Tag: burning man

A Drugged-Out Desert Party and Another Fake Seizure

What a DAY! It all started much too early, at 8am. My insomnia has gotten worse of late, and I finally decided I’ve had enough, and it’s time to get serious about curing it. For the last 2.5 years, the only way I’ve been able to get a decent night’s sleep is by eating a heavy-duty-dose marijuana cookie before bed (I have a medical marijuana prescription), and then hitting my bong as needed when I wake during the night. But I’m sick of being a nasty-ass stoner! I want to be able to SLEEP ON MY OWN — withOUT drugs!!!

One of the most effective therapies for insomnia is called cognitive behavioral therapy — basically, you re-train your brain to associate bed with sleep. Only use your bed for sleeping and sex, keep the room dark and cool, no TV, and get up at the same time every day, no matter what. They also recommend creating a “sleep debt” by limiting the number of hours spent in bed to the amount usually slept — you’re not supposed to lie there dozing, or trying to sleep a little bit longer, no matter HOW tired you are. Since I used to get about 6 hours total when I clobbered myself with marijuana, I decided to set 6 hours as my nightly time spent in bed — I’ve been going to bed at 2am, and getting up at 8 every day. I haven’t been sleeping well at all, and I am EXHAUSTED…but I’m desperate, and all accounts swear that this approach is the most effective way to cure insomnia. It’s hard with my crazy life to be in bed by 2am every night, but by golly I’m trying my damndest. I’m on day 7 or so, and it’s not really getting any better…but I’m not giving up. I’m staying with it for at least a month, just to see if it works. The idea is, eventually you will create such a huge sleep debt that you eventually start sleeping the entire 6 hours straight through.

One problem I’ve been having is that I started dating this guy, and whenever we sleep in the same bed, I sleep TERRIBLY. The first night I slept in the same bed with him, I didn’t sleep AT ALL 🙁 I guess maybe I was nervous…I dunno. The poor guy has been a good sport about keeping my shitty bedtime schedule, but it’s a royal pain in the ass.

Now you may be wondering, who is this guy that has tamed the legendary Wonderhussy? Well first off, I haven’t been tamed (read on for more evidence of that)…and second, you may be shocked and appalled to learn that he is a very normal person, no weird fetishes or blue hair or dreadlocks or whatever. Ironically, he works at the same air force base as the last jackass I dated (Sgt. Peanut, you may recall)…and in fact, is also a pilot who sits in a darkened trailer all day blowing shit up 5,000 miles away. What a small world! He doesn’t know Peanut, though…I asked him.

Anyhoo, we’ll call this guy Captain Crunch, and he is awesome. I never expected to date a military guy (let alone two in a row)…but he’s really good people. I spent quite a bit of time hanging out with him this week, but I also had plenty of time for random hi-jinks…to wit:

As I was saying…WHAT A DAY! It started at 8am, I went to breakfast with Captain Crunch, and then went over to do a focus group on AAA Roadside Assistance. If you don’t know, focus groups are when they pay consumers for their honest opinions on the products and services they use — I know a lot of freelancers who do them to make extra cash, and some of these people are SHAMELESS! They lie and say they use everything from lite beer to tampons to goat cheese, just so they qualify for more groups.

Worse, the companies that STAFF the focus groups are just as crooked! They get a commission for bringing in qualified participants, so when they call to ask you if you can do a study, they pretty much shamelessly coach you on what answers to give. I remember I did one about slot machines once — I RARELY gamble, usually only when my friend J.R. is in town, and I told the lady at the staffing agency a perverted version of the truth, that I gamble “on average” about $40 a month. “Well, couldn’t you say you sometimes gamble $40 a WEEK?” she asked. “Uhhhh…I guess so…sometimes.” I HATE lying! But I qualified for the group, and spent an afternoon designing my “dream” video slot machine with a roomful of other lying degenerates. WTF! How are marketers supposed to figure out what the fuck people really want, if everyone’s just lying to get a paycheck?!!

Anyhoo, the group today was pretty straightforward, since I really DO use AAA roadside assistance — a LOT! My truck is always getting flat tires and whatnot, due to my desert traveling, and I am a huge fan of the AAA service. I would get my car insurance through them, too…but alas, my driving record is waaaay too abysmal to qualify 🙁

After the focus group, I went home to meditate (part of my relaxation therapy for the insomnia shit), and then I lifted weights and ran some errands. Then I came home and rigged up a nun costume for this photo shoot I did at this creepy Catholic church on Las Vegas Blvd. between the Wynn and the Riviera…and then I did another bachelor party prank!

You may recall how I pranked that bachelor party last month, pretending to have a seizure from too many drugs and all that. Well, one of my Facebook friends saw a posting on craigslist for a similar gig, and forwarded it to me…and the bachelor’s pranking pals hired me based on my extensive experience! I ended up doing the same basic shtick, only I went up to their room and pretended to be a stripper doing a room call. I made the bachelor, a shy young nerdy kid from Rhode Island, sit in a chair while I gave him the world’s most awkward lap dance (I SUCK at dancing and being seductive). Then I went over to snort some “drugs” from a little baggie (again, it was cornstarch)…and ended up having a fake seizure all over the poor kid’s lap!

It was priceless — he TOTALLY fell for it! He started yelling “Call 911! I gotta do CPR!” (I rolled over onto my stomach so that he couldn’t start in with any chest compressions — I don’t have a death wish, ya know). But he was checking my pulse and yelling “Stay with me!” and all this shit like you see on E.R. Meanwhile, his buddies pretended to call 911, then ran out of the room all skeered-like…leaving the panicked bachelor with my foaming body (I used 1.5 Alka-Seltzer tablets again, just like last time…I put them in my mouth when I went to take a hit of my “drugs”).

Finally, his boys came back in, like all “Surprise!!! It’s all a joke!” and I spewed a frothy fountain of Alka-Seltzer at the bachelor, like ha ha ha just kidding! But that kid was PISSED! He was so mad he got up and ran out of the room, and his friends were kinda weirded out. I grabbed my cash and got the hell out of there before he came back, so I don’t know what ended up happening…but all’s well that ends well, and now I can pay my internet bill! 🙂

So now I have Alka-Seltzer crusted up on my face, but I’m still writing this. That’s DEDICATION, yo!

Another night, I planned to just lay low and stay in…but a friend texted me that some bikers he knew needed babes to do a bikini bike wash, and would I come down to their clubhouse to meet with them? I’ve never been to a biker clubhouse, so I said sure thing! It was in this creepy kind of industrial area behind the Rio, in this warehouse-type building that had been converted into biker party central, with a stripper pole and a bar and a reggae band, and a big fat Samoan biker out front barbecueing burgers. Come to find out, it was an interracial bike club — which I thought was really cool! Most of the members were black, Samoan or Puerto Rican…with a few whiteys thrown in the mix for good measure. They were cool people!

Meanwhile, I arrived at the same time as these other 3 chicks: a sort of rockabilly/meth-chic Bette Midler lookalike, and two big fat zaftig babes in minidresses…one of whom was Bette’s “wife,” and all three of whom were escorts, hired to service the bikers at this big rendezvous they’re having in June!!! I was like, “Waitaminute, I’m just here to wash bikes!!!!” but the head biker, this compact little dude with a really quiet, raspy voice, took a shine to me and assured me I need not engage in any hanky-panky. Whew — for a minute there, I thought I’d wandered onto the set of a Russ Meyers movie, and was about to get gang-banged and forced into white slavery under the aegis of Madam Midler!!!

After everything was ironed out — me and some of my “sorority sisters” will be washing bikes at the event, while the other chicks will be working the “VIP” area — we all relaxed with a drink and I chatted with Madam Midler — and found her to be QUITE fascinating! Most notably… she has a glow-in-the-dark vagina!!! I’ll be darned….what the fuck will these kids think of next?! She had a bull’s-eye tattooed around her pubis in ultraviolet ink, and intimated that she climaxed when the tattoo artist inked the outline. But when he filled in the ultraviolet coloring….it hurt like a motherfucker. Still, I suppose it was worth it…I mean, who WOULDN’T want a glow-in-the-dark vagina?! I know I would!

So anyhoo, now I gotta round up 6 or 7 other chicks to be my “sorority sisters,” and help me warsh bikes. The head biker wanted me to come up with a name and a logo, so I picked Alpha Sigma Sigma…or ASS for short!!!! It should be a fun event, and great to write about…and in fact, they might also use me for these foxy wrestling events they’re about to set up out there in the lot behind their warehouse! No telling WHAT kind of hi-jinks I’ll get up to with these crazy bikers!!!

