You may not realize this, but I come from a very close-knit family of eccentrics. My best friend growing up was my sister, who, despite being 18 months younger than me, has always been the “responsible” one with a good job, nice car, husband, etc. Truth be told, I always felt like kind of a loser around her, because she’s a total baller — six-figure salary, expensive clothes and all the other accouterments that make up the American Dream. But, come to find out, all along she secretly hated her bullshit lifestyle, and over the years it built up and built up and built up…until finally, last month, she quit her high-paying-but-loathsome marketing job and joined me in going full-bore bohemian!!!

To celebrate her newfound freedom, I invited her to join me on an adventure into one of my favorite corners of America…the farthest southeastern reaches of California, not far from the Mexican border. If you’ve never been there, it’s better than Disneyland — and much cheaper! And being as the desert out there is chock-a-block with off-the-grid eccentrics, artists and weirdos, it’s a GREAT place for a corporate detox! You’ll never catch anyone in those parts uttering bullshit platitudes about thinking outside the box — out there, folks are too busy THRIVING outside the motherfucking box! Fuck the box, maaaaan!!!

Our first stop on the 2014 Corporate Detox Tour was my #1 favorite desert hidey-hole, the Wonder Valley Cat Ranch — winter home-away-from-home to my kooky German artist friends. You may recall I was just out there March 1st for Rummelsnuff’s U.S. debut at the Palms Restaurant — well, I came back again because a) I wanted my sis to meet them, and b) some friends from Vegas were also going out there, so a little party was planned. And boy, what a party it was!

Aside from Käpt’n Rummelsnuff, his First Mate, my sis and I, my friend Fabian also came down from Vegas with his girlfriend…and then the neighbor lady from the ranch next door came over with a few more friends, including her latest boy-toy from the nearby Marine base (the neighbor lady is a wonderful cougar divorcée who enjoys picking up Marines at the local bars in Twentynine Palms). Käpt’n Rummelsnuff grilled up a bunch of steak, and we had a huge bonfire, drank gallons of wine, smoked a ton of weed and set off a bunch of professional-grade fireworks (the Marines are always blowing shit up on the nearby bombing range, so why can’t we?!). It was GREAT!

As we all sat around the bonfire, with fireworks exploding in the background, First Mate Christian began to sing a lovely Romanian folk song in his beautiful, crystal-clear tenor — it was part of Rummelsnuff (the band)’s latest single, “Salutare.” Before you know it, Der Käpt’n was joining in, intoning somber German utterances between verses of the Romanian folk song, and Fabian filmed everything for inclusion in the music video they were putting together for the song. Magical!!!

Because it was a full house at the Ranch, and all the beds were spoken for, my sis and I had towed out my trusty old pop-up camper and set it up in the open desert nearby…so when the party finally died down, we went out there to sleep. Then in the morning, after Fabian and his girlfriend journeyed on to Balboa Island for his wealthy matriarch grandmother’s 93rd birthday party, the rest of us drove down to The Palms Restaurant for brunch. Let me tell you something, for a dusty little podunk roadside bar, that place serves amazing food — I had a veggie omelet that was PACKED with kale and fresh green goodness. I definitely recommend stopping in for a bit if you’re traveling through that part of the country! Unfortunately, between the six of us we totally cleaned them out of eggs…so we didn’t get our pancakes, and the neighbor lady’s Marine boytoy didn’t get anything at all, and we had to order him a burger just so he didn’t starve. D’oh!

Speaking of The Palms, I heard through the grapevine that some douchey production company from L.A. went out there to film a “reality” show about the place…but the scuttlebutt is, bar staff isn’t too happy about the way they’re being portrayed (one super inaccurate character description was of a barmaid with “pouty lips and dead eyes”). But if The Palms drops out, those Hollywood fuckers already have a backup plan involving a different abandoned bar/restaurant off the Twentynine Palms highway. Lesson: never believe anything you see on TV — especially on so-called “reality” shows!!!

Anyway, after brunch we headed back to the ranch to film more footage for Rummelsnuff’s video for “Salutare.” This scene called for my sis and I to drive First Mate Christian around the desert in the back of my pickup truck, with the neighbor lady’s wayward Marine riding along as cinematographer. But before we shot a single frame, we all stopped for a quick workout so that Käpt’n and First Mate’s muscles were pumped full of blood for the camera. Then it was on, and let me tell you something…you haven’t lived until you’ve driven a pickup truck around the desert at golden hour with a greased up German tenor in the back!

All that filming worked up quite a thirst, so after we wrapped for the day, my sis and I made a quick run into Twentynine Palms for white Russian fixins. I’m here to tell you — that is one WEIRD little town! A smattering of flat little crackerbox houses scattered around the edges of this ginormous Marine base, out in the most desolate desert country you’ve ever seen (they use the base to practice desert warfare, as seen on TV in ops like Afghanistan™ and Iraq™). Around the base, Marine-friendly businesses have also sprung up to accommodate the local population, including Burger Kings, grocery stores and massage parlors….and a bizarre profusion of barbershops. There were at least two on every corner offering “$8 Marine Special”s — apparently, the boys are responsible for maintaining their own crew cuts, and it has led to a whole bizarre microeconomy.

Speaking of Marines, the neighbor lady’s poor wayward Marine was basically AWOL this whole time, sucked into the crazy Cat Ranch Freak Vortex, so since we were headed that way anyway, we gave him a ride back to the base before they cut off his nuts, or whatever it is they do to wayward Marines who exhibit bohemian tendencies! On the way back to the base, the poor kid opened up and confided some VERY unexpected information to us, which I won’t divulge here out of concern for his well-being (it was NOT “I’m gay”). Suffice it to say, you really can’t judge a book by the cover — not even a clean-cut manly-man one! But my guess is, that Marine base is a hotbed of homoeroticism. I mean, just look at that barbershop!!

Anyhoo, after all that excitement we spent the rest of the night boozing in the neighbor lady’s Jacuzzi — after a few white Russians (which are amazing with almond milk; why anyone even drinks nasty-ass cow’s milk any more is beyond me) we moved onto some champagne my sis had brought along. THIS is the kind of classy broad my sister is: not only did she bring the champers in a custom carrying case, but she had these amazing hibiscus flowers in a jar of simple syrup, and when you drop them into a glass of champagne, the petals open up and “blossom” into a beautiful (and edible) display of nature’s bounty! Astonishing!!

Alas, I couldn’t stay out boozing too late, because I had a photo shoot scheduled for the a.m. — a photographer from Flagstaff had hired me, but as he was on his way back from a seminar in L.A. it made more sense for us to shoot in Wonder Valley than for us to meet in Vegas. The neighbor lady let me wash my hair in her sink (the Cat Ranch doesn’t have running water), and then the next morning I met the photographer at The Palms and led him back to the ranch, where we spent a delightful few hours shooting fun photos and kibbitzing in the shade. He also gave me an AMAZING bracelet as a token of his esteem, which is now one of my favorite things EVER, and serves as a fabulous souvenir of my fun trip in the desert. Thanks, Dano!! <3 <3 <3

As soon as the shoot was over, my sis and I packed up the camper, said our good-byes to Käpt’n Rummelsnuff and his First Mate (promising to come back and visit next winter) and then took off down the road toward our next destination: the Salton Sea!!

