Wonderhussy

This past Tuesday, a longstanding dream of mine came true when I was invited to mud wrestle at Gilley’s, a country-and-western bar inside the Treasure Island hotel. A couple times a month, this group called the Power Posh Girls hosts a mudwrestling night…and they let me join in the fun!

As mentioned in my last blog, I went down there the other week to watch them, and get an idea of what I was in for. The other girls have all developed crazy wrestling personae, ranging from Little Red (riding hood) to Harajuku Hyjak (crazy Japanese anime girl)…so I knew I’d better come up with something amazing to compete with them. But what?

I already knew I’d wrestle under the name Wonderhussy (since why not)…but I had to develop a character and shtick around it. I played off the slutty Wonder Woman angle, ordering a sexxxy Wonder Woman monokini and some thigh-high boots. I didn’t have a Golden Lasso of Truth, so I spray-painted my old bullwhip gold, creating the vastly superior Pussy Whip of Truth (men can’t resist it). And I already had the cuffs, headpiece and cape, so I just embellished those a bit and I was pretty much good to go.

 

Except for one thing!

 

A long time ago, at the tender age of 17 or so, I came up with the concept of an Electric Pussy — an electrical outlet in place of a vagina, with a giant power drill plugged into it. The ultimate expression of Pussy Power!! When I started modeling, I tried to recreate this idea in a photo shoot with one of my favorite photographers.. but the image (while badass) didn’t quite come out as I had hoped. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to make a sort of Electric Pussy codpiece…but never really went ahead with it until now.

I knew I needed to make an Electric Pussy prosthetic panty for this rassling match. My idea was that my character, Wonderhussy, would come out to the strains of Lenny Kravitz’s “American Woman,” with a power drill plugged into my crotch. Back when I shot the above photo, I had purchased the biggest drill bit I could find at Lowe’s (sales guy: “Ya drilling concrete?” Me: “Something like that”) and I figured I’d attach it to the drill, maybe with an American flag taped to the end. Playing to the crowd of rednecks, I would then drill holes into a communist flag or a photo of Osama bin Laden or something. Boo Ya!!!

Obviously, I’m no electrician, so the pussy outlet wouldn’t really work — I borrowed my roommate’s cordless drill, then attached the cord from an old curling iron I bought at a thrift store so that it would look like it was really plugged in and working. I covered the drill with painter’s tape, then colored it in Stars and Stripes, adding a miniature American flag to the tip of the drill bit.

As for the pussy itself, it was pretty tricky. I spent hours reading all these cosplay blogs for tips on how to make body armor for cheap, and ended up molding the panty out of thick craft foam, attached to an elastic belt like a jock strap. To make it extra-durable, I covered the craft foam with a layer of glue-soaked fabric strips, then a layer of gaffer’s tape and then finally a layer of this stuff called Paperclay, which is basically a quick-drying lightweight clay that you then sand down so that it makes a smooth, lightweight top layer. I then spray painted it gold, popped in an electrical outlet, and added embellishments with electrical tape. When I was done, it looked pretty bad ass!

Now I was ready to wrassle! I was literally working on my costume until right up until the match, so when I finished, I threw everything in a bag and headed over to Gilley’s to get it on. I had been up since 7:30am working on repairing my backyard fence (more on which later), so I was pretty tired…but I was still amped as fuck to fulfill this longstanding dream of mine!

The way mudwrestling at Gilley’s works is, you arrive at 10:30pm and change into your costume, then the DJ introduces each wrestler onstage, one at a time. They play your entrance music, you get up onstage and shake your ass, tits, etc., and then the DJ asks you a few questions before auctioning you off to the crowd: “NOW, who wants to be Wonderhussy’s towel boy???” Basically, you get to swab off the mud and sweat and whatnot, and generally just look like a stud, and the bidding starts at $20.