Anyhoos, another night I went downtown for this big cholo party some guy was having at the Beauty Bar. For those who don’t know, a cholo is a Mexican gang-banger — you know the type: khakis, Nike Cortez, Pendleton buttoned only at the top button. His female counterpart, the chola, is perhaps better known due to her crazy Sharpie eyebrows and hideous brown lip-liner…so I put together my best chola outfit and headed downtown! I ended up looking more like a guera Gwen Stefani-type poseur chola, but it was all good — I put about half a can of Aqua Net on my pompadour, and decided to ride my bike down there since it was such a nice night, and it’s easier than trying to find a place to park. So there I was, pedaling furiously down the street at 10:30pm on my crazy-ass, pink-duct-tape-covered Burning Man bike…and I’m here to tell you, my hair did not move AT ALL! I arrived at the party with my mighty pompadour still perfectly intact, and enjoyed some vodka cranberries while mingling with other cholos and cholas to the sounds of the Geto Boyz and other classic East-L.A. tunes.

The only bummer was, it wasn’t so much of a costume party as a REAL cholo party….so I was kinda afraid of getting my ass kicked. Back in high school, I went to a school with a LOT of Mexicans, and this one cholo had a crush on me, and used to walk up behind me on my way home from school to pull my skirt up, exposing my 14-year-old-girl panties. Trouble was, this one chola had a crush on him, and was so jealous of me that one day she jumped me and beat the holy living crap out of me in front of all her chola friends! Ever since then I’ve had a deathly fear of cholas…but I’m all about facing my fears, so I soldiered on and went to this party, rubbing elbows with the likes of the girls who beat my ass in high school Yay, me!! 😀

I didn’t have much time to relish my victory, however, because the very next day I was heading down to Arizona for this big Burning Man campout near Snowflake (a tiny town near Show Low, somewhere in central B.F.E. a few hours south of Flagstaff). A friend from L.A. had invited me to come down and work as the mistress of this maze he was building there…but at the last minute he had to cancel, so I just cruised down there with a couple girlfriends, neither of whom I really knew at ALL! We all sort of caravaned down there, and what was supposed to be a 6-hour trip somehow ended up taking NINE HOURS! We got there in the dark, set up camp (I had my trusty pop-up camper with me), and then proceeded to booze and party for three days straight.

The one chick was named Button — so named because she lost a ton of weight one time, and had her excess stomach skin trimmed off. When the doctor asked where she wanted him to place her new belly button, she told him she didn’t want one at all — and ended up

having a tattoo of an old-fashioned button inked where her belly button used to be!!!! LMFAO, what a great idea! I want to get my nipples removed and tattooed…and see if I can go topless THEN!

The other chick was this little 21-year old I met at the blood-wrestling match I did a few weeks back — a fiesty little nutcase who ended up being a TON of fun! We were all three into nudism, so we basically ran around naked most of the time, like a camp of crazy naked Amazon ladies. It was awesome! I participated in a drum circle, a lengthy Balinese monkey-chant session, and a good old-fashioned rave in which I danced with a man in a Civil War jacket and a rubber horse head…but by far the most fun thing I did was march in Mr. Chow’s Birthday Parade. Mr. Chow was a dog belonging to this gray-bearded traveling vagabond, and to honor his faithful companion’s birthday, he organized a parade for all the dogs at the event (there were 500 people there, and quite a few brought dogs…you know hippies!).

Alas, my campmates and I didn’t have a dog, but the little 21-year-old chick reeeeally wanted to participate. At first we were gonna try and make one out of felt (she had brought a bunch of crafting supplies along)…but then she had the idea of being the dog HERSELF! I painted a dog nose and whiskers on her, she made a leash  and collar out of one of her backpack straps, and then she bounded along naked while I walked her in the parade. She was SO FUCKING FUNNY, sniffing other dogs’ asses and lifting her leg on bushes…and at the end of the parade, we all ended up back at the traveling vagabond’s trailer for treats — margaritas for the people, and Pupperoni for the dogs. I’m here to tell you, that girl even ate two Pupperoni sticks — although another dog came up and ate half out of her mouth, Lady and the Tramp-style. LOL!!!!!!!!!

Then the vagabond gave me a tour of his fabulous Scamp trailer — Scamp being the brand name for a certain type of white fiberglass trailer on which I’ve had a lustful eye for quite some time. His rig was SICK — solar panel on the roof powering his fridge and ham radio equipment, propane stove, and even a little swamp cooler to help keep Mr. Chow cool. I swear, if I had a trailer like that I would travel around the country having adventures that would make this blog look like a PBS pledge drive. If anyone wants to buy me one, feel free — I just want the little 10-footer, nothing fancy 🙂

I had a lot of fun during the day at this desert party…but at night, it was the same story as Burning Man: everyone ate ecstasy, put on a big furry coat, and got stupid. BO-RING! I did stumble into a very intriguing, creepy tent across the way from our camp that was doing all these sadistic S&M rituals — and of course, I had to volunteer. Thus it was that I was lit on fire (hair mousse sprayed onto my chest, then lit aflame) and electrified with a violet wand (this creepy fucking device that gives you a mild static electricity charge). It was pretty interesting, but definitely not a turn-on. I’m pretty vanilla when it comes to that stuff – you won’t see ME shoving a cattle prod up my asshole anytime soon!

Anyhoo, I had a pretty good time at Saguaro Man (as that campout was known), but I was definitely ready to cruise back to Vegas on Sunday morning. Ten fucking hours later, I rolled into town…but I have to say, I have the summer camping bug now, and can’t WAIT to get back out and go on the next adventure! Who’s with me?????!

 

Also, I stopped along the way back to Vegas at some very cheesy tourist attractions…most notably, a corner in the blighted town of Winslow, Arizona that has become a shrine to that godawful Eagles song “Take it Easy.” You know, “I’m a-standin’ on the corner in Winslow, Arizona… such a fine sight to see…it’s a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowin’ down to take a look at meeeee…” Apparently, this town’s economy is so trashed that they spent their entire annual budget on a statue of a hippie on the corner, and a flatbed Ford on the street in front of him, hoping to lure in tourist dollars. It worked — I stopped; but astonishingly, there were no establishments anywhere nearby to spend any money at!!! Come on, Winslow, what the fuck?! At least have a burger joint that plays Eagles music 24/7…don’t you WANT to make any money?!?!?!?! I personally would have DEFINITELY had lunch there!

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Burning Vegas

Yesterday I blogged about all the shittiness in my life of late. Today I’ll tell ya about the GOOD stuff!

A few weeks ago, I got a wild hair up my ass (more likely I was drinking wine and surfing Facebook, which always gets me into trouble) and volunteered to help out with this big project the local Burning Man community was working on: a festival to celebrate the Burnal Equinox, which is the halfway point between Burning Man 2011 and BM 2012. They decided to hold it in conjunction with this cool street festival/art walk kinda thing called First Friday (so called because it’s always held the 1st Friday of the month). They close off all the streets in this one section of downtown Vegas (the so-called Arts District), and all these artists and vendors and food trucks and stuff set up…and it’s generally a pretty good time. They’ve been doing it since 2003 or so, but I didn’t start going til 2010, because I’m a total hater and I thought it was gonna be lame — you know, one of those things where people are TRYING too hard to be cool.

But it actually IS really cool! It has become slightly corporate — I don’t know exactly what happened, but the lady who originally started it had to bail out, and supposedly it was “in danger” of dying out until Tony Hsieh, the CEO of Zappos/Savior of Downtown Vegas™ stepped in and Saved The Day. (If you haven’t heard, Tony Hsieh has decided to singlehandedly save downtown Vegas from itself. Bye bye crackheads and derelict motels, hello hipster bars and family-friendly First Fridays. Grumble.)

Anyhoo, the local Burners got permission from the First Friday brass (it just seems wrong that a “counterculture” festival should even have brass) to host a mini-Burning Man celebration in an empty lot downtown, near where the street fair takes place. Local artists spent weeks building a 20-foot tall wooden showgirl named Lucky Lady Lucy, which was to be burned after a sort of carnivalesque stage extravaganza featuring fire dancers, fire hoopers, fire spinners, fire belchers and fire farters (can you tell I find the fire arts overrated?! Nevertheless, I plan to learn fire spinning myself…a friend has graciously offered to teach me!).

Aside from the flame-brains, the revue was also to include performances by the Burning Opera, a sort of “Jesus Christ, Superstar”-type rock opera all about Burning Man. After the opera, right before they lit Lucky Lady Lucy on fire, there was to be a sort of Burning Man fashion show featuring Lady Lucy’s bra, panties and feather boa…and they put out a call for volunteers to help out. I offered to model in the fashion show, but…before ya know it, I had been suckered in to RUNNING the fashion show! I guess I was OK with that — I’ve been wanting to get more involved with the community — but next thing you know, I was not only in charge of finding five models to create outfits for…but now I was in charge of MAKING THE BRA AND PANTIES! How the fuck does one fashion a metal bra for a 20-foot-tall wooden showgirl that hasn’t even been constructed yet?! It was insanity!!

To make matters even WORSE, I went to what I thought was a rehearsal meeting for the fashion show…but it turned out to be a rehearsal for the Burning Opera cast! Somehow, I got suckered in to performing as a member of the Tribe — a sort of dancing Greek chorus that prances around the stage while the principal performers sing. This wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that we had to learn CHOREOGRAPHY — when I tell you I am one of the world’s worst dancers, I ain’t lying. It was REALLY TOUGH!