If you haven’t heard of it, the Salton Sea is the biggest lake in California, but it’s in pretty shitty shape since, unlike other

lakes, it isn’t fed by any streams or underground sources — it’s just a big ol’ puddle of agricultural runoff (the lake was created by accident back in 1905, when water from the Colorado River overflowed a canal during a flood). Anyway, back in the 1950s and ’60s it was a beautiful resort area, with motels and restaurants, water sports and swimming — but now, because the water is so salty and crappy on account of its being purely agricultural runoff, everything has pretty much died off or run away. Nowadays all that’s left are a bunch of burned-out ruins and dead tilapia rotting away on the beaches — which aren’t even sand, they’re made of crumbled up fish bones and barnacle shells! OUCH!

In other words…it’s a magical place!!!

My intent was to camp out at Slab City, a sort of hippie homeless encampment on the east side of the Sea, near Niland…but my sis and I ended up wussing out in favor of the Fountain of Youth Spa and RV park, on the northern side. After a few days without running water at the Cat Ranch, we kinda wanted to take a shower and soak in the hot springs…ya know?

Besides…Fountain of Youth is one of the coolest spots ever! It’s basically an upscale trailer park where hundreds of retired Canadian snowbirds spend the entire winter — November to March, year after year. You can stay in your motorhome, or they even have mobile homes to rent — plus a boatload of fabulous amenities including the hot mineral spring Jacuzzis, swimming pools, and a steam room fed by hot mineral water. Also, because it’s mostly a 55+ resort, they have shuffleboard, bingo, aquaerobics, a poker room, a beauty parlor, an internet room and a library — plus talent shows every Friday, and stuff like clambakes and quilt-offs the rest of the week! It’s like summer camp, only in wintertime — and for old people instead of kids. Fuck, yeah!!

Because it’s all old people, the place is spotless — the cleanest public bathrooms this side of the Wynn hotel. And with a AAA membership, a dry campsite is only $17.10 — total bargain. The only drawback is, the dry campsites aren’t very picturesque. The other drawback is, because it’s all old people, you have to shut the fuck up at 10pm — at which time everything closes, including the pool. My sis and I tried to sneak into the steam room around 10:08, but the canny old campground manager busted us: “The facilities close at 10, girls!” (That’s the other good thing, we were so much younger than everyone else there they called us “girls” like we were 15!!) “Oops, we’re sorry, we’ll go to bed now!” “That’ll be fine.” That’ll be fine!!! Who says that?!?!?! Crusty old fuckers wary of traveling bohemians, that’s who!

Anyway, it was totally like staying at your grandparents’ place and it was awesome! If you’re thinking of taking a roadtrip down to that area, the F.O.Y. makes a great base because it’s totally close to all the local attractions…but has sparkling clean showers for super cheap. Keep it in mind!

So the next morning, we got up and had a quick soak and steam, and then went off to explore the fabulous Salton Sea. I had on this amazing new robe I’d made out of an old muumuu, yards and yards of flowing neon pink and orange polyester, and it really stood out against all the dull earth-tones of the landscape — everywhere we went people stopped to talk to us because of it, so I named it the Friendmaker. I also had this rainbow-colored scarf wrapped around my head like a turban, so I looked like a real freak. In other words…I fit right in.

Our first stop was legendary Salvation Mountain, everyone’s favorite monument to psychedelic religious folk art. Some old Christer kook built it by hand out of plaster-coated hay bales, then spent his lifetime painstakingly painting it…and now it shines like a crazy, colorful beacon, standing out like a sore thumb in the drab desert landscape. Kinda like my robe!

 

You can wander around inside the mountain, which is sort of like an anthill full of tunnels and alcoves with creepy little religious shrines in every nook and cranny. It’s a really wonderful place! It’s also a pretty well-known tourist attraction, thanks in part to the 2007 movie “Into the Wild,” so there were quite a few people there when we visited — an interesting mix of retired RVer snowbird looky-lous, Euro tourists, and traveling hippie vagabonds. FUN!

We spent an hour or so kibbitzing with some of the local kooks (note: when I say “kook,” it’s a term of endearment, not an insult. I’m the biggest kook of them all), and then headed down the road another quarter mile or so to Slab City.

Slab City is basically like the meth-head’s Burning Man, only it never ends — people live out here 24/7/365. It’s a wide swath of BLM land (Bureau of Land Management, i.e. gov’ment-owned land), which means you can camp there for free

up to 16 days, at which time you’re supposed to move 1/2 mile — but because Slab City is in such a remote and godforsaken part of the country, no one really fucks with it, and people have pretty much erected permanent campsites/fortresses/bunkers built from an astonishingly ingenious array of discarded and recycled materials. They call it Slab City because of the bare concrete slab foundations scattered about — remains of a long-demolished WWII-era Marine barracks. In any case, the slabs make great campsites, and tons o’ eccentrics and hobo-types live out here all year ’round.

My sis and I kind of cruised around, checking stuff out: there’s a primitive infrastructure of dirt roads throughout Slab City, so we drove around checking out the various bizarre and wonderful camps/fortresses/whatever you want to call them. It really was like Burning Man, only more authentic and with fewer fake-titted ninnies in platform boots dancing to shitty raver music.

There’s an internet cafe, a library and a main stage area called the Range, which hosts an open-mic night every Saturday that is said to be one of the kraaaaaziest parties around. I have to go back on a weekend!!! There’s supposedly going to be a big party on April 5th, but I think I’m working that day so I probably won’t make it 🙁 I really want to come out and set up a campsite, and stay for a MONTH sometime — it would be so relaxing and peaceful out there, I could just get up and do Tai Chi and make mosaics out of bottle caps all day, ya know? I bet my insomnia would be cured in a jiffy, in that dry desert air! THIS is why I need that Scamp trailer, everyone!!!

My personal favorite thing was the library — we went in, and it was totally silent except for some very quiet New Age music softly playing on an old transistor radio, while a sinewy hippie woman peacefully raked the dirt floor in a Zenlike fashion. If/when I camp out here, I’m making the library my second home!

 

After cruising around awhile, we spent a good hour chatting with some of the toothless crackhead locals, who filled us in on what really goes on in Slab City. To my bourgeois dismay, it seemed as though Slab City’s heyday has passed, and most of the truly interesting artist types had long departed for greener pastures, leaving behind a skeleton crew of methheads, winos and assorted other on-the-lam no-goodniks. But then the chief methhead told us to go down the road a bit and check out East Jesus.

East Jesus is sort of like a cool, artsy annex to Slab City — equal parts Burning Man theme camp, outdoor art museum and hippie commune. There is NO WAY I can post all the amazing photos my sis and I took here, so you’ll just have to check out the Facebook album I created.

 

I’m telling you, this place is amazing. Everywhere you look is astonishingly weird, creative, kooky, subversive art created mostly from found/recycled objects and trash — but it’s really cool shit, not like the dumb crap you see at local art fairs. A lot of legit artists come out here from L.A. and other parts of the U.S. and create crazy monuments to the insanity of man, and it’s REALLY worth checking out.