Now normally, each wrestler gets around $100 from someone to be her towel boy (there was this one chick, Crocodile DDD, who got $400 once). But this past Tuesday was a slow night, so many of the wrestlers didn’t get huge bids. In my case, I (humiliatingly) only got $40!!!! WTF?? I felt pretty shitty about it, but one of the other girls only got $40 too, so at least I wasn’t alone. And at the end of the night we all split the take anyway, so it wasn’t too bad. But I still felt guilty, like I was letting the others down.

My opponent was Little Red (Riding Hood), a fierce, sexxxy redhead in a hooded cloak and a red thong bikini. Yowza!!! Other wrestlers that night included Lady GoGo-Get-‘Em, Harajuku Hyjak, Wild Thing, Diablo Diana and Daisy Dukes, among others….there were 8 total, and we wrestled in a playoff format, with the winners wrestling each other until only one was victorious.

Little Red and I wrassled third, and I am ashamed to say she totally kicked my ass!!! 🙁 Mostly because I couldn’t bring my power drill or Golden Pussy Whip into the ring, but still — I just had no idea how slippery it would be in that ring!! Prior to this, my only real wrestling experience was Blood Wrestling at the Sci-Fi Center, so I just didn’t know what to expect. But either way, my towel boy was very helpful and I had a blast rolling around in the muck, which is actually chocolate pudding. (I accidentally forgot, and licked some off my fingers later in the evening….and got severe diarrhea as a result, lol.)

Anyhoo, after your match is over you run to the back, where there is a tiny little shower room so you can clean off, wash your hair, and then change into fresh clothes and go back out to mingle with the crowd. They give you a couple free drink tickets as a thank-you, so it was all good. I had several friends show up to watch me, so after I cleaned up I went back out and had a great time socializing. (Incidentally, my waterproof makeup held up astonishingly well — thank you Blinc Brow Mousse! My brows stayed on perfectly.)

At the end of the last match, they divvy up the money and everyone gets her cut, and that’s that. As mentioned, I was reeeally embarrassed at having only gotten a $40 bid, and I was advised to act less confident next time. I had come out onstage waving my drill around, thrusting my Electric Vagina at the crowd like a real bad-ass…when come to find out, next time I should be more sexy and cutesy, and less threatening. They loved my costume and my Electric Pussy, but just told me to be more coy and less aggressive. Now that I think about it, that’s probably the main reason I have a hard time making money in life in general — I come off as too confident/assertive, and don’t simper and pule enough. Lesson learned!!!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaanyhoo, that was wrestling. I had a total fucking blast, and sincerely hope to rassle with the Power Posh Girls many more times! Check out this awesome GoPro footage taken by a friend, and then head over to the Power Posh Facebook page and “like” us!!

Anyway, aside from wrestling I had a pretty shitty week. My troubles all started on Valentine’s Day — I hate that fucking b.s. holiday as it is (I never seem to have a boyfriend when it rolls around, so I always feel left out and weird), but to make matters worse, this year I woke up to find that my new dog Freddy had WORMS! He was acting all weird, whining and fussing all night, and sure as sugar I found all these nasty little grains of rice-looking things on his blanket. GROSSSSSS!!!!

I scrapped my electric vagina-making plans and took him to the vet, where I shelled out $180 for meds, but when I brought him home is when the real trouble started. I don’t know if it was the worms, or the fact that it was a full moon or WHAT, but that little fucker just went BUCK WILD — racing around the house, getting worms everywhere, and generally acting a fool. I spent all day doing laundry and trying to calm him down, but eventually I had to go out and run errands….and that’s when the shit REALLY hit the fan. Every fucking time I left the house, I’d get a phone call from one of the neighbors: “We have your dog!” So I’d have to drop whatever I was doing and race home to get him.

This happened FOUR TIMES — once I was in the middle of lifting weights, and had to bail on my workout! Each time, I would go home, find out where he’d escaped, and block up the hole as best I could. My backyard fence was in a pretty shitty state of disrepair, with a lot of loose boards and stuff, but I kept nailing them tight (or so I thought). Still, the little fucker was SO CRAZED he kept finding new ways to bash his head on the boards and get out. He’d run a few houses down the street, then I’d drag him home. The funny thing was, he was perfectly content to follow me back in the house — but the next time I left, he’d run away again!! It was hell!!!