Still, I’m totally glad I did it…now that it’s over!! At the time, it was totally stressful. I was dealing with my extorting roommates, I still hadn’t fully moved into my new place, I had to work, and somehow I was supposed to devote 40 hours a week to these Opera rehearsals and Lucy bra-making activities. INSANITY! But I met some reeeeeeally cool people, so I’m TOTALLY glad to have done it.

Most of the cast came down from San Francisco to perform, and they were a colorful crew of bad-asses. The director was this hardcore bad-ass Opera Artiste with a Vision, but sadly all he had to work with were Vegas losers who either never showed up for rehearsal, or else had no imagination beyond tutus and furry boots. It was so “Waiting for Guffman…” I really felt for the poor guy. Still, a ragtag gang of locals slowly came together, and thanks to many hours of rehearsing, Herr Direktor sloooowly got us into shape.

Meanwhile, as the “team lead” for the “fashion show” part of the revue, I had to attend all these crazy meetings with the local Burning Man muckety-mucks, who actually turned out to be a REALLY cool group of people. Finally, some Burners who actually DO SOMETHING other than eat ecstasy and hula-hoop!!! It’s about fuckin’ time — I was starting to lose faith!!! Back when I first attended Burning Man, I expected it to be a life-altering experience full of amazing art, hardcore artists and counterculture superheroes. Sadly, I found it to be little more than a bunch of drunk frat boys and high 40-somethings in furry boots, hula hooping to dubstep. I suspected there was more to it, and that I just wasn’t looking in the right places….and this past week confirmed it!

Aaaaanyhoo, the First Friday brass was totally skittish, wanting to make sure the event was “family friendly” (are there two more offensive words in the English language?!), since they’ve spent “a lot of money” trying to get families to come down and enjoy First Fridays. Poor Herr Direktor had to censor the shit out of his libretto, removing all references to drugs, alcohol, nudity, cusswords and paganism (seriously, they had to change a line about “pagans and Wiccans…” WTF!!!!)…and by the time he was done, it was looking pretty fucking sad. It’s a testament to the awesomeness of the cast that the whole thing didn’t end up being Disney on Ice (with tutus and furry boots).

Meanwhile, the First Friday brass and the local BM bigwigs stroked each other into a cautious détente, determined to make this work. Some of the First Friday people (Tony “Savior” Hsieh among them) had gone to Burning Man last year for the first time, and were “amazed” and “impressed.” They wanted everyone to know that Burning Man wasn’t just about drugs and nudity — it’s about so much more. Uhhh…..did you guys stay in your air-conditioned RVs watching Disney videos the whole week?!?! HELLO!!!

Aaaaanyway, the First Friday people had a vision, and the local Burners had no choice but to conform to that vision… so we did. The Opera cast had to cover up their tits and whatnot, and there was to be no talk of drugs or alcohol. My character was supposed to be a drunken alien party girl named Saturnalia…but even that was called into question, because the mayor was gonna be there, and families were gonna be there…and is that the kinda image we want to portray???

Uh…

YES! Yes, it is the image I want to portray! Look, the mayor’s HUSBAND (our ex-mayor, Oscar Goodman) is a notorious boozer whose shtick is martinis and showgirls. Is a drunken alien party girl really going to offend his wife?! (The answer is NO — when the Mayor and the ex-Mayor showed up, Oscar grabbed my glowing green bottle of alien booze (Palmolive with glow sticks inside) and pretended to chug it. That settles that stupid argument). Ha!!!

I almost wanted to quit the whole thing after First Friday came down with all these bogus rules…but I soldiered on. I briefly considered an intentional “wardrobe malfunction,” just to make my point (look, my nipples are fucking harmless, people! GET OVER IT!)…but I gritted my teeth and chafed under the yoke of the Man for the greater good of the local Burner community. And I’m glad I did, because as lame as it sounded, it actually ended up being super cool.

Almost every single person who said they’d help with the fashion show FLAKED on me, so I concentrated more on my Opera rehearsing, and let the fashion show part fall by the wayside. I did spend about 8 hours making a light-up bra and panties for Lady Lucy out of wire and LED blinkies, but the rest of the time was spent rehearsing dance steps and trying to come up with an alien costume. I already had an alien costume, from this space disco I went to back in 2010, but Herr Direktor wanted something badass, so I felt all this pressure to come up with a Hollywood-quality costume with appendages and all whatnot. Alas, I was short on time, so at the last minute, I showed up in my old space disco costume….and they all loved it!!! So I freaked out for nothing, as usual.

A couple days before the show, the principal cast members came down from San Fran to rehearse, and it was the coolest band of gypsies. The actors were a colorful crew of hardcore counterculturists, including some super-hot hipppie dudes and this one amazingly badass Sparkly Hippie Starshine Superheroine named Dr. Deb who was unbelieveably amazing and made me want to be her. There was a live band playing all the music, and they were AMAZING, too — I guess back in S.F. they are members of a band called Battlehooch, so if you live in that area, check ’em out! The bass player was an exceptionally cool guy who looked like an Amish David Koresh…he had an unforgettable look — but the rest of the band was amazing, too. And they were all super friendly and cool.

After a couple days rehearsing with them, we were good to go — or at least as good as we were gonna get. I don’t know how Herr Direktor didn’t pull out all his hair over us and our pathetically inept dancing — we missed all our cues, and mostly stumbled around like a rag-tag band of spastic drunken vaudevillians. Good times! Despite our unrefined ways, I gotta give my fellow Vegas performers mad props for at least trying — no one else even bothered to show up!!! There are hundreds of Burners in Vegas, but as previously mentioned, many are the high, hula-hooping kind. Thank goodness there were at least a few hardcore types out there who sacked up and dove in. I became pretty good friends with a few of them…now I know who the cool people are!

Besides me there was this super cool mother-daughter duo (who also helped with the fashion show, dog bless ’em), this amazing kooky Piratess who used to be a US Forestry firefighter (!!), a good-spirited young fellow in a furry cat costume, and these two blonde Polish chicks who showed up in blinky rave wear at the last minute and barely learned the dance steps in time. A motley crew to say the least, but we made it happen with the help of Herr Direktor and the other cast members, whose moves we pretty much followed onstage.

The day of the show, my sister came to town with her crazy Israeli husband — he was in town for a bachelor party with some of his crazy Israeli Burner friends, so we all planned to meet up after the show and party. My sis came to the show with me, and helped out backstage with costumes and whatnot, and generally had a blast. Once the final show was over (we did three performances, at 6, 7 and 8pm), they lit the showgirl on fire and it was PARTY TIME! All that hard work was behind me, so I reeeeeally let loose. I mean, REALLY let loose! I ate a friendly fungus, drank some wine, and wandered around the festival area for awhile as Lucy burned (I’m not much on watching fires; I get bored). This crew of party animals from Santa Cruz called the Dancetronauts were there in their giant spaceship (seriously; they built a huge spaceship out of an RV, and it jacks up on a scissorlift) with a bunch of scantily-clad Dancetrohotties go-go-ing wildly atop their 100,000-watt sound system, as the Dancetronauts themselves (a bunch of hot mooks in NASA flight suits) ran around blowing giant smoke rings into the huge mass of writhing, dancing people before them. It was INSANE!

The Dancetronauts played until around 10:30pm, by which time Lucy had burned down to the ground in a neat pile of ashes (much to the dismay of the waiting phalanx of firemen, who were eagerly expecting a disaster…sorry boys) — and then the real party began! A bunch of local Burners had trucked their art cars and mutant vehicles downtown, and the police very graciously allowed us to have an Art Car parade down the city streets to the Plaza hotel, where the Dancetronauts were having a huge street party. My sis and I wanted to ride the Soul Train (a friend of mine’s amazing neon choo-choo train), but he was already full, so we hopped on board the Pedal Pub instead, which is probably my #1 all-time favorite art car of them all — it’s an 8-seater bike, with four seats on each side, all facing inward to a bar. The bartender stands in the middle on the checkered floor, and steers as the people sitting at the bar all pedal. It’s NUTS!!!!!! I don’t know how the fuck it works, but it does — and it’s AWESOME!

We pedaled all the way down to the Plaza, then got off and proceeded to dance like mad people in the valet area out front, in the shadow of the Dancetronauts’ spaceship. Fantastic!! I’ve rarely had that much fun in Vegas — I danced like a madwoman. I ran into a lot of people I knew, and it was just a fabulous time all around. About 2am they brought the party indoors, to the showroom, which had been converted into a sort of fake Burning Man with lasers and smoke and signposts like you see out at the actual Burn. Really fun! I’m here to tell you, I danced more or less non-stop from 2pm til 5am (!!!!!!!) — FIFTEEN STRAIGHT HOURS! When I wasn’t dancing, I was pedaling that Pedal Pub…which wasn’t exactly slacking off. I figure I burned about 900,000 calories — nice! Around 5am my sis fell asleep at the table, and some fucknut spilled a beer all over my fur coat (ASSSS! I *HATE* beer, more than anything!), so we left, and went across the street for breakfast at DuPar’s coffee shop. Then we took a cab back to my car, and from there drove the short 5 minutes or less to my new house, which is conveniently located downtown in the heart of all the action. Once home, we passed out cold and slept all day, til it was time to take my sis back to the airport. Fun!

