Let Them Eat Cock!






Here’s a few pics from my shoot with footmode.com last week…so you can see why I had such a good time shooting with those crazy fuckers! It was verrrry therapeutic to KICK the SHIT (or at least pretend to kick the shit) out of various assholes… I just pretended they were the jagoffs from my bank, who this week refused to write down the principal on my house at my state-ordered mediation hearing (more on that later). Anyhoo, it was a blast and I can’t wait to shoot with them again later this month…meanwhile, if you have a foot fetish and want to see some smokin’ hot pics of chicks beating each other’s asses and then sucking each other’s toes, check it out! Footmode.com…one more time, that’s FOOTmode.com!

Now here’s a pic from the crazy Batman group shoot I did a couple weeks back, at the Lady Silvia bar in downtown Vegas. Good times! I used a can of red hairspray from Sally’s Beauty Supply, and it really worked…I even considered dyeing my hair red after that, because I got so many compliments. But then I remembered the time back in hi skool, when I dyed my hair red with a package of cherry Kool-Aid. That shit lasted forever — I mean FOREVER! It was soooo red that this crazy shiftless crackhead named Smurf who lived in our neighborhood back then used to yell at me “Hey, Red!” when I walked home from school. I was so sick of having red hair, that when it FINALLY washed out, I swore I’d never go red again. And I meant it!

So anyhoo, I had an extremely busy week. It all started after I updated last time, when I mentioned I was getting ready for a date with this kook who used to work in the MGM photo lab with me, back in the day. As mentioned, he’s one of those people who always has a crazy cockamamie story — that then turns out to be TRUE! Like he told me he was a concert violinist who earned a scholarship to Julliard…and that his mom was a famous ballerina…and that he has a genius level I.Q…and that nowadays he’s a professional video poker player and writer. Well, however improbable…it’s ALL TRUE! (At least the stuff I was able to verify.)

That’s not to say that this guy isn’t a real WEIRDO — he totally IS! He kinda looks like Steve Buscemi after a three-week coke-and-ham binge, if that makes any sense. But as you all know, I only like weirdos and freaks, so he was right up my alley. We had a great time catching up over dinner at NOVE (ah, how I hate these pretentious all-caps restaurant names) at the Palms, where supposedly he is a big wheel video poker player. I can’t vouch as to the size of his wheel (or anything else, for that matter), but he did get everything comped by his genial, obsequious casino host, who hovered attentively by our side throughout the evening…so who knows.

Anyhoo, after dinner and catch-up we went down to the lounge to see the Frankie Moreno band play. I wan’t expecting much…but thanks to copious amounts of Baileys, in addition to the impressive talents of the band…I was pleasantly surprised! Not your average Vegas lounge schlock. I’d recommend you go check them out, but I think they just moved to the Stratosphere. Anyhoo, my kooky Steve Buscemi friend had such a good time with me that he invited me back the following weekend to some Halloween party they were throwing for all their high rollers, held up in the Hardwood Suite (a themed suite that has a full basketball court inside). I’ve always wanted to check that shit out!

Before the party, I had to work a shift at the lamest-ass of all lame-ass shows — taking souvenir photos at America’s Got Talent Live! Srsly?!? It’s not even a real show, but they made us go in, anyway. Shockingly, it wasn’t as bad as expected — those people actually acted like they were going to a real show; they were dressed up in date-night clothes and weren’t afraid to spend a buck on photos. Apparently, some people have even worse taste than *I* do! Anyhoo, I still made shitty money because it wasn’t that good — just better than expected. I didn’t care either way — I just wanted to get the fuck out of there and put on my zombie showgirl costume and get to this basketball suite party!!!

