. The only bummer is, while undergoing the treatment you’re not supposed to drink alcohol or use drugs!!! Treatment takes 10 days, and then you’re supposed to refrain from drinking another 3 weeks!!!! YIKES!!! I’m not sure I can handle it.

This nutty German singer sent me a care package! Fantastic!!
This nutty German singer sent me a care package! Fantastic!!

One last thing I want to try is a sensory-deprivation flotation tank — basically, you close yourself up into a sort of dark coffin full of saltwater, and bob there in total silence and darkness for an hour. It’s supposed to be a very transformative, mind-blowing kind of process that simulates being in the womb or whatever…and I found a place here in Vegas that has a tank, so I think I’m gonna try it. It’s $65 for one hour, in a tank over in some random people’s house on the east side…talk about a freaky adventure!! I can’t wait to write about it!

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