After I took her to the airport, I pretty much felt like I’d been run over by a giant, blinking, furry bus. I intended to stay home all night, but the Dancetronauts were having a second street party down by the El Cortez…and being as I live so freaking close by, I figured I might as well stop by for a few hours. The problem was, I didn’t feel like putting on all my makeup and stuff (it was already 10pm by that time)…so I came up with an ingenious idea: wear my fantastic, beloved Second Skin bodysuit, which covers my ENTIRE body and face, so no makeup is required. PROBLEM SOLVED! I put together a fabulous outfit and went down to dance a little more, but the party totally sucked — everyone was either exhausted from the night before, or at the other shows in town that night. (The hippies were all at Mickey Hart at the Hard Rock Cafe, and the bean-eaters were all at Bassnectar over at the Palms… the tribe was fractured.) I left after a couple hours — the vibe was lame. Just a bunch of aggro teenagers and middle-aged people standing around staring at the Dancetrohotties…I totally wasted a badass costume on that jive-ass crap. Boo!

So now the party’s over, but it totally whetted my appetite for all things Burning Man. I’m really in a bind this year — as you may have heard, the event sold out for the first time ever last year, and this year they had such overwhelming demand that they instituted this whack-ass lottery system for tickets. Me and everyone I know entered the lottery, but no one I know won tickets! Whaaaaa?????! Even the freaking Dancetronauts only “won” two tickets — out of forty Dancetronauts!!! The majority of the ticket winners (well, 40% anyway) are said to be first-time attendees….which has caused a lot of tension in the Burning Man community.

On the one hand, I feel like first timers (especially square first-timers…people who are not wacky at all in everyday life) are the ones who really get the most out of Burning Man. People like me, who wear crazy costumes every day and live their entire lives like it’s Burning Man, don’t have as much to learn, or have as much expanding to do, as some random frat idiot who needs an eye-opener. So is it really fair to let us wacky types monopolize the event, when there are clearly people who need it more than we do???

On the OTHER, MORE IMPORTANT HAND, Burning Man is gonna be lame as hell if all the hardworking regulars aren’t able to attend!! Who’s gonna bring all the fabulous art? All the amazing mutant vehicles and art cars?!?! All the large-scale interactive camps and experiences?!?!?!?!?!?!????? If 40% of the attendees are newbies, it’s not going to be the same at all.

But, what can really be done? The BLM (gov’ment) caps the attendance at 50,000…and since every asshole (myself included) comes back from Burning Man telling all their friends “OMG you gotta go to this sometime!” it was bound to get too big for its furry britches. It just sucks being on the outside — my sis and her husband were able to buy two tickets in this stupid resale program they instituted, but what about meeeee?? I was able to at least get on the resale LIST, but that doesn’t even come close to guaranteeing that I’ll actually get a ticket. There will likely not be enough people reselling their extra tickets, and I’ll be shit outta luck.

Meanwhile, the whole reason behind this bullshit lottery is that they didn’t want “scalpers” to buy the tickets, then mark ’em up and sell ’em on eBay. Well, guess what?!?!?! There are ALREADY a shit ton of tickets on eBay and StubHub and the like, going for upwards of $5,000 each!! FUCK! What’s a girl to do????

If you’re reading this blog and you have an extra ticket, please let me know. I will pay face value, cash, and you’ll be helping out a poor battered soul who has just lived through a really shitty year. C’mon, guys!!!

I’ll leave you on a slightly more upbeat note: one night, after Opera rehearsal, I had to run to WalMart…even though I was wearing my kooky silver fur coat and wacky black pleather pants and Frankenstein boots. I knew I was running the risk of winding up on PeopleOfWalMart.com, but I had  to go — I have this weird rash thing on my eyelids, where they get all red and dry and scaly and make me look like I’m about 60 years old. I’ve had this problem on and off for years, but it got a lot worse recently, and I somehow got the idea it might be caused by a fungus. I went online and Googled “eyelid fungus” and all these message boards turned up where people were saying they had cured it with yeast infection cream! So, when I went to WalMart in my crazy outfit, I was buying all kinds of yeast infection meds — creams, pills, etc. I must’ve looked like a REAL piece of work, ha ha ha!!!!! But whatever — IT WORKED! I’m pleased to report that by applying vaginal cream to my eyelids each morning and night, I have more or less cured my problem. Hooray for Google!!!

 

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The Colonel Crusty Caper, and Censorship For the Sake of Insurance

All right, time to put alllllll this negativity and nonsense behind me. So I lost my house and then was gouged out of $2,500 by my unemployed leech roommate…big deal! I get knocked down, but I get up again…you’re never gonna keep me down!!! Still, I’m posting this one last photo that was taken of me back in October, when a visiting photographer who was doing a story on foreclosures in Vegas interviewed me for this AWESOMELY depressing slideshow: http://inmotion.magnumphotos.com/essay/foreclosures-las-vegas-reno. Check it out! There is a voiceover by me, swearing like a sailor, that really adds to the depressing, Diane Arbus-y vibe. I’m glad to have gotten some photographic mementos of that whole fiasco…I had planned on asking one of my photographer friends to come over and document my actual move for posterity’s sake, but I was just too busy weeping and being gouged by my bitch-ass loser roommates…but these awsome Magnum pics will do!

Aaaaanyhoo, I finally got all moved into my new place, when the shit hit the fan AGAIN! I called the DMV to have my address changed on my license…and come to find out, my license was REVOKED! Dog knows HOW long I’ve been driving around like this — I had a DUI back in August 2010, for which my license was suspended for 90 days and the whole rigamarole. I paid the fines, attended the classes, learned my lesson and bought a Breathalyzer (which was stolen from my truck in January)…but apparently, my attorney neglected to mention the little fact that I was supposed to RE-APPLY for a driver’s license after all was said and done!

So now I had to go to the DMV and re-take the whole fuckin’ test — the written AND the driving parts! I passed the written part easily — I studied the handbook for a few hours and was good to go. So they gave me an appointment for a drive test on Monday morning at 11:30. I gathered up all my papers related to my DUI, including my new insurance statement, my birth certificate and my Social Security card, and had them in a folder on the the kitchen counter, ready to go.

My friend Guy agreed to give me a ride over there, and he came over to my house around 10:45 before I was ready. I tried to hurry, but my face was all puffy and weird from this eyelid rash I had, so it took me FOREVER to get my makeup right, and I couldn’t concentrate because I felt bad making him wait. We ended up running out the door around 11:15, which was fine because the DMV is just around the corner from my new place. But I was supposed to BE there at 11:15 (you have to arrive 15 minutes early), so by the time we got there it was like 11:25, and I had to RUN inside.

Just as I was getting out of the truck…I realized I had left my folder at home on my kitchen counter. FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!! I really needed to get my license THAT DAY — I had a MILLION things to do, and needed to be able to drive. My friend graciously agreed to race back to my house and get the stuff while I tried to stall the DMV people…while I RAN inside to check in for my appointment. The lady at the counter glared at the clock, which read 11:24, but begrudgingly let me check in anyway: “I need to see your registration and proof of insurance.”

DOUBLE FUCK! I had left them in the truck! “Let me go get them!” I shouted over my shoulder, racing out the door, hoping to catch my friend before he had left the parking lot. Miraculously, he hadn’t left yet (he wasn’t used to driving my truck, and didn’t know the neighborhood at all) so I ran up to him, banging on the window, til he opened the passenger door. I grabbed the stuff from the glove box and admonished him to “PLEASE HURRY!!!!! The stuff is in a yellow folder on my kitchen counter!!” Nevermind the fact that he had only been to my new place ONCE, and had no idea how to get there….I was banking on the fact that I’d be able to stall the DMV long enough for him to find it and hurry back.

So I dragged ass, getting back to the counter by 11:29, and handed the lady my stuff. She gave me a baleful glare and checked me in, then gave me a vision test…which I took S…L…O…W…L…Y: “Uhhhhhh……siiiiiiiix………eiiiiiiiiight…….fiiiiiiiiiive……threeeee……….” They must have thought I was half blind, but I got a perfect score anyway, and she told me to have a seat and they would call me.

Perfect! Anytime you have to wait at the DMV, it takes FOREVER…so I figured I was gold. Not this time!! The drive test instructor was already standing there, waiting. Before he could say anything, I asked if I could use the restroom first, thinking to stall some more. The instructor very begrudgingly agreed, if I “hurried,” but I went in and pretended to have diahhrea/cramps/nerves and dragged my ass as long as possible in that bathroom. It was really gross because this is the most ghetto DMV in Vegas and it was literally OVERFLOWING with the unwashed masses spilling out in the streets, screaming at their babies, smacking their snot-stained toddlers and all being yelled at in turn by security guards. In other words…hell on Earth!