I was really stressing, because I had shit to do and couldn’t stay home with him. Fortunately, I have one of those dog kennel/crate things, so when I went out the last time, I locked him up in that. But apparently he went NUTS while I was gone, puked all over the inside of the crate, and somehow bashed his way out through the metal grate on the front!!! I’m telling you, that dog was BALLISTIC!!! I tried closing him up in there again that night, but he went BATSHIT, whining and drooling frantically, pawing at the gate so hard I was afraid he’d hurt himself. By this time, I was so exhausted that I got really mad, and resolved to take him to the pound in the morning. He’s really cute, so I have no doubt some family would adopt him in no time — I honestly didn’t feel too badly about it.

But in the morning, he had calmed down a lot, so I gave him a reprieve…..and instead shelled out $600 to replace my fucking fence. A friend referred me this awesome handyman who came over on Tuesday morning (which is why I had to get up at 7:30am….ugh), and I helped him repair/replace the fucking fence. What a LAME ASS way to spend $600, huh? Especially since I haven’t been working much this month.

I don’t know WHY, but as I mentioned last time, all my gigs have dried up lately. One day I was so desperate for cash, I even tested out a new app downtown in exchange for $25!!! Tough times, I tells ya. But I’m slowly clawing my way toward my nut this month…and I might just make it. I should probably go busking on the Strip in my Electric Vagina costume this Saturday night, just to make a few bucks: I could hold up a sign that says “CELL PHONE CHARGING,” and I’d probably do OK. That’ll be my last resort.

Anyway, since I haven’t been working much  lately, at least I had plenty of time to get out and about. One afternoon, I was a guest on the 702 Rox radio show, hosted by the sexxxy Miss Foxy Roxy, along with celebrity hypnotist Anthony Cools and this awesome chick who had just won Makeup Artist of the Year at the porno awards!! (She uses a special waterproof primer, so that it’s easy to clean up those facial wads. Gross!!!) Well, apparently I did such a good job on that show, they invited me back as a regular for the month of May — I’ll be reading the world news in a sexy outfit, kind of like those Naked News chicks. Maybe I’ll bring my Electric Pussy along!!

Then another night, I did an amazing photo shoot with my good friend Randy Fosth, Shutterbug-Studio. He shot my in my rassling outfit, but alas my Electric Pussy wasn’t finished yet, so he didn’t get any pics of that. But the good news is, he’s working on a book of our best photos…so look for that to be coming out soon! You won’t want to miss it!

Meanwhile, another good friend was in town — a classic liberal elitist journalist pal from New York City who comes out here fairly regularly to write about Vegas for various national magazines. Since they’re always schmoozing him with fabulous dinners and offers, he always invites me along as company, and as a result I’ve gotten to see some very intense shit which I would normally never be able to afford. This time, they hooked him up with tickets to the Britney Spears show at Planet Hollywood…so I went along out of curiosity. It turned out to be AWESOME! You can read my review here…but if you’re too lazy to click the link, basically it was awesome because it was so cheesy and unpretentious, and the room was full of gay guys and homely chicks bawling their eyes out while Britney waddled around the stage in wedge-heeled tennies and a sequined sausage-casing. Plus, because they were schmoozing my friend, we had front-row seats with bottle service — free vodka and candy served by a bangin’ hot Thai bottle waitress. FUN!

After the show, he had to go over to Beacher’s Madhouse to interview Jeff Beacher, so I tagged along there, too. If you haven’t heard of it, Beacher’s Madhouse is basically a nightclub with a stage show featuring wacky/bizarre acts like a woman who smashes watermelons with her giant tits, etc. They also have all these furry mascots hanging out, dancing with the crowd, as well as a bunch of celebrity look-a-likes and the world’s only flying Little People bartenders — basically, if you order a bottle of vodka, this dwarf comes flying out on a harness to deliver it to your table. It’s shtick, but it’s fun…even though it is, at heart, just a sort of frat-house nightclub melee. And to be honest, the wackiness feels