As we were bumbling about in open-mouthed wonder, one of the East Jesus caretakers came out and gave us a tour of the grounds. He even took us backstage to the living area, where all the East Jesus regulars live when they’re staying onsite. Sometimes they get hundreds of guests, but in the summertime it’s so freaking hot down there that only one or two brave souls hold down the fort. Either way, it’s a working commune, so every guest has to

pitch in and do chores — they even had a job board posted, with all the task assignments listed. Fascinating! This one bad-ass chick was in charge of the vegetable gardens — that’s right, in the middle of this barren desert they had veggies growing in lovingly-tended raised beds, which were harvested and used to supplement the communal meals. Really cool!

Every square inch of that place was covered in art — Persian rugs on the desert floor, mannequins with ducks for arms standing guard in front of bedazzled trailers, charred and blistered baby-dolls’ heads mounted on wooden crosses, VW vans covered in bottle caps and Barbie doll limbs…even the outhouses were art-encrusted! The women’s outhouse had this bad ass little cabinet where you could stash your “skeletons in the closet” — there was a little notepad inside where you could write down your deepest, darkest secret, then pin it to the inside of the cabinet among all the other sad secrets. I’m telling you, you HAVE to check out my Facebook album! It’s INTENSE!

We spent a good hour or two hanging out touring East Jesus and chatting with the crew out back, but eventually it was time to move on, as we had a lot more Salton Sea to cover that day. But I’m telling you, East Jesus was the COOLEST thing I saw all day, and I really want to go back sometime and stay for awhile. Fuck, I’ll pitch in and clean the toilets or whatever…I don’t mind!!

 

Let me tell you, those hippies at East Jesus were MY kind of hippies; they had an agenda, and spent their time making BAD ASS SHIT. Down the road a piece, we ran into a bunch of the other kind of hippies — you know, the kind that drop out of some bourgeois mid-level state college to sit around on a Monday afternoon drinking cheap whiskey and banging out shitty music on a beat-up guitar, singing off-key songs about stupid shit that means nothing to anyone, hula-hooping and smoking tons of weed while babbling meaninglessly about stuff no one cares about. Blah!!!

 

Where were these other hippies, you ask? Why, at the old mudhole, of course! Before leaving the area, my sis and I stopped at the local hot springs, which is basically a mudhole with a lovingly carpeted bottom (installed by those go-getter hippies from East Jesus, of course)…but it also serves as the bathing area for all the squatters/campers/freaks/crooks who are dry camping in the area, so there’s always quite a crowd around. At the time of our visit, there were two giant-carbon-footprint-leaving schoolbuses parked nearby, home to two crews of traveling hippies and their hula hoops, children and chickens (yes, they had a flock of chickens pecking in the dust). It was equal parts Manson Family and Grapes of Wrath — interesting, but in the end depressing. We had a brief convo with a dreadlocked young psychobabbler who claimed to be named Jester, but his inebriated jibberish was so insufferable that we left after only a few minutes and went on with our travels.

I can totally see why some people are so down on hippies — while those middle-class shirkers were wallowing drunkenly in the mud like piggies (how ironic), meanwhile around the rest of the Salton Sea, hordes of Mexicans were slaving away, picking produce and pumping gas and basically easily evading the insane amount of Border Patrol agents cruising around the area like a bunch of buffoonish Keystone Kops. I’m telling you, it was CRAZY how many Border

Patrol agents we saw whizzing around on the lookout for illegal immigrants! Meanwhile, I had a truck full of weed and mushrooms, but I’m not Mexican so they waved me right on. Really bizarre. I just read a whole book about the Chinese immigrant smuggling trade, and they say Chinese smugglers regularly pay Mexicans $100 apiece to run across the border and distract the Border Patrol, while the Chinese sneak across undetected. The cops send the Mexicans back, but they’re $100 richer and don’t give a fuck — they’ll just try again tomorrow! The very definition of insanity.

Anyway, after that we cruised around the entire perimeter of the Salton Sea, stopping at the ruins of each and every shitty abandoned town along the way — it was incredible. Most of the towns still had about 20% of the population hanging in there among the decay and burned-out ruins; in one town we saw two Mexican women power-walking along a road at sunset, getting their daily workout despite the thick miasma of rotting tilapia and hopelessness hanging in the air. Life goes on, I guess!

Salton City, Salton Sea Beach, Desert Shores, Bombay Beach, Mecca…we hit them all, and they were all astonishing. I guess the cost of living is dirt cheap down there, so it’s worth it for some people. But talk about a food desert!! We went into a market in Bombay Beach to try and buy some lunch, and the only produce they had was a few wilted cucumbers and a couple onions. Meanwhile, there was an entire aisle stocked full of Coca Cola — in fact, the Coca Cola deliveryman was there with a fresh shipment!!! I ended up having Coke and peanuts — breakfast of champions! But seriously, it was fucking depressing.

Anyway, after that fabulously fascinating day we cruised back to the comfortably bourgeois Fountain of Youth and had another soak, then went to bed. But my poor pop-up camper was on its last legs, and wouldn’t even crank open all the way, so all night long I was afraid it was gonna collapse on us — it was a really windy night, and the fucker was swaying to and fro like the devil. After a shitty sleepless night, we gave up and packed up camp, and headed back to Vegas.

Part of our route took us along this extremely lonely road — CA-62, what has got to be one of the loneliest roads in America. It was really cool — nothing but sand and sagebrush, sun and blue skies…until all of a sudden, in the middle of nowhere, there was this giant signpost with signs pointing to all corners of the Earth. Fun!

Anyhoo, along the way back to Vegas we were trying to decide what to do next — we had several options for the upcoming weekend, and finally decided we would go to L.A. and surprise Rummelsnuff at this concert they were booked for in some janky little club in Glendale. It was their first OFFICIAL U.S. gig, so we figured we should go support them.

We had a place to stay — my sis has some friends who have an amazing spread in Tujunga called Gay Gardens, because it’s this sprawling old Victorian-type house on a couple acres of overgrown woodland, right in the middle of town…and they’re a gay couple. Meanwhile, we decided that since we were going to be in L.A. anyway, we might as well eat shrooms and go to Disneyland, too — something we’d always wanted to do!

So Friday afternoon we drove out to L.A., and my sister’s husband flew down to meet us. Being from Israel, he’d never been to Disneyland, and was super excited. My sis and I drove out to L.A. separately, so that way she and her husband could just cruise back up to the Bay Area afterward — my sis got there before me, and picked him up at the airport and got settled in, while I hauled ass from Vegas late as usual, after getting in a quick weight-lifting session at the gym.

I got to town just in time to chug a glass of wine and head over to Glendale, where we witnessed one of the most amazing concerts I’d ever seen! I couldn’t believe how many crazy little Goth kids crawled out of the L.A. woodwork to come see Rummelsnuff — it was really touching and amazing! My sis and I got to hang out in the backstage area and eat bratwurst with the band, because we’re so cool like that, and then after the show it was really amazing to see all the fans line up to take photos with Der Käpt’n and his First Mate. I guess they’re really popular in Germany, and with a certain Goth/New Wave-y demographic (even though they describe their style as electro-pogo).

The only bummer was, the show didn’t even start til midnight, and meanwhile my brother-in-law was on our nuts about getting up early so we could be at Disneyland by 8 or 9 am. WTF!!!!! It was open til 11pm that day; how fucking long do you want to spend there??! We didn’t leave the Rummelsnuff show til like 2am, and then had to drag ass out of bed at 7:30 to be in Anaheim by 9. UGH!!!