Still, I loitered around in the bathroom as long as possible with my “nervous diahhrea/vomiting” and then trudged slowly back over to the drive test instructor. In the bathroom, I had called my friend and he said he wasn’t even at my house yet….so I figured I had to somehow stall waaaaay longer. This I accomplished by talking up a blue streak: as I approached the crusty old ex-military hawk assigned to me, I launched into a chattering monologue about how nervous I was, and how I couldn’t believe how nervous I was! I mean, I’ve been driving for twelve years — you wouldn’t expect me to be so nervous! I milked a few more precious minutes thusly as the crusty old General stared at me in grouchy bemusement, but I thought I saw him “smising” (that’s when you “smile” with your eyes only…great word, huh?) and finally he interrupted me: “OK, let’s go out to your vehicle.”

“Uhhhhh………….sure!” I led him outside, spewing forth a nonstop stream of chatter and funny stories, pausing every few feet to stop and touch his arm to make a point, just to buy more time. I led him to the back parking lot, where I pretended to “look around” for my truck (which I knew damn well wasn’t there). “Hmmmm! Maybe it’s in the front, after all…I’m sorry!” So now I led him BACK out to the front, still chattering and trying to distract him from the fact that my car was nowhere in sight. This went on for several minutes: “Gosh, I don’t see it anywhere….I wonder where he is! Let me call him and find out!”

General McCrusty was really glaring at me now as I called my friend: “Hey, where ya at?” He told me he had the stuff and was headed back, about 5 minutes away. If I could just stall them a few more minutes, I was golden! But the General’s patience was wearing thin. “Where is he?!?!?” he demanded. “Uhhhhh….sorry, I felt bad for imposing on him to give me a ride here, and he needed cigarettes so I told him to go ahead and run to 7-Eleven real quick while I was waiting for you. He should be back any minute! He had a nicotine fit…ya know????”

“7-Eleven?!?!” the General said suspiciously. “That’s pretty far from here.” “Oh, uhhh, well maybe not 7-eleven…Idk, whatever the little quickie mart over there is,” I bluffed. That was not enough for the General: “Well, you had an 11:30 appointment and it’s now 11:45, and we have no vehicle. This is a BIG PROBLEM!”

“Ummmmmmm….” Fortunately, at that very moment, my friend screeched into the parking lot: “Wahoooooo!!! THERE HE IS!”

Whew — talk about a close call. The General grumpily followed me to the truck, and checked my turn signals and all that crap before getting in and sitting beside me in stoic, crusty silence. Awkward!! He made me parallel park, which I suck at (who the fuck parallel parks in Vegas?! It’s the land of free parking and free valet!!!), so I failed that part miserably. Then he had me drive around the neighborhood, which I did VERRRRRY CAUTIOUSLY, keeping my hands on 10 and 2 on the wheel, stopping at every stop sign and keeping below the speed limit. In other words…nothing like how I usually drive. And STILL, the fucker failed me!!!!

The reason he gave was that I did not stop fully at a stop sign — which is an automatic fail!!! Bullshit — I STOPPED at every fuckin’ stop sign there was; I’m not that stupid! I think he was just pissed at me for stalling him so long, and therefore was extra critical of me: he said I stopped too close to the intersection, whereas I SHOULD have stopped 5 feet before the actual sign. WHAT-THE-FUCK-EVER, ASSHOLE!

So I slumped back into the DMV and made another appointment for Wednesday morning. Fuck!!! I had such an insanely busy week, I really didn’t have time for all this. But to thank my friend for his crazy efforts, I took him to lunch at a trendy new restaurant in downtown Vegas called Le Thai. All the hipsters drool over it, and it does have a cool atmo…but it’s no better or worse, food-wise, than any other Thai restaurant, IMO. I ordered the “Red, Yellow and Green” curry in honor of my failed drive test, and soldiered on with my life.

My new roommate took me back to the DMV on Wednesday, and I made sure to get there 15 minutes early, with all the needed documents. Whew! They assigned me a different instructor this time — a younger male. Score!! I passed with no further ado, and got a new license at last. FINALLY!!!

Now, while all this was going on, MORE shit hit the fan!! Right after I found out my license had been revoked, I get a call from my boss at the souvenir photo company: “We need you to come in right away.” Oh shit…NOW what?! I’m always getting into trouble there for my “negative attitude” and “inappropriate behavior,” so I figured I was about to be fired. The manager of our photo lab was sent to jail for a week or two for failing to pay HIS DUI fine, so in the meantime they got this other little prick to be the interim manager, and he HATES me. I figured he must have complained about me, and now I was about to lose my job. WHATEVER! I was actually OK with that, except for the fact that I have an upcoming gynecology appointment and my Pap smears always come back abnormal, and I have to have follow-up stuff donw…and if I lose my insurance, I might not be able to afford it. I don’t want to die of cervical cancer — but I can’t get private insurance on account of this jackass psychiatrist who diagnosed me bipolar (because I was upset over losing my house!), and now i have a pre-existing condition >:-(

Anyhoo, I didn’t want to drive over there on a revoked license, so I tried to get my boss to just tell me on the phone or via email…but he refused. I asked if it could wait til Monday (thinking by then I’d have a license again), but he said it was a MAJOR crisis and they needed to see me ASAP! FUCK!!!!! Well, now I was really curious, so I sarcastically told him I’d “get a ride over there,” and drove over myself, verrrrrrrrrrrrry cautiously, to see what they had to say.

What it turned out to be was HILARIOUS, in a sad way. Apparently, there’s this new steakhouse in town at one of the hotels, and I had taken my friend there for dinner a few weeks ago. They treated us VERY poorly, despite it being a $350 dinner, and the staff was so rude/inept that I wrote a very scathing review on yelp.com to assuage my humiliation (I really was super humiliated by the way they treated me).

Well, my boss, and his boss, and the wife of the guy who owns the photo company were all there…and they asked if I would please take down this review. It seems they are trying to get into the good graces of that restaurant, so they can send photographers in there to shoot photos of the diners, and they don’t want anything negative out there that could be traced back to their company. Because I had mentioned in the review that I worked in the showroom near that restaurant, my bosses figured the steakhouse people might put two and two together and figure out it was a photo lab employee — and then out of spite, they wouldn’t allow photographers in the restaurant.

SRSLY! They even said that if I didn’t remove the review, they might lose their operations at the ENTIRE HOTEL, and “You wouldn’t want to hurt the company like that, would you???”

I found it ludicrous that a single, honest review of my dining experience at a pretentious, overpriced steakhouse (that already had several similar bad reviews posted) would sink the “entire company…” and I said as much. But they just kept “asking” me if I would just please take it down.

“What if I just remove the line about working in the showroom?”

“We’d prefer if you just took the whole thing down.”

“So, you;re saying if I don’t remove the review, I’m fired?”

“No no no! We can’t do that legally — we’re just asking you to take it down.
“And if I don’t?”

“We’ll keep asking you to.”

HAH! I could see I was fucked, so I VERY BEGRUDGINGLY agreed to go home and censor myself for the sake of their bottom line. Furthermore, they told me that I was not to write any negative reviews of ANY property/venue/show/restaurant that they have operations at!!! Seriously?!?!?!? I like warning people about shitty shows and shitty service! But I don’t like dying of cervical cancer, either — so what’s an outspoken girl to do??? ADVICE, PLEASE!!!

I saved the bad steakhouse review in a Word doc, so I can re-post it in the event that they finally fire me or I quit — I’m putting that shit RIGHT BACK UP! I don’t care what anyone says — that steakhouse SUCKS ASS and no one but an uncultured rube would subject himself to dining there. Fuck ’em!!! Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhh!!!!!!!!

Meanwhile, I had all this other crazy shit going on — the local Burning Man community had this HUGE party planned for the Burnal Equinox (the half-way point between Burning Man 2011 and 2012), and I had volunteered to be a cast member in this revue they had planned, plus also to help design a costume for this 20-foot tall wooden effigy of a showgirl they had built to burn at the end of the performance. Fun — but a LOT of work, and kinda stressful. We had all these rehearsals, and it was really time consuming.

Meanwhile, some German friends were in  town and wanted to meet up, so I had to hang with them one night. We went to the Cosmopolitan for drinks, but I had to leave around 11 to pick up another friend from the airport. On the way out, I noticed that the front window of the Cosmopolitan had been changed — it used to be a really expensive modern art design furniture store, but now it was this thing called the Pop-Up Wedding Chapel — where for $80, you get a really cool fake Vegas wedding ceremony, complete with a minister, ceremony, two toy rings, two cans of champagne and a photo booth strip. FUN! For an extra $150, they’ll even make it legally binding!! Meanwhile, since it’s in the front window of the Cosmopolitan, right on the Strip, anyone walking past can stop in and sit down to watch — they have pews, just like a real wedding chapel!!! The night I was there, this super cute black couple was getting married — legally — and all these random passers-by had stopped to watch and take photos. It was so surreal — but so cool!