Anyhoo, the party was OK but I got there after all the cool stuff went down, so most people had already left 🙁 We hung out awhile boozing and whatnot, and my kooky Steve Buscemi friend’s host became enamored with my infectious spirit and insisted that I come to all future Palms player parties…so now I’m in with the Palms crowd! I also met a few of kooky Steve Buscemi’s professional gambler pals, and boy what a crowd of characters. That’s usually the way it is with pro gamblers…they’re nutty. Anyhoo, after a couple hours we headed out to the nightclub for awhile, but it was so crowded with sloppy sluts in stupid half-assed sexy Halloween costumes that we got the hell out of there pretty quick. By then it was around 3am, so we went over to the coffee shop for a late-nite bite — and guess what?! I ordered steamed vegetables and tofu!!! At 3am!!! No pancakes and shit for me…I’m hardcore.

Speaking of Halloween, I didn’t want to overdo it this year. Last year, I had a job writing for the paper and I felt obligated to go out 6 nights in a row…and got sick as a result. This year, I had no bogus obligations. so I only went out 3 or 4 nights…much more sensible! The first party was at the studio of a well-known local photographer with whom I’ve been wanting to shoot — he’s really good, but he mostly shoots professional shit like hardcore pro whores for magazine covers and stuff. Out of my league! But I figured if I went to this party, I might get to know him, and who knows?!

The party was pretty cool. The local Vegas tradition is that every year, comedy magician The Amazing Johnathan throws a HUGE bash out at this warehouse he owns over by the airport. For years people have talked about his sick-ass parties, and I always wanted to go but never had an invite. Last year I finally went, and it was sick — booze everywhere, a really twisted homemade haunted house/maze, and the SwingShiftSideShow onstage stabbing spears through their labia and whatnot. CRAZY! I like to froze my tits off in my zombie Sarah Palin costume (at right), and as mentioned I got sick as a result…but soooo totally worth it! Unfortunately, that was the last year The Amazing Johnathan hosted a party…so starting this year, he passed the torch to local photographer Shane O’Neal, who has a badass studio right across from the Orleans Hotel.

Also unfortunately, this year my Sarah Palin costume was no longer topical (actually, maybe that isn’t so unfortunate)…so I had to figure out something else. I went into the depths of my closet and emerged with this quasi-Marie Antoinette getup, which I gave a topical spin to by adding a little “I am the 1%” sign — a nod to the #OccupyWallStreet protesters. If anyone was ever a greedy fucking fat cat, it was Marie Antoinette! She’d be right up there with those Wall Street bankers, stomping her little silver toes on my fingers as I cling to the ledge of my house, dangling above a yawning chasm of financial apocalypse. Fuckers!!! LET THEM EAT COCK, I say!

Aaaaaaanyhoo, my costume turned out pretty cool for being constructed out of odds-n-ends already in my closet, and Shane O’Neal expressed interest in shooting me in it sometime! So if he doesn’t flake, I might have some extremely badass new photos to share with you soon. I have a great idea for this shoot, so I hope he doesn’t welsh on this.

Now the parties I’ve already mentioned were all well and good, but it was really all about the big Second Annual Las Vegas Halloween Parade, which is held downtown. I wasn’t able to attend last year (because of stupid work, what else), but this year I was DETERMINED to participate. And it was even badder-ass than I expected!

First of all, let me just say how far Vegas has come since I moved here back in 2000. Back then, I laughed snarkily at the pathetic early attempts at creating an “arts” district…but I gotta say, I STAND CORRECTED. Over the last decade, tons of really cool, artsy, creative people have taken over Vegas — so much so that one needn’t even bother with the douchebaggery of the Strip and the suburbs, ever. You can find alllllll the fun you need downtown. It’s amazing, and I’m actually kinda proud of Vegas for it. I was a pretty big Vegas hater for many years, but I’m glad I stuck it out. I really like living here!

The Halloween Parade is a good example. This young go-getter chick who moved here from New York started it all up from scratch last year, and it really took off — people I talked to came from as far away as Vancouver and Michigan just to take part! It was sort of half Gay Pride, half Burning Man — in fact, many Burners live in Vegas nowadays, and many of them brought their art cars as Parade floats! This one group of Burners even came all the way down from Santa Cruz in their spaceship, built on a flatbed truck chassis with a cherry picker scissor lift on the back that raises a giant neon spaceship into the night sky, while electronic music blares and booms from the giant sound system inside. They’re called the Dancetronauts, and it’s a bunch of hot-ass young guys in white NASA flight suits and a few scantily-clad Sparkle Bunny go-go dancers for good measure. Their impressive glowing spaceship brought up the rear of the parade as it wound its way downtown, and then they set up in the parking lot of the Gold Spike for a big ol’ good old-fashioned rave, right in the heart of downtown Vegas. Gooooooooooooooood times!