Now, I hadn’t been to Disneyland since like 1996 or so, so I was pretty excited. You know — Disneyland!!!!! The fucking APEX of fun and good times, right?! Well, I was so tired and grouchy after no sleep, that I was really dragging ass. Plus, that fucking place is just one fucking line after another — wait in line to get in the parking garage, then wait in line to get on the tram that takes you to the front entrance, where you wait in line AGAIN to buy tickets….so that you can go inside and wait in more fucking lines to go on the rides. Really?!?!?

Thankfully, we had a bag full of drugs with us…so my mood soon changed 🙂 Tip: it’s really easy to sneak shit into Disneyland. They do a bag check, but it’s the most cursory of cursory bag checks I’ve ever been party to. You don’t even go through a metal detector! All we had were some mushrooms and pot cookies, but being paranoid, we had camouflaged them in amongst a bunch of other candy, with a story at the ready about how we were hypoglycemic, and needed to keep our blood sugar elevated. No worries though — they waved us right through.

So there I was, in a 45-minute line to ride the Jungle Cruise, surrounded by shrieking whining brats and sad fat couples in matching Mickey Mouse shirts (Disney is like a cult with some people, sadly). The sun was broiling down on my head and I was so fucking tired I just wanted to crawl into the bushes and SLEEP…and then even at the end of the wait, the reward itself (the Jungle Cruise) was so lame and hokey that it wasn’t even worth it!!!  I spent $100 on this?!?!?! ARRRRGH!!!!!

But then we each ate half a pot cookie, and shit got much better. The drugs kicked in right as we boarded the Pirates of the Caribbean, and it was wonderful — all the weird lights and smoke and creepy animatronic pirates and shit were really, really fun while high. I definitely recommend it!

But the problem was, we didn’t realize how strong these cookies were — each had 50mg of THC, and we ate half apiece…which was enough to send us into orbit! For the next few hours I’m not exactly sure what I did, aside from wander around in a haze, baking in the relentless sun, stumbling from ride to ride but too scared to go on anything more intense than the stupid steamboat and that railroad that circles the park. We did sack up and ride the teacups, but my brother-in-law was so high he freaked out when we started to spin them, so we just sat there like grinning idiots, going round and round in pointless circles (ahem). It was one of those occasions when I really wished I was sober — I was SO HIGH it was painful, and I was sure everyone was staring at me.

Finally, after about 5 hours the cookie wore off, so we had some lunch, waited a decent amount of time, and then ate the mushrooms. When those kicked in we rode Space Mountain and a few other rides, but then we got the munchies and the whole thing pretty much degenerated into a stoner foodfest orgy of junk — rice krispie treats, ice cream sundaes, frozen banana, etc. etc. etc. Bad!! We ended up standing around in a sugar-fueled food coma watching some horrible, god-awful fireworks show about Following Your Dreams, where that dumbass moron Mickey Mouse waved a baton around as Ariel, Cinderella and all the other idiots sailed around on barges waving and smiling and probably muttering curse words under their breath. Meanwhile, hundreds of shiny-eyed slack-jawed bozos stood by watching and videotaping the whole fucking thing like it was high art. WTF?!!!!

It astonishes me that this shtick is what is universally considered to be the “happiest” place on Earth — every day, thousands upon thousands of people save their money to travel to L.A. and pay out the ass to pay more out the ass (once inside, all you do is stand in line to spend more money). Everywhere you look, it’s emasculated dads shuffling around in Mickey Mouse t-shirts that match their fat wife’s Minnie Mouse t-shirt, pushing strollers full of snot-nosed brats in mini-Minnie Mouse t-shirts, sweating and sighing and inwardly dying while Making Memories™ by standing in hour-long lines. This is the yardstick by which we measure happiness??? HOW? WHY? It’s bizarre!!

Earlier in this post, I said something about how the Salton Sea area is like Disneyland — but cheaper! See?? Even I myself am guilty of holding Disneyland up as a paragon of fun times and happiness….I can’t really help it, it’s so ingrained in me as a societal norm, I guess. But now, having been there as an adult….I will never compare something to Disneyland again, unless it’s something depressing and shitty and fake. I can see enjoying it if you have little kids….but even then, it just seems like there are so many cooler places to go in the world!!!

Like East Jesus!

 

 

 

 

When not posing nude, my #1 favorite thing to wear is a caftan! You know, those long, flowy, mostly garishly-patterened robes like Mrs. Roper used to wear on Three’s Company? Well guess what: Mrs. Roper is my style icon, and I’m totally KOOKY FOR KAFTANS!

The more 1960s/70s, the better — I love all those old psychedelic neon colors and horrible manmade fibers! Nothing makes me as happy as a big ole polyester muumuu with Permanent Press pleats and a pattern so busy it takes 4 Quaaludes just to calm down after looking at it. I’m getting heated up just thinking about it!

So I’m posting this desperate cry: CALLING ALL CAFTANS!!! If you happen to have any old 1960s or 1970s caftans, muumuus, housedresses or robes of any sort lying around…holla at me! The more garish/hideous, the better — you know me!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

I’ve had SO MANY fabulous adventures lately, I haven’t had a moment’s rest to stop and write about them — someone set the Treadmill of Fun to 11, and I’ve been racing on it non-stop since March 6th. I finally had to get the fuck out of town just to get a few minutes’ downtime to blog about it all, so I accepted a friend’s invitation to come to Florida for a few days, and kick back at his luxurious oceanfront condo. In between margaritas, I’ll try to catch up!

My adventures have been so plentiful lately that I can’t even fit them all in one blog, so this is just part one…covering all the dumb gigs I’ve been up to lately. Because despite being a fun-loving bohemian type, I still have a monthly nut to crack…so I booked as much work as possible in what little downtime I’ve had lately, in between adventures.

Most of my recent gigs were pretty lame — a tradeshow I worked for an ex-Burning Man campmate’s company, a footlicking gig for Mistress Clare’s femdom site (I *HATE* licking other people’s feet, but it pays for more travels…ya know?), and worst of all, a corporate party I worked for the concrete convention. This last one was really loathsome — one of those after-hours events where they rent out a nightclub, but it’s a total sausagefest, so they hire 150 “models” to come in and “mingle” with the guys to break up the testosterone. SHUDDER! The worst part was, they wouldn’t let us avail ourselves of the open bar, because last time some dumbass bimbo got wasted and made an ass of herself.

You tell me — how fucked-up is it to try and “mingle” with a bunch of drunk concrete-industry guys while SOBER??! Jeez! I don’t know how I made it through that night. The worst part was, out of all 150 “models” (I use quotation marks because the term was used VERY loosely here), I only knew one chick…and her not even very well. So I was on my own the whole party. Blah.

The only interesting part was watching the head of the modeling agency cruise around all night like a sharp-eyed Mother Hen, keeping an eye on her “pretty ladies.” This was an especially old-school convention talent agency that has been booking models since the ’70s or so…and honestly it looked like some of the “pretty ladies” have been working there since the ’70s!!! I’m talking some seriously beat-up old hags, masquerading as “models!” It is to my ETERNAL CONSTERNATION how rarely I get booked thru this agency, when I look at some of the others on the roster. ??? !!! People are always asking me what are my plans when I’m too old to model — well, now I know where to go. The J____ V____ Agency!!!