I immediately put out the call on Facebook: “WHO WANTS TO GET MARRIED?!?!?!” I thought it would be a RIOT to have a big fake wedding ceremony — since I doubt I’ll ever marry for reals, I thought it would be a fun party. But I got too many responses, and didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings…so I didn’t go through with it. And now, the chapel is closed — it was just a temporary thing. But so cool — I hope they bring it back!! I’ll totally go over there all the time for a free show!!!

Anyhoo, I picked up my other friend at the airport — this chick I know who’s a full-time traveling nude model. She’s super cool, so I had her stay over at my new place, and she told me all about this creeeeeeeeeeeepy website she had just shot for out in Oregon, where they guy pays you to play dead. I checked the site, and it’s photos and videos of models pretending to be dead, while men give them fake autopsies and otherwise manhandle them. I found it far too creepy for even me — although I’d love a free trip to Oregon, and the money for shooting, I gotta draw the line somewhere. I won’t post the link here, to preserve the guy’s privacy..but it was CREEPY SHIT. I’m trying to cultivate some standards here — another photographer just contacted me about a bondage shoot, and I turned that down, too. I don’t want to shoot anything demeaning or objectifying women like that! A lot of my pics are already borderline…I don’t want to go any farther!!!

Anyhoo, the rest of my week was TOTALLY DEVOTED to preparing for the Vegas Burning Man extravaganza…which turned out to be SUPER AWESOME and TOTALLY WORTH ALL THE EFFORT! I am going to stop here, and write about that in a seperate blog…because it was SOOOO AWESOME, it deserves its own thing. Watch for that coming sooooooooon!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

All About Burning Man

I haven’t really been up to much the past few days — just getting ready for Burning Man. I had my truck checked, my trailer checked, I packed up all my wigs and costumes, and I went to buy groceries –which normally I don’t, since I eat all my meals for free in the employee dining room at work. Normally my fridge contains little more than vodka and eyeliner pencils (to keep them from melting). But I had to go out and buy trail mix and beef jerky and all kinds of other nonperishable foods to nosh up on the Playa.

I’m leaving tomorrow morning, and from Vegas it’s a long, lonely 9-hour drive up thru the state of Nevada — i.e. the middle of Nowhere. Seriously, aside from a few trucker-friendly brothels and a mining town or two, there ain’t much to look at — although the route does pass through Hawthorne, NV… aka The Most Patriotic City in America. Everything in this dusty little town is painted red, white & blue, and the surrounding desert is peppered with munition storage bunkers (apparently they keep a bunch o’ammunition out there, in keeping with their patriotic motto).

Thankfully, my sister is flying down here from San Fran to make the drive with me, so at least I won’t have to go it alone. She has driven up with me the past two times I went, as well — it’s sort of a ritual. Once we get up near Fernley, NV our plan is to rendezvous with her husband and his friend, who are driving their RV from the Bay Area, and we’ll drive the rest of the way together. My sis married into this kooky clan of Israelis, and it’s always a party with those people — last year, her hubby insisted on hanging an Israeli flag up in our camp, so that his countrymen would find us and share their drugs with us (Israelis are known to have the best party drugs). In fact, we were originally gonna camp with a bunch of Israelis from the Bay Area, but it turned out that those Israelis were “shimonim,” aka no-goodniks…so we camped on our own.

Anyhoo, once I get out to Burning Man, the cell reception/WiFi is practically nonexistent, so I won’t be able to update til I get back around Sept. 6 or so. So I thought I would leave you with one last blog alllllll about Burning Man and why I go.

People have been inviting me to Burning Man for at least 10 years, but I never went because it seemed too dirty — plus in those days I rolled around in a pink 1986 Lincoln TownCar, which was hardly playa-worthy. But a few years ago, my sis had something of a quarter-life crisis, divorced her policeman hubby of 10 years, and basically went buck wild. She decided we should go to Burning Man, so in 2009 we made our first trip.

I bought a pop-up camper for us to stay in the first year, but it ended up blowing over and being completely destroyed at another party I went to later in the year (these desert winds don’t fuck around!). So I got another one, and now I make sure to stake it down properly! I like pop-ups because they’re lightweight, easy to tow…and cheap — my current rig was only $500, and when opened up it’s pretty nice inside. My dream one day is to get one of those fiberglass Casita trailers, because while I dig my pop-up, it does take 15 minutes to set up…and sometimes you just wanna park and crawl directly in bed. And one of my long-held desires is to travel around the USA like a gypsy..and for that, a Casita is what I need.

The first year I went to Burning Man, I was actually sorely disappointed — I expected a life-changing experience with a crowd of scientists, artists, free-thinkers and difference-makers. Come to find out, for many (if not most) people Burning Man is just about sex, drugs and alcohol…and the chance to ogle half-naked chicks. YAWN!

But in among all the lecherous swingers, drunk frat boys and bimbo party girls, there are actually a lot of cool people…and a lot of really cool art. So even though my sis and I spent much of our first Burn sitting around grousing like Statler and Waldorf (those two grouchy old men from the Muppet Show)…we had enough fun that we decided to return in 2010.

2009 was cool because it was the first year the population actually shrunk — normally, the number of attendees grows each year, but due to the recession, only the real hardcore Burners made it out. 2010 was busier…and you could really tell by the amount of MOOP on the ground (that’s Burner-speak for “Matter Out Of Place,” i.e. litter…Burning Man is a “Leave No Trace” event where you’re supposed to pick up every last speck of litter). This year, 2011, is the first year the event actually SOLD OUT — so I project a record amount of  MOOP (my sis and I are what you might call MOOP Nazis, and have been known to travel around with a plastic bag picking up litter).

Anyhoo, back to the why. Why spend $1000 every year (that’s about what it costs in food, ticket, gas and missed work) to go camp out in the middle of a hot, dry dusty desert with no running water and only the foulest of Porta-Potties to pee and poop in? Well…it’s FUN! Just look at my photos if you don’t believe me — it’s like a big playground where booze, drugs, nudity and radical self-expression are ENCOURAGED, not frowned upon, as in the default world. Need I really explain more?!

For those who don’t know, Burning Man is basically a week-long party in the remotest desert about 2 hours north of Reno…in the middle of NOWHERE. There is no running water, no electricity, no toilets…nothing by a flat dry lake bed. But thousands of people (50,000 this year) come out and turn it into this amazing crazy temporary settlement called Black Rock City. All the staff does is set up the Man (to be burned at the end of the week), a central meeting place (Center Camp, a huge tent where you can buy coffee and hang out)(the only things you can buy at Burning Man are coffee and ice…other than that commerce is strictly prohibited), a temple (which they also burn at the end of the week) and the street signs — everything else is created by the participants. People come up weeks in advance to start setting up their artwork and interactive displays, and some of it is on a HUGE scale. Meanwhile, everyone brings generators and propane and stuff so that at night, the desert lights up brighter than the Vegas Strip!!! Seriously!

One of my favorite things about camping there is the hardcore mentality — as mentioned it is a Leave No Trace event, so you can’t even spit out the water you use to brush your teeth unless you do it into a jug, and tote it back out with you. You bring in all your water, and tote out whatever “gray” water you end up with. Meanwhile, unless you’re one of those pansies with an RV, you clean up using baby wipes and washcloths — which works so well for me that people are always commenting on my amazing cleanliness. Hours are wasted on elaborate solar-shower setups at many camps, but I don’t see the need for that nonsense.

One of my other favorite parts about Burning Man is that it’s better than any fat camp you could ever go to! Between the dancing, drumming, walking, hula hooping and bike riding (you have to ride a bike everywhere to get around), it’s a non-stop workout. Plus, all you’re eating is trail mix and jerky…so it’s a recipe for fitness!

Anyhoo, pictures do the best job of explaining all this, so check these out…and think of me next week, when you’re sitting at your boring-ass desk doing your boring-ass work. I’ll be running around, naked in the sunshine, doing what I do best: drinking, smoking and cursing! Woooooo Hoooooooooo! Peace out, friends!

 

Last year it rained, and these double rainbows appeared in the sky…causing many a high hippie to wander around exclaiming “What does it meeeeeeeeeeeean???”

 

 

 

Fun with mirrors

 

 

 

 

 

It’s all about the costumes for me and my sis!

 

 

 

 

This awesome tube of revolving lights…you get inside, your friends spin the lights, and it’s a TRIP!

 

 

 

 

Inside the light tube

 

 

 

 

 

This mirrored box that you get in, and they jiggle it around (it’s hanging from bungee cords) while you freak out inside. FUN!

 

 

 

 

One night we were wandering around the deep (outer) playa (the wide, flat expanse beyond the camping area)…and we stumbled onto this ad-hoc Italian restaurant some people had set up! They had tables with checkered tablecloths, red roses for the ladies, a violin player and lots of delicious piping-hot pasta, which they were cooking on a ginormous camp stove they’d hauled out there. Plus, a maitre’d exhorting you to “Mangia, mangia!” FABULOUS!

These weird spinning chairs, tilted at an angle, that were suuuuuuuuper fun to twirl around in, when in a state of altered consciousness!

 

 

 

Riding a “bull” some redneck Burners from Idaho had set up!