The rest of the parade was pretty badass, too: it started with ex-Mayor Oscar Goodman and his wife (the current Mayor) and a bunch of showgirls, followed by this amazing group of musical Towncars called the Car-i-llon — like a carillon, but each car cruises along and plays one note, and they all play together to create music. REALLY neat! Then there were some lame commercial floats sponsored by Dos Equis and Zappos.com (I despise Zappos, despite their being heralded as the saviors of downtown Vegas since they are moving their company headquarters there from Henderson…I worked a charity Halloween golf tournament for them last year, as a sexy caddy, and none of the teams bid on me. Not one! Could it have been my zombie Sarah Palin costume? I’ll never know…but I can hold a grudge like nobody’s business…and to this day I refuse to buy anything from zappos.com. Shoes.com all the way, baby!!!).

Anyhoo, next in the parade was a marching procession of fire spinners and drummers, and I marched with them for awhile until I was able to hitch a ride on the most fabulous float of them all — this 8-person bar/bicycle belonging to the geniuses at camp Kosmik Dust. Some mad scientist/boozer devised this awesome contraption that is basically a long rectangular bar, with four seats on each side, facing inward toward the “bar.” Each barstool is a bicycle seat, with pedals, and the 8 passengers pedal the bike! REALLY cool. At Burning Man, they had a bartender in the middle serving drinks and steering…but even Vegas has some liquor laws, so it was dry for the parade. But it was still SO MUCH FUN!

The parade wound around downtown to Fremont Street, where my friend, local poet/gadabout/attorney Dayvid Figler, emceed the judging for Best Costume and all that shit. Then the parade continued on down to the Gold Spike, where the Dancetronauts’ rave was on in full force. I partied hard with some Burner friends, then hitched a ride back to my car on this AWESOME flying carpet art car built by one of my drum-circle friends — he basically built a wavy platform on top of a little electric car, and covered it in an Oriental carpet, and it looks totally Aladdin! It only goes 7mph though, so the ride back was long and cold and lonely without all the shenanigans of the parade to distract us. But it was still surreal and BADASS to traverse the dark, quiet backstreets of Vegas on a magic carpet, dressed like Marie Antoinette. Who says I don’t have any fun?!

What’s great about this Parade is that it’ll likely get better every year — eventually, this could be like our Mardi Gras! Imagine if all the big casinos built floats, and the parade went all the way from Mandalay Bay, down the Strip, all he way downtown to good old Fremont Street??! How sick would that be??? People would come from all over to see that shit –those big resorts could build some sick-ass floats. I can only imagine the majesty of the Caesars Palace float…not to mention O’Shea’s!!!! GET ON IT, VEGAS! This could be our big break!!!

The only bummer about the Halloween parade was that our float picked up a few kids that were hanging out downtown, and one of the little fuckers tried to steal my purse when we got off! I saw him take it and hide it under his jacket, and you better believe I grabbed that little dick with a quickness! I bitched him out, but his sister intervened and plead with me to let him go, so I just sputtered “Well–DON’T do it again, then!” He was only about 10, but still. Jeez!