Anyway, I didn’t have much time to fret about it because I had the most INCREDIBLE gig lined up for the next morning. Out of all the gigs I’ve ever done, this one was WITHOUT QUESTION the most interesting…and if you’ve read this blog at all, you know that’s a strong statement.  I somehow got referred to be a background extra in a porno movie!!!

Ever since they instituted mandatory condom use in California, many of the porno studios have taken to filming in Vegas, instead…where we have no silly health concerns for our talent. This one studio in particular apparently shoots a lot of stuff in this little warehouse squatting behind the Cosmopolitan Hotel, just on the other side of the freeway, between an indoor gun range and a pawn shop. Who knew all this shit was going down in the shadow of the Vegas Strip?

This particular production company is known for its parody pornos — they make stuff like the XXX Mario Bros., Sinderella, etc. This time they were doing the porno version of The Wolf of Wall Street — working title “The Whore of Wall Street.” FABULOUS! I was hired as background, but I ended up playing a secretary with a line of dialogue — bonus!!!

Since the movie was set in a Wall Street office, we were told to wear office clothes…so I busted out my trusty pencil skirt, which is pretty much my go-to for any sort of corporate gig…even though it has a slit in the back up to there. In other words…perfect for a porno!

Now, unlike other pornos, this one actually had a plot — the star of the movie, we’ll call her Andi Andrews, was the head of a high-powered stock brokerage. She made her way to the top by sucking dick and fucking every suit who came her way, including that of the male talent, a freaky Austrian stud with a HUMONGOUS uncut penis we’ll call Dick True.

At the end of the film, to celebrate their reaching some sales goal, Andi Andrews awards her top female assistant, played by a supersexy actress we’ll call Celine Maximilian, $10,000 to get fucked up the ass by Dick True. Our job, as extras, was to hang around in the background cheering them on: “Suck! Suck!” Suck!” “Fuck that ass!” “Wooo!” Those were actually lines of dialogue in the script (astonishingly, these are very professional productions with fully formed scripts, action carefully blocked out).

So, basically it was like the most fun gig ever. The ten of us extras sat around the breakroom in our 1980s officewear (the movie was set in the ’80s, but most of us just had old-ass clothes anyway, so it was a happy accident) until the crew was finally ready for us.

I had my one line of dialogue earlier in the day — I played Ms. Andrews’s secretary, so just had to answer the phone and assure the caller that “Ms. Andrews is very professional.” There was a slight holdup — “Oh wait, we gotta film the pussy-eating scene first –” but with that out of the way, I nailed my line in two takes, which I actually thought was interesting that the director cared enough to make me do it over!! Despite what you might think, these people really DO have an attention to detail…and it was a very professional production!!

Speaking of the director, he was this awesome sort of Gen-Xer type in Morrissey glasses and a “Meat is Murder” t-shirt — not exactly how you’d picture a porn director! The rest of the crew was just as colorful, exhibiting an informal camaraderie but at the same time displaying an amazing dedication and work ethic. What a cool fucking industry! Everyone was so chill and so fun! I’d take working in the porn biz over corporate life any day.

When it was finally time to shoot the big office ass-fucking scene, us extras were all carefully positioned around the office — one guy drinking a cup of coffee, one guy on the phone, one gal carrying a file folder to this ginormous old microfiche machine they had dug up somewhere (they did a great job dressing the set with old 1980s computers and telephones…they even had a bunch of clocks hung on the wall, Wall Street style, showing the various time zones — although in a charmingly lackadaisical fashion, the minute-hands were all set at different times). Meanwhile, Dick True sat off to one side, maintaining his erection by absentmindedly stroking his  ginormous uncircumsised penis through the open fly of his 1980s polyester suit with one hand, whilst checking his text messages with the other. PRICELESS. Then once we were all in place, the action started!

The script called for Dick True and Celine Maximilian to go at it on one of the desks, about 3 feet from my virgin eyes. Before he plowed her delicate anus, they were supposed to engage in a few other positions first, including reverse cowgirl, spooning and then a brief fellatio interlude. It was really interesting to watch their shop-talk as they got into position: “Is this OK for you?” “Ach no, it feels like you’re gonna break my cock.” “Oh sorry, how about if I put my leg up this way?” “Zat’s much better.”

Then when it came time to lower Miss Maximilian’s ass onto Dick True’s ginormous penis (I can’t emphasize enough how freakish it was…like a big wrinkly geoduck), it took the participation and aid of the entire crew to get her on there comfortably. Miss Maximilian lubed up her asshole liberally (turning over her shoulder to wink at the crowd of extras watching), and then everyone pitched in to help get her in place. Like they say, it takes a village to film an anal scene!

But when she was finally on there, it was box office gold! “You good? OK — ACTION!” The minute the cameras started rolling, Miss M switched it on like a light switch: “Oh yeah!! Oooh baby!! Fuck that asshole!! Pump that giant cock in my chocolate starfish!” It was hilarious how fake it all seemed — I mean, I had pretty much figured that shit was all fake, but seeing it up close and personal (remember, I was mere feet from the action) made it seem even more surreal. Especially when they had to stop filming briefly: “Cut! Cut! I can see blood!”

But then, come to find out, it wasn’t fake!! Filming actually had to pause again for a minute when Miss M. had such an earth-shattering orgasm (from anal sex!!!) that she almost passed out, and had to take a breather for a few minutes to collect herself. WOW! I have always assumed anal sex to be nothing but torture and pain for the receiving end, and claims to the contrary to be bullshit propaganda from selfish men. Come to find out, apparently I was wrong. (But I’m still not having anal sex. Ever.)

Anyway, this all went on for about 10-15 minutes, as Dick and Celine went through their positions, recited their “lines” (I think this part was ad-libbing) and hit their marks (they really did have marks). And then, finally, it was time to film the money shot, and wrap this bitch!!

By this time, we had all been onset about 10 hours — apparently there had been major delays earlier in the day, as the shoots don’t normally take this long. Either way, by now we were all bored, tired and ready to get the fuck outta there — the extras were covertly checking their cellphones, and the crew had been there even longer than us, so they were definitely ready to wrap. Now all we were waiting for was for Dick True to shoot his wad all over Celine Maximilian’s face.

The cameramen set up a ladder behind Dick, so the director could get a high angle shooting down on the action, while a second camera guy shot directly at jizz-level. Now all we had to wait for was for Dick to bust his nut. As mentioned, he had been maintaining his erection all day by absentmindedly stroking himself, and he’d done an amazing job, as his rod was ever-ready for action. But now he had to take himself over the edge…which took a little extra special stroking.

Can you imagine being in a room full of people — ten extras, two featured talent, plus about 15 crew — all bored and tired and impatiently waiting for you to bust your nut?? To make matters worse, one of the cameramen informed him that he only had a few minutes of battery left on his camera, so he had to hurry! Talk about pressure!!