 

 

 

 

This one tent serves up free grilled cheese sandwiches at midnight. YUM!

 

 

 

 

Laying in the dust, looking at spinning lights. Whee!

 

 

 

 

This ADORABLE little man who pops up at every drum circle and does this bizarre little elfin dance, with a blissed-out smile on his face. I’ve seen him both years, and I hope to see him again — he’s a good omen!

 

 

 

This SUPER AWESOME man named Dr. Rosen we met up there one year…he claimed to be a pediatric neurologist in the straight world, and he was SOOOOO COOL! (He’s the one in the pink furry hat.) He invited us to a Jewish wedding the following day at sundown, but alas we were too hungover to make it 🙁 I spent many hours trying to look him up online to no avail…wherever you are, Dr. Rosen…you rock!!!

The temple. People write messages and post photos of lost loved ones all week, and then they burn it on Sunday night. Very emotional! I’ll be putting up a note to my dad, who committed suicide this past April!

 

 

 

Walking a tightrope while drunk and wearing platform wedges!! Another thing I LOVE about Burning Man is that you sign away all your rights to sue when you buy your ticket…so there are all kinds of crazy, dangerous towers to climb and games to play. Yay!!

 

 

 

 

Riding a giant San Fran city bus some nutty hippies had tricked out and driven up there…no cars are allowed on the playa except for “art cars,” which are only allowed to go 5mph. Some people get REALLY crazy with their art cars!

 

 

 

 

Riding in another art car, this one designed as a rocket ship!

 

 

 

 

Some super-cool science nerds had rigged up a display to demonstrate the power of one joule. You grab the fork and spoon, and you’re jolted with one joule.

 

 

 

The man-made shit is all well and good….but it’s the desert itself that puts on the best show!! Sunsets are BEAUTIFUL out there!

 

So, now you see why I enjoy Burning Man. I don’t go up there to have random sex or prove a point…I just go for fun. And funnnnn it is!

 

See you in a week!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Traveling Nude Model, the Pregnant Arkansawyer, the Fabulous Gay Houseguest and Michael Mondavi

This week, I had friends descend on me from all corners of the globe. You know how it is — when you live in Vegas, everyone wants a piece of you when they’re in town. Especially when you have a name like Wonderhussy.

First off, my pregnant girlfriend from Arkansas was in town for a trade show. We’ll call her Tina — we used to be best friends back in 8th grade, when her family moved to California for a couple years. When I met her, I was a misguided little dweeb in a New Kids on the Block t-shirt and hot pink Wet-n-Wild lipstick — I was just trying to fit in, ya know? Meanwhile, she was like this bad-ass rocker chick who wore Slayer t-shirts and ripped jeans with stuff like “DEATH ANGEL” and “METAL CHURCH” written on them. It was all a front, because she really only ever listened to pussy shit like Poison and Motley Crue…but still. She got me into hair metal and shoplifting — we used to go to K-mart and steal heavy metal cassettes and hot pink Wet-n-Wild lipstick, until one day her and this other chick we used to hang out with got busted in the act, and the other chick ratted me out, too. After that, my mom wouldn’t let me hang out with them anymore, so we kinda drifted apart. I went on to college, and she ended up moving back to Arkansas, where she now works for a company that sells stun guns, bear repellent, tasers and all other kinds of crazy self-defense crap.

The company is owned by a nutty redneck who has the distinction of having filed more patents than any other man in Arkansas history — a smart and savvy man who hires all these hot chicks to sell his products. They all come out to Vegas a few times a year for trade shows, and it’s like the redneck Charlie’s Angels. Yeeeeeee haw! Git ‘R’ DONE!

 

Anyway, Tina’s a haaaaaaaaaard partying woman, even being 7 months pregnant — she still wanted to go out and pound O’Doul’s til all hours of the night! I always hang out with her when she’s in town, so we made plans to go to dinner one night. But meanwhile, I had another friend in town — this traveling nude model I met on a photo shoot last year. This little bitch is amazing — only 21 years old, but a true bohemian, with a huge, gnarly ’70s bush and an open-minded attitude. She travels around the U.S. staying in hostels and in her car, modeling here and there to pay her way around. How fucking fun does THAT sound?! I wish I was doing it!

Anyhoo, she wanted to meet up, too, so I had to come up with a spot that would please both a traveling nudist and a pregnant Christian Republican from Arkansas. Hmmmm! We ended up at Bar + Bistro in the Arts District of downtown Vegas, which turned out to be a very cool place full of art and artsy people — and the food was great! Our waiter was super cool, too, and ended up joining us for drinks after dinner. He really hit it off with the nude model chick, so much so that we ran into them two nights later at Planet Hollywood, of all places — the redneck Charlie’s Angels’ boss is a high roller there, so I met them after work for some free cocktails in the high limit room. After her boss left, we went out into the casino for more drinks (O’Doul’s for Tina, of course) and ran into the nude model and the waiter. Smaaaaaaall world!

While at Planet Hollywood (a casino I loathe and normally avoid at all costs), I noticed that I happen to have the exact same outfit that the go-go dancers wear (Planet Ho has taken the “party pit” idea to the extreme, and features hot babes gyrating on pedestals throughout the entire casino). Now, I am the WORLD’S WORST DANCER…so how funny would it be if I pranked Planet Ho — just showed up in a go-go outfit, got up on a pedestal, and just spazzed the fuck out? Like danced really, really badly…and then vomited on my boots or something?! I’ll need to work up some balls first…but I think it would be awesome!

Anyhoo, the nude model and the pregnant Arkansawyer weren’t the only two friends I had in town — I also had a gay actor/singer/dancer friend from London stay with me at my house. This was totally random — I met this guy one night while taking photos at a Lionel Richie concert (of all things), and we sort of hit it off and became Facebook friends. Now he was coming back to Vegas for a birthday party, so I met up with him and some of his fantastic gay friends for drinks one night after work. They were all suuuuuper fabulous, and all very good-looking and buff — so much so that these middle-aged women came up to us and asked if they were in a show! I told them they should have lied and said yes, they were Chippendales…but alas, they were much too modest.

Anyhoo, my London friend stayed the night at my house, Villa Sinvergüenza, and like all other visitors to my fabulous estate he was bowled over by its beauty and uniqueness. He brought me these fabulous GaGa Spice sunglasses as a housewarming gift, and in the morning, we Skyped with his mum and brother in England. Gooooood times!

So with all these fucking people in town wanting a piece of me, I barely had time to turn around…let alone start preparing for Burning Man, which is what I really need to do! I have a hula hoop that needs decorating, a fur coat that needs dyeing, playlists that need arranging — and on top of all that, I need to rig up some kind of cool fairy costume for the Playboy Midsummer Night’s Eve party next weekend at the Palms. With all that going on, you’d think I would have set aside some time to get ‘er done. Well, I did…but then more fabulous adventures got in the way!!

I had set aside Friday night to be my crafting night, when I made the mistake of going on Facebook and seeing the status update of a food critic friend, who needed a last-minute date for dinner that night at Aureole (a fabulously swanky gourmet restaurant at Mandalay Bay). Now, even tho I had a MILLION things to do…I have this unfortunate inability to say “No” to anything…so before I knew what I was doing, I had replied to his status update and was on my way to Mandalay.

Now, this guy is a food & wine critic for a bunch of different websites and publications, and I’ve accompanied him to a few fabulous dinners in the past — he doesn’t like to go alone, so he always invites some chippy or another along…and it’s great fun! I loooooove going out to free dinners at fancy restaurants, especially when it’s with a food critic who warrants all manner of insane ass-kissing from the staff. I’ve had some amazing dinners with him! And this one was no exception.

I thought we were just having a regular dinner at Aureole, but it turned out to be this suuuuper swanky wine-tasting event for a bunch of wealthy, pretentious oenophiles — Michael Mondavi was even there (and boy, did he get his ass kissed). My food critic friend had told me to wear a dress, but I didn’t feel like going balls-out so I just threw on this $7 number I picked up at Fallas Paredes (a cheap-ass Mexican clothes store I simply adore). Since I didn’t bother with bra or panties, the total cost of my outfit was $9 (I had two flowers in my hair from the Dollar Store) — and then I spent the evening drinking ridiculously expensive wine in the company of meticulously dressed, upscale winos. This from someone who recently abandoned Charles Shaw, aka Two Buck Chuck, because Trader Joe’s starting selling an even cheaper wine called Vola (my new BFF). What can I say?!

The wines were paired with all this crazy food like jellied oysters, frogs’ legs, sweetbreads and morels… totally pretentious. Worse, it was a white wine tasting — and I abhor white wine. But I’m here to tell you — I sure gained an appreciation for it at that dinner! Nothing will get you to guzzle spirits faster than being stuck at a table full of soused baby-boomers spouting nonsense about “character,” “nose,” “bouquet” and “body.” After developing an appreciation for Chablis, Chardonnay and Mâconnais, I ended up having a fine time listening to the drunken chit-chat of my tablemates. This one couple in particular was fantastic: some kind of nouveau-riche poseurs from Laguna Beach, and the German husband had lost his glasses and thus had to wear his prescription sunglasses at dinner. Meawhile, the loosie-goosie wife got progressively soused and started talking about the “acrylic alphabet” (we were wondering what the word for “cock-a-doodle-doo” is in Russian). Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabulous!