The shittiness of that assy kid was redeemed the next morning, however, when I dragged my hungover ass out of bed to attend this protest against the Westboro Baptist Church. I reeeeeally didn’t feel like getting up and going, but I made myself — these are the assholes who hold up those “GOD HATES FAGS” signs at soldiers’ funerals and shit, so it was important. I planned to wear a super-slutty, scandalous outfit to really piss ’em off, but I was too hungover to make the first part of the protest, which was at UNLV (our local university). I was only able to get there in time for Part 2, which was a high school down the street from my house — and since I didn’t want to get arrested for indecent exposure in front of a high school, I toned it down a little for propriety’s sake 🙂

Anyhoo, it was pretty cool because there were quite a few people protesting the two or three Westboro bozos who showed up. I didn’t have time to make a really good sign, so I just half-assed it by flipping over my #OccupyVegas protest sign and scribbling an atheist platitude on it with a half-dead Sharpie. Good enough! I hooted and hollered for awhile, and these kids came by and asked to take my photo because they were budding atheists, too (or maybe they just wanted to jerk off to the photo, I don’t know. They said they were atheists). Anyhoo, the nascent atheist ideology and enthusiasm of those kids effectively negated the anger I felt toward kids in general after that little punk downtown tried to steal my purse.

Anyhoo, I couldn’t stay at the Westboro protest very long because this photographer from New York was on my ass — he was in town photographing and interviewing people facing foreclosure for some media company, and somehow through my aunt, he was referred to me. He and his sound guy came over one night to interview me about my housing mess, and then they wanted to come back Tuesday afternoon to do some photos of me modeling nude (I told them I started doing nudies to pay the bills…which is true, only now I actually LIKE doing them, and will continue to model even if I win 50 million dollars next week). My roommate sneaked this pic of them interviewing me, and it’s PRICELESS — look at the sound guy’s mike!!! Looks like a porn set to me!

So anyway, I left the protest and went home to pose for some weird photos for this guy. I didn’t get it — I thought he was more into an edgy, gritty photojournalist style…but he ended up posing me in my fishnet Westboro protest outfit, laying on my chaise lounge in the backyard. I have a sneaking suspicion I was just Diane Arbused! We’ll see………..

Now in the middle of all this, my friend J.R. came to town for The Big Smoke — a cigar-smokers’ convention sponsored by Cigar Aficionado magazine every year. I’m no fan of cigars, but I AM a fan of dressing up like Chita Rivera after 10 too many mojitos!! I whipped together a 1940s-Havana-inspired ensemble and went over to party it up, in between coughing fits. Bleccccch! It was a lot of fun, though, and J.R. and I made quite an impression….as we always do! Everyone wanted to take our photo, and in fact it will be in next month’s Cigar Aficionado…so look for that!


After the party, J.R. went back to his hotel room for a Big Smoke of our own…and it was like a junior high school slumber party! We bitched and moaned and gossiped late into the night, and it was therapeutic…because boy oh boy did I have stuff to bitch about. As mentioned, my mediation hearing for my mortgage was last week, and it didn’t go so well… to make a REALLY LONG, LAME story short, I told them I wasn’t interested in/couldn’t afford keeping my house unless the bank wrote down my principal. I owe $375,000 on a house worth (by the bank’s own appraisal) $105,000. I’ve already paid in $125,000….why would I want to pay in more?! It’s insanity!

The way these mediation hearings work is, the lender sends a representative, and you attend with your attorney, and there’s an impartial third-party mediator who sits in to sort of referee. In my case, no ref was needed — I made the abovementioned statement, and the lender’s rep sadly shook her head: no dice. You could tell she totally understood my point, but she was not authorized to offer any principal writedown, whatsoever. I pretty much expected it, so it didn’t faze me much — the only time a few tears leaked out was when she showed me the appraisal. All these photos of my pretty little house, which some creepy appraiser drove by and snapped…somehow it made everything more real, and I cried a few tears.

But I wasn’t surprised, so after my few tears dried I was fine. The rest of the meeting was devoted to my options, which are short selling or foreclosing. The official results of the mediation hearing were “unresolved,” so I guess I’m in a sort of limbo. My initial impulse was to short sell — I want to at least try and extricate myself from this mess as responsibly as possible, and leave less of a mess for my neighbors. But unless the bank signs a special waiver, they have SIX YEARS to come after you for the deficiency you owe (whatever the difference is between your loan amount and the short sale amount — in my case, I’d be selling for $105,000, which is $270,000 less than the $375,000 I owe them). So unless they signed this waiver, they’d have six years to come after me for more money. A lot of people think it’s 6 months…but my attorney said if you read the law exactly as written, it is six YEARS. That’s a long time!