But Dick True was a pro — he just closed his eyes, scrunched up his face, and concentrated on whatever it was that floated his particular boat…roomful of gawkers or no. After a few minutes he grunted “OK I’m ready!” (please remember, he had a thick Austrian accent), so everyone jumped into action: cameras started rolling, Celine Maximilian got to her knees in front of him, and then it happened. Thick gooey streams of Austro-Hungarian jizz coated the face and chest of Miss M, who smiled and moaned and lapped it up like it was a white chocolate fountain at a Bar Mitzvah. Yum! It was fascinating to watch her go through the moves like the total pro she was — she hit all the popular poses, made all the usual faces, and said all the right things, bam bam bam. It’s like any bullshit job, I suppose — you’re on autopilot.

Then when they finally called out the magic words “THAT’S A WRAP!” Miss M. stood up and turned to the crew, face, chest and belly covered in sperm: “Who wants a huggggg??????” Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!! Gooooooooooooooood times!

After that, she went off to get cleaned up, and the rest of us went back to get our checks for the day’s work. Let me tell you something, those people are pros about every aspect of this business — to get my check, I had to have my photo taken with my ID up next to my face, proving I was over 18. Then I had to be filmed stating that I was over 18 and had not been asked to do anything I was uncomfortable with. They covered all their bases. This was particularly interesting to me as I’d had several friends “warn” me to be careful, that “those porn guys” are notorious for luring you in over your head. Well, I have news for you: not this production company. They are TOTAL PROS! Porn gets a bad rap, but in my experience it’s a business just like any other — only more straightforward!

And then, I got the fuck out of there — I had another gig to be at in 15 minutes, but thankfully it was at the Cosmopolitan Hotel…mere feet away from the studio! Surreal, as was the entire day. But all in all I had a total fucking blast, and it is my sincere hope that they use me again for one of their movies — apparently they shoot out here all the time, so I think my chances are pretty good!!! STAY TUNED!!!!!

P.S. If interested, here’s the trailer for the movie:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qRUDhEYGgU

 

 

 

 

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I just got back from some serious desert adventuring with my sister! We had an amazing time and met many kooky people and had many fabulous adventures that I plan to blog about as soon as I get two seconds. But in the meantime…..

My beloved trusty pop-up camper is on its last legs, so if I want to cruise around this summer having more fun times, I need to replace it!

 

I am looking to buy a 13′ fiberglass trailer, as seen in this photo. They are usually made by Scamp or Casita, but I’m open to any similar, lightweight trailer that can be pulled by a 6-cylinder Ford Ranger. (I don’t want another pop-up, though…I want something I can just crawl into bed when I park.)

I can buy a brand new 13′ foot Scamp/Casita for around $14,000, but I don’t have that kind of coin lying around, so I need a used one. Since I’m already used to roughing it in a pop-up, it doesn’t need to have a toilet or shower — I just need the bed and the propane stove, mostly. I’m fine buying a junker and fixing it up, so long as it’s structurally sound and the gas line works — that kinda shit is beyond my fixing ability.

But what I *AM* good at is painting and decorating….so when I do finally get one, I plan to gussy it the fuck up, bohemian gypsy style! Then the adventures can truly begin…

So, does anyone have or know of a trailer I can buy? I’ve been checking craigslist, but I figure I’d ask here, too. I am based in Las Vegas, but am willing to drive 500 miles in any direction to pick up. Keep your eyes open for me, will ya??

 

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Where I last left off, I was trying to decide if I should stay in Vegas and do this weird Japanese documentary, or go to Baja California, Mexico, for some kooky off-road race with a guy I barely know. Unfortunately for this blog, I made the responsible decision…to stay in Vegas. FORTUNATELY for this blog, however, a lot of freaky fuckin’ shit went down while I was here!

Now you might wonder why someone with a name like Wonderhussy would ever make a lame, responsible decision about anything. I’ll tell you.

The guy who invited me, as I mentioned, is someone I barely know — I only met him a couple weeks ago, at the Gilley’s mudwrestling thing I participated in. But just because I don’t know someone is no reason to turn down a trip to Baja!

The real trouble is, he’s basically the male version of me: he lives a free and easy life of fun, travel and adventure, financing his fun by working summers at some über-bourgeois swanky golf course in Oregon. Then he spends the rest of the year snowboarding and exploring the desert. No kids, no responsibility…just fun, 24/7/365. We’ll call him Supertramp (since he’s obsessed with Alexander Supertramp a/k/a Chris McCandless, from the book/movie Into the Wild).

Well, all of that is well and good, and doesn’t bother me a bit. More concerning was the fact that this guy flips the fuck out when he drinks hard liquor!! I learned this the hard way, the first night I met him — some redneck at the bar in Gilley’s was buying him drinks all night, and the three of us went out after the rasslin’ match was over. The redneck bought us godawful piña coladas from Señor Frog’s at the Treasure Island, and then invited us over to the Mirage for some petroleum industry party that he was in town for. We followed him over there, but meanwhile I was still dragging my little pink suitcase around with me, with all my rassling costume stuff in it. Me and the redneck had to pee, so we left my bag at the party with ST (Supertramp)…but when we got back, ST had flipped out and bailed, leaving my bag stranded! FUCK! That bag had my electric vagina in it — anyone could have stolen it!!! Dammit, I worked long and hard on that vagina!!!

ST’s disappearing act was followed by a barrage of extremely derogatory text messages, so I pretty much wrote him off as a boozer. But the next day he apologized profusely, so I gave him another chance. We went out to the desert a couple days later for a mini road trip/exploration session, and it was totally fabulous — he’s a super cool dude with the same interests as me, so it was a great day. We went out by this lame-ass fake ghost town called Nelson, where come to find out, if you drive way out in the canyons, there’s this awesome area of giant boulders and stuff that is just begging to be a photo shoot location! It was fan-fuckin’-tastic — a great day. At the end of it, I had decided to go to Baja with him and his friend, and was really looking forward to it. UNTIL….

The next day, we made plans to all meet up downtown and discuss the particulars of the trip — me, him and the other guy who was going. I was out on a photo shoot all day, but the plan was to meet up afterward, around 8pm. I texted him a few times, but no answer…so just gave up and went home to go to bed early. I was fried from my day in the sun at Big Dune, anyway, so I wasn’t that bummed…but I did think it was pretty rude to stand me up like that. I get stood up A LOT, though, so I try not to take it personally (yes…A LOT of people stand me up, shockingly!).

Anyhoo, I was at home just getting ready to take off my makeup and stuff, when I got a random Facebook message on my page from some random chick from L.A.: “CALL ME! Your friend ST lost his phone; he’s wasted and stranded and needs help!” WTF! I called her, and come to find out, ST had gotten so fucked up that his friends had ditched him downtown, where he was semi-passed out at a bar in the new Downtown Grand hotel, incoherent and unable to get home. Apparently he had just enough brains to tell this random couple he met at the bar to look up Wonderhussy on Facebook and get ahold of me that way.

I sacked up, drove down there, thanked the random L.A. chick, picked his alcohol-reeking-ass up, and asked him where I should take him. Between drunken insults and claims that someone had slipped him LSD, he managed to direct me to his friends’ house way up in the ‘burbs, where after much arguing I deposited his stinky ass and then drove home. I’m not ashamed to admit I bawled my eyes out on the way — I’d been having a shitty time lately, and had really been looking forward to a Mexican getaway, however spurious. But just like everything in my life, I’m apparently the only one who has my shit together. D’OH!!!