So I basically pissed away the entire night, and consequently my Burning Man list is piled up and threatening to overtake me. No wonder I can’t sleep!!

Now, speaking of THAT…I know I said I wasn’t going to talk about it anymore, but I simply have to tell you about the latest crazy miracle cure I tried in my quest to finally get a good night’s sleep again. One of my readers, a chiropractor from Wisconsin, thoughtfully emailed me to say that he had successfully treated people for insomnia using chiropractic techniques…and that maybe I should consider seeing a local chiropractor. This genteel reader even went so far as to research local doctors for me, and recommended this one old kook who has been practicing in Vegas for 40 YEARS!! I went to see him, and he busted out all these crazy, kooky tools that looked like something out of Frankenstein’s Laboratory — first he attacked me with what looked like a hybrid ray gun/staple gun, which he used to thwack my backbone and neck; next he laid me on a weird sort of vibrating, oscillating table that turned me upside down; then he rolled a little metal pizza-cutter wheelie thing down my arms; then he applied little 24K gold-tipped stickers to my calves, to stimulate my meridians; and then he applied some kind of weird ultrasound massage, with copious amounts of warm goo.

WEIRD! And, alas, ineffective thus far…although I agreed to come back once a week for the next few weeks because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Seriously — I’m already out another $200+, but I agreed to come back out of politeness. Am I sucker, or WHAT?! I’m just desperate to sleep, is all…

Then I discovered this new sleep software, and shelled out another $70 to download it. It’s basically tracks of isochronic tones that you listen to before bed and while sleeping, and they supposedly train your brain waves to go into deeper, Delta wave sleep. The guy behind all this is this freaky French Canadian with a bizarre accent that gives me bad flashbacks to my photo job at the Sally Dingdong show (which attracts nothing but gimps and Québécois), but I’m giving it a shot anyway. So every afternoon I have to go lie down in my closet for 20 minutes and listen to this “Insomnia Buster” track…and then later I go back again and lie down and do ANOTHER 20 minutes of these lame relaxation exercises prescribed by my therapist. Do I LOOK like a girl who has 40 minutes to spare laying down in my closet every day?!?!?!?!!!!!! Fuck! Not only am I going broke trying to find a cure, but it’s eating up my social life!

Speaking of my closet, check out this awesome shot taken by Michael Maze during our photo shoot last week. I saw this photo of Elton John in his closet back in the day (when he was still in the closet)…and with the help of Maze, I re-created it, Wonderhussy-style! I counted something like 112 pairs of shoes and 1,112 costumes…which means I definitely have a problem. And it’s getting worse — the other night on my way home from dinner with the nude model and the pregnant Arkansawyer, at 1am, I spotted a fabulous new boutique on Las Vegas Blvd. down by the Talk of the Town strip club, and screeched to a halt to investigate. Alex Presley’s Unique Boutique is run by Leroy Lopez, the “Gay Elvis,” and offers all manner of insanely fabulous furnishings, decor and clothing — I walked out with nothing less than a Wonder Woman costume, which I’ve been wanting for ages…and which he gave me a very good deal on! Check this place out!

So anyhoo, between combating insomnia, mingling with Mondavi and partying with an assortment of international friends, I also squeezed in a gig as Secret Agent Hotpants up at the Red Rock Resort pool (a bunch of awesome computer hackers had hired us; there’s some big hacker convention in town right now!!) and an audition for the newest “What Happens in Vegas, STAYS in Vegas” commercial (a total waste of time, because every hot bitch in Vegas was there…but the new script is very clever and I figured I might as well try out!).

And, I also found time to go over and chill with my all-American hero friend at his house, where we just relaxed and watched a movie. While there, his little French Bulldog was all excited, running around and jumping up on my legs and basically just going ape-shit, as dogs do. To quiet her down, my friend got down and put her in a chokehold — basically holding her neck down on the floor so that she couldn’t move, while sternly admonishing her to “STOP.” And that’s when it hit me — I NEED SOMEONE TO DO THIS TO ME!!!! Otherwise, I’ll never stop running around and overextending myself at all these crazy social engagements….and I will never be able to sleep. I NEED A DOG WHISPERER! Or better yet…a Wonderhussy Whisperer!

If you’re qualified, hit me up — and make it quick! Burning Man is in 22 days, and I’ve already agreed to do a nude photoshoot on a horse at a ranch in Pahrump, AND to make a quick trip to New York City in the meantime. Someone stop me, before I hurt myself!!!

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The Costume Cop-Out

Friends, I have not updated lately because I’ve been suffering a spiritual malaise. I won’t go into detail, though, because last time I mentioned I was feeling anything other than hunky-dory, this punk-ass psychiatrist diagnosed me as bipolar, and totally fucked up my chances of ever getting my own health insurance plan (bipolar is a pre-existing condition and basis for declination of coverage, come to find out. I’m devoting an entire blog to this later. GRRR!).

This malaise started back in June, around the time I had a photo shoot scheduled at Circus Circus. I was really looking forward to it because not only have I always adored Circus Circus and its Coney Island-meets-midwestern-truck-stop aesthetic…but this shoot wasn’t even to take place in the hotel; it was to be in one of the motel rooms out back, in what they call “Circus Circus Manor” — a low-budget place for those who find Circus Circus a bit too ritzy.

Unfortunately, for the first time in my modeling life the photographer FLAKED on me! I waited around outside Circus Circus Manor for 45 minutes — the Circus Circus RV park was nearby, so  I went over and had an RC Cola while waiting on the grass next to the laundry room. Incidentally, the Circus Circus RV park is a KOA-certified kampground, and is actually pretty damn nice! Lots of trees, grass and a little camp store in the middle, with a laundromat, game room and pool…just like real camping, only in the middle of the Vegas Strip! Weird.

The best part is, they have these classic Airstream trailers you can rent for the night…something I’ve always wanted to do. It would be such a blast to have a white trash trailer park party — booze it up inside Circus Circus at the Merry-Go-Round bar while watching FREE circus acts, then stumble outside to the trailer park and play cards and drink more in the Airstream. Who’s with me????

Anyway, the flaky photographer set me off into a downward spiral, which I battled valiantly by keeping busy as usual. I went to a 4th of July pool party at the home of a noted hypnotist (whom I befriended in the hopes that he could hypnotize me to sleep, since I have terrible insomnia). But I just didn’t feel like boozing and partying, so I left early. Then one night I went kitten hunting with my little 18-year-old friend, who wants to be an animal rescue worker and who had discovered some feral kittens living on her street. We crawled around in the dirt and cockroaches for 2 hours, to no avail…the kittens were hiding in the mass of overgrown bushes in the backyard of an abandoned house, and I wasn’t about to go back there among the roaches, rats and meth labs.

Then another day I went over to help out with the local Burning Man art project — this year at Burning Man, all the different regions of Burners are building giant statues to represent their areas, to be set aflame during the festival. The local Burners are building this fabulous 30 foot showgirl, but to be honest I thought it was gonna be kind of lame, so I never went to help out. Well, in truth it’s actually really cool! I didn’t do much, just helped paint some poker chips that are to be piled at her feet…but at least I felt like  I added something. And it was very heartening to see the community all working together like busy bees…well, they were buzzing, anyway 🙂

Then I went to California for this big party my family was having to celebrate the college graduation of my little brother — the last of the family to get his degree. Unlike the rest of us, his is in something useful (computer engineering or something)…but we decided to make it a catch-all party for all of us, since my sisters and I never had parties when we graduated in Art, Humanities and Psychology (stop laughing).

One thing about my family is we loooove to play dress-up, so our parties usually have a theme. One year we had an awesome Arabian Nights Christmas party, and another year we played Dungeons & Dragons and dressed up as elves and shit. This time, the theme was gypsies.

Now before you accuse me of being anti-gypsy, know that we have also had white trash, Jewish, Irish, Arabian and jook joint parties. We’re just lonely white-bread Bohemians longing for an ethnic identity…and since we have none, we have to adopt the guise of others on occasion. The gypsy guise was especially great, though, since we bought all this Bulgarian and Hungarian food (couldn’t find anything Romanian, alas) and downloaded all this awesome Roma music to dance to. Goooooooooooooooood times!

Anyway, I admit that I have a problem/obsession with playing dress-up…probably because it helps me escape the problems of my own miserable reality. My closet is the size of a Tokyo apartment, and it is stuffed to the gills with wigs, furs, hats and sparkly spandex stuff. I can dress up like just about anything with the stuff I have.

So what do I do? What else can a girl do when she’s directionless, ambitionless, un-insurable, facing foreclosure and can’t sleep? BUY MORE WIGS, of course! I just got a shipment of six new wigs in every color of the rainbow. As my roommate said… happiness in a box! Thanks, Mr. Postman…maybe everything is gonna be allllll right, after all 🙂

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