Meanwhile, they only have six MONTHS to come after you if you just walk away. How stupid is that?! You’re basically encouraging people to abandon their homes. Plus, the foreclosure process can take years to complete…so all the while, you’re basically living rent-free in your house — until they stick a sale notice on the door, at which time you have 30 days to get out.

My attorney did bring up a third option, which involved filing for bankruptcy and is very clever — yet too convoluted for me. I’m too confused by all this, and in way over my head. I am a textbook example of why some people are NOT cut out to be homeowners! I just want OUT. J.R. and I did go visit another attorney the next day, who explained the bankruptcy plan in more detail. He ended up yelling at me for asking too many questions…but what the fuck! It’s my life and future I’m talking about — I need to be absolutely certain shit’s on the up-and-up here!

Poor J.R. had to listen to me bitch and moan all week long as I agonized back and forth about what to do. I must have changed my mind fifty times, trying to figure out what’s the best thing to do. I lost a LOT of sleep, bawled my eyes out every single day, and felt VERY haggard (and I had TWO photo shoots this week). It caused a lot of stress for him, I’m sure, but then he’s going through some tough times of his own anyway, so he was already in a bad way. I didn’t realize just how much of a bad way until the day he was supposed to leave — when he changed his mind and stayed an extra few days. He did not want to go back home and face his problems, so he stayed over a few days to look into some investment opportunities here. Then, when his second departure date arrived, I took him to the airport…….and he purposely missed his flight! He checked in all his bags and stuff, but then wandered around the airport pissing away time until it was too late, and the last flight of the day had left.

Meanwhile, I was going through hell trying to figure out my house thing. I was bawling my eyes out 24/7, while still trying to keep a sexy face for these fucking photo shoots I was doing, and I just didn’t have it in me to console him over whatever he didn’t want to go back home to. To make matters worse, he was being kinda mean to me at dinner one night —  I don’t remember what he said exactly, but he hurt my feelings so badly that I got up and hit him with my purse in the middle of P.F. Chang’s and stormed out. Seriously!

J.R. and I made up the next day, but I guess the whole scene made his depression worse — after missing his flight, he left the airport and disappeared into some shitty little dive motel near the airport — he won’t even tell me which one! Normally, he always stays someplace nice…so this is really out of character. He’s always wanted to “diasppear,” like in the movies…so this is like his dry run, I guess. As we speak, he’s holed up in some shitty hovel somewhere with nothing but the clothes on his back and his laptop. He doesn’t even have WiFi — which was a big deal to him (I hate to tell him about some of the places I’ve stayed in!). And he’s been there two days! I’m kind of worried…but I think it might actually be good for him — even though he says he was rolled by a hooker the other night to the tune of $2,000. Either way, I’m so fucking stressed about my house I can’t handle any more worries!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyhoo, speaking of destruction, here’s the hot new stocking stuffer this Christmas season! Here’s what it says on the back of the box:

“Wannabe showgirl Wonderhussy was rejected from the Jubilee! auditions for being too short…so in a furious rage, she takes on Vegas. Level one: destroy legions of balloon-breasted, fish-lipped, white-haired, orange-skinned whores at a Vegas pool party! Shoot ’em right in the tits, then watch their implants explode for a Goo Bonus. Level Two: hunt down hydrocephalic muscleheads at a nightclub: each dead body in a TapOut t-shirt is 50 points, Affliction shirts are 100 pts, and the elusive Ed Hardy shirt gets you 500 pts!! Level 3: Dodge and weave among porn-slappers, prostitutes, crackheads in Barney costumes and daiquiri-toting frat boys as you race the clock, Frogger-style, attempting to cross Vegas Blvd. Don’t get hit by the “Hot Girls Direct to Your Room” truck!!! Final Round: face off against the Boss, a/k/a the meathead douchebag nightclub doorman. Tip: steal his BlackBerry, and he’s powerless! Once you’ve defeated him, watch in glee as the city crumbles to dust…then get the fuck out.”



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