Well, the next morning I guess he found his phone, because there were more profuse apologies, and an invitation to join him and his Baja friends at the outdoor swap meet that afternoon, so we could finally hash out the trip details. Well, by then I had already decided (with much sadness) NOT to go anywhere with this fool…but I did agree to meet them at the swap meet, since I love that place so much, and I needed to buy a Lucha Libre mask anyway. We met up and he and his friends were super cool…but once I make up my mind, it’s over. I told him I wasn’t going with them, and he was pretty salty, but oh well.

Now, you may be wondering why I needed a Lucha Libre mask — well, I’ll tell you! It occurred to me that the photos I took in my electric vagina at Big Dune, in this gold spandex bodysuit, looked a little like a Mexican wrestler — all I needed was a mask, and I could become La Panocha Eléctrica, the most fearsome Lucha Libre rassler of them all!!!! I scored an awesome gold wrestler mask at the swap meet, and am working on customizing it with sequined lightning bolts and whatnot.

Incidentally, if you’ve never been to the Broadacres Swap Meet in Vegas — GO!!! It’s the most amazing, bizarre-O place this side of Tijuana — acres and acres of booths selling shitty clothes and old crap, with religious figurines and cheap jewelry thrown in for good measure. 98% of the population is Latino, and there’s always good tuba music playing and stuff like that. It’s one of my all-time favorite places in the world!!!

So anyway, now that I had decided to stay in Vegas, I was pretty disappointed and pissed off, but whatever — I sacked up and got on with my life. ST sent me a salty text or two on his way out of town, letting me know what I was missing out on — but I already knew, motherfucker.

I was so pissed off about the whole scenario that I figured it was time for a change. I’d been in a funk since I got sick in mid-December, and to make matters worse, I was still nowhere near making my monthly nut for February. I couldn’t get a break to save my life! It was time to change that shit, so I did what I always do in that situation…I bought a magic candle to break the spell 🙂

There’s this super freaky olde-tyme Magick Shoppe down the street from where I live, called Bell Book & Candle. Please take a moment and read my Yelp review of the place — it’ll help you understand why I go here. Anyway, whenever I’m in a funk that lasts more than a day or two, I head here and have the wizard make me a Jinx-Breaking candle — one of those 7-day jar candles that you light and leave burning until the spell is gone. It always works, so the day my friends left for Baja, I went over and got a new one. And guess what? IT WORKED!!

 

Thanks to the magickal healing powers of the candle, my business started picking up right away, the moment I lit it. I made my February nut with a few hundo to spare, and the gigs kept piling up, on into March…which is off to a fabulous start 🙂

 

Most of the gigs were the usual photo shoots — I even drove all the way down to Kingman, AZ for an all-day shoot at the Holiday Inn Suites down there, LOL (video below…lots of pancake-eatin’ and twat-flashin’, FYI).

http://vimeo.com/88070206

But there were also a couple fetish shoots that really stood out! One day, I finally got around to shooting with the fabulous Kayla-Jane Danger and her foot fetish site, MyDollParts.com. This bitch is a trip! Apparently she’s a very business-savvy little minx, as she runs her own full-time fetish empire and has a closet FULL of spike-heeled platform Christian Louboutins and the like…all paid for by her immense fanbase (one of her fans even gave her a new dining room table set, LOL). I kinda felt like a loser shooting with her, since she seems to have it all figured out so well and I’m still bumbling along doing gig work…but she was super cool and very simpatico, and I give her MAJOR bonus points for reading a David Sedaris book in the bathtub while I licked her feet for this one scene we shot. (David Sedaris, if you’re reading this…..you need to see that video!! It’s a riot!!!) In fact, she even sent David Sedaris a fan letter one time…and he responded!!

Anyway, the shoot was really fun and easy, and basically consisted of me licking her feet, and her licking mine for this one ballet-school scenario. And while I was licking her perfectly pedicured, high-arched little size 7.5 feet, I noticed something interesting — her feet looked familiar!! Then I remembered that back in December, I did a shoot out in the San Francisco Bay Area at this guy’s apartment…and he had a full-size silicone replica of one of Kayla-Jane’s feet on his bookshelf!!! Apparently he was one of her biggest fans, LOL. Small world!

Then another day, I did an even better shoot for TaylorMadeClips.com, run by the fabulously incomparable Ms. Taylor St. Claire, an ex-porn actress who turned to running her own fetish empire after she got out of the porn biz and quit giving a flying fuck. I shot with her once back in 2009 and had a FUCKING BLAST, but for whatever reason lost touch with her until now. Let me tell you something, I have very few heroines in this world, but Taylor St. Claire is one of them — she is just so fucking cool! She lives in a huge, ramshackle old 1970s house full of rescued stray dogs, and pads around filming everything in pajamas and slippers, no makeup, with her luscious ginormous tits barely restrained by a spaghetti-strap cami top. She has a sort of blowzy, don’t-give-a-fuck manner that I found immensely appealing…I love this woman!

Initially, we were to film an overeating clip where I would pig out and get “fatter and fatter” (Taylor has her special FX tricks, don’t you know)…so she asked me what I liked to eat. Now, I like to eat cake, pie, ice cream and cookies…..but in the interest of my waistline, I said “Umm, soup or fruit or veggies or something healthy would be best.” LAME! Thankfully, she had booked another model for the shoot — a fabulous BBW starlet by the name of Kimberly Marvel, well-known in the fetish world for her luscious curves and ginormous tits and ass. So now the plan was, I would simply feed pie to Kimberly, as she grew bigger and bigger!

Let me tell you, this shoot was a dream come true. I sat on the bed beside Kimberly, who was all propped up on pillows, wearing a gorgeous purple velour stretchy tracksuit, and fed her bites of this delicious peanut butter pie. But this wasn’t just any pie! It was a magic pie, guaranteed to make her gain 200 pounds by sundown!! And boy howdy, did it work. Her stomach, ass and hips swelled up to gigantic proportions — if you want to see it, you’ll just have to download the clip here (not sure it’s been posted yet, but plenty of other fabulous overeating clips to entertain you there in the meantime).

Meanwhile, between takes we were all eating that fucking pie — me and Taylor and her assistant/prop guy, Fred Flate. It was delicious!!! I fucking LOVE peanut butter pie…we all beat that thing into the ground!

After that first clip, we shot another one in Taylor’s creepy Mad Scientist Laboratory set — Kimberly and I played friends who had come to see the famed Dr. Fred Flate for a cosmetic procedure — I was too skinny, so Kimberly wanted him to suck out some of her fat and put it into my tits and belly. Well, kooky fucking Dr. Flate came out (I can’t even describe it, you have to see this clip), and hooked us both up to this weird machine, then left the room. And that’s when shit got fucked-up! I won’t give away all the details, but let’s just say the procedure went horribly wrong, and I got much fatter than I bargained for. IT WAS AMAZING!!

 

 

The last clip we shot was a superhero wrestling thing, where Kimberly (as supervillain Fat Cat) and me (WonderHussy) fought each other before being devoured by a giant, furry monster. This one was a lot of fun too, except that Kimberly got carried away in the fight scene and accidentally punched me in the jaw for reals, so my face was sore for a couple days. But other than that, it was an amazingly fun shoot, and an awesome day. I <3 Taylor St. Claire…and Kimberly Marvel and Fred Flate too, for that matter!!

Anyway, after all of that, there was also the little matter of the Japanese TV show that had me in such a tizzy about the Baja trip in the first place! Here’s how that went down.

So this Japanese documentary crew contacted me, asking if they could film me busking on the Strip in my showgirl costume as part of a travelogue they were filming about roadtripping from Vegas to Bryce Canyon (you know how the Japanese love cosplay). The only lame thing was, it was a “family” show, so I couldn’t wear my real busking outfit (the marijuana showgirl)…or even my new Electric Vagina costume, which I am thinking might make an awesome busking opportunity come summer 😀

Instead, I had to put on my regular-ass old traditional showgirl costume, and we shot for about three hours: first, they “encountered” me at this fantastic old costume store in downtown Vegas, Williams Costume Co., where I “invited” them back to my house, to see my costume collection. OMG, I’m here to tell you, you haven’t LIVED until you’ve had a Japanese film crew in your closet. It was amazing!!!

After they got enough footage at my house, we cruised down to the Strip and they shot an hour or so of me standing around in front of Ballys, hustling tourists for cash. It was embarrassing because business was really slow, for several reasons: one, it was windy as fuck, and my headdress and stuff kept blowing around. Two, it was mid-afternoon, so no one was really drunk enough yet to pony up cash. And three, there are already about 500 showgirls lining the Vegas Strip, posing for photos with tourists….so me in my shitty homemade costume didn’t stand a chance!! That’s why I made the marijuana showgirl costume in the first place — to stand out from the fucking crowd!!!!!

But whatever — it was TV, so they made it work, I ended up making a few bucks, and then they paid me and gave me an awesome souvenir Japanese toenail clipper as a parting gift (!!!). They were super nice people, and I’m really glad I did it — but I didn’t have much time to dilly-dally, since I was already running late for my next adventure — the MOST AMAZING adventure in a week FULL of amazing adventures!!!

You may recall last year around this time, I drove out to the remote desert near Twentynine Palms to visit these kooky German performance artists at their winter headquarters, a crazy sort of Mad Max-style desert compound made of plywood and barbwire in this weird, ultra-remote part of the desert called Wonder Valley. Well, this year they invited me back — and this year, they were bringing this amazing German singer with them: Käpt’n Rummelsnuff!!! And best of all, the little local dive bar in Wonder Valley, The Palms Restaurant, happened to be having a big music festival that night….and Rummelsnuff was able to snag a spot on the bill!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There was no way I was missing Rummelsnuff’s U.S. debut, so as soon as the Japanese film crew dropped me back at my house, I packed up my stuff and hauled ass for Wonder Valley. It’s about a three-hour drive from Vegas, through some very remote country — you basically have to cut through the middle of the Mojave National Preserve, which is a fabulous place, but it was pitch black for most of my drive, so I just drove as fast as the pot-holed road would allow, in order to get to The Palms in time for the show.

I made it just in time to change into my slutty cowgirl chaps from Sturgis — Rummelsnuff’s First Mate, the guy I called Franz in last year’s blog, told me they’d beat up a thrift shop in Twentynine Palms for performance costumes, so I figured I’d better dress up too. And then the music began!!

There were about 5 bands playing at The Palms that night, and every single one was AMAZING! I can’t believe all the talent in that little godforsaken corner of the Earth — it was really incredible. There were a few artsy hipster types in attendance, but there were also a lot of good old-fashioned salt-of-the-Earth desert types there, too — picture a dusty desert dive bar in the middle of nowhere, and that’s the kind of crowd it was. Sort of Mos-Eisley-Cantina-meets the Bagdad Cafe — WEIRD! Rummelsnuff and Franz were really nervous to go on, fearing the locals weren’t ready for their particular brand of craziness….but guess what?!?!? THEY KILLED IT!!!! Here’s a brief video I shot of their performance:

The crowd ate it up!!! It was truly amazing, and they did five songs to very enthusiastic applause, hooting and hollering. YAY!!!!!! I swear to you, I love that fucking place. After Rummelsnuff, some other acts came on, including this one amazingly incredible guy who played THE MOST AMAZING version of Pink Floyd’s “Us and Them” on a hammered dulcimer:

I swear, I’ve never heard anything like it!!! I’ve been on a Pink Floyd kick lately, and plus I was high and pretty buzzed, so it was really transformational for me. And as if that wasn’t enough, the last act was the headliner — the Field Hollars, an AMAZING two-man band that had the most incredible energy level of anything I’ve EVER SEEN! It was basically just a cherub-faced redheaded drummer and a crazed singer/guitarist in hillbilly overalls…but they dredged up a well of intensely fierce passion from somewhere that had the entire fucking room going CRAZY!!! The whole scene was like the end of Cheech & Chong’s Up In Smoke — I’m pretty sure everyone in there was baked (I know I was), and everyone was getting the fuck DOWN! IT WAS AMAAAAAAZING! Here’s a brief clip:

FUCK!!!!!!

After the show ended, we were all totally spent. I hung out in the backyard for awhile at this bonfire, talking to some of the locals — apparently they have bigger music festivals down there on occasion, and people camp out in the desert behind the restaurant, where there was another stage set up. What a magical place!!!

Then after awhile, I followed Rummelsnuff and his First Mate back to the Cat Ranch (a/k/a the Wonder Valley Rave Shack), where we had a nice relaxing soak in the neighbor lady’s Jacuzzi, under the amazing desert stars, talking over the amazing night’s events and smoking some more weed. Incredible! Around midnight, we got out and drove back over to the Cat Ranch and got ready for bed. Franz thought I might be more comfortable staying in the neighbor’s guest cottage, because it had indoor plumbing and running water…but I preferred to sleep in the Cat Ranch’s fabulous guest house, out in the back of their compound — rustic, with no amenities…but very cozy nonetheless!! Fuck indoor plumbing!!!!

Despite the fact that I was super cozy and had a sweet setup there, I suffered a miserable sleepless night due to my shitty insomnia, and finally gave up around 10am, got dressed in this fabulous psychedelic robe I just fashioned, and went out to join the boys for breakfast in the main cabin. We sat on the porch in the desert morning sun and had coffee, avocados and mangoes (Rummelsnuff is a health fiend), and I wanted nothing more than to stay all day…but alas, I had a photo shoot booked that night in Vegas at 6pm, so I had to leave them around noon. Before I went, I gave them some magic mushrooms as a parting gift….and then drove off through the sagebrush, leaving the two of them tripping balls in the desert sunshine. Lovely!!!!

I drove back to Vegas through the Mojave National Preserve, and it was beautiful — it had just rained, so the smell of the creosote bushes was extra-intense, and the skies were sort of overcast and magical. I LOVE THE DESERT!!!!!!

 

But before long, I was back in fucking Vegas, buck-ass naked in some dumb hotel room at the MGM with one of my fellow Goddess Collective models, pretending to hump each other for the pleasure of yet another photographer. The Oscars were on in the background, and it was a very surreal scene..in a totally different way than the previous night’s scene. But the bills have to be paid, and I need gas money to go back to Wonder Valley next weekend…..so it was totally worth it!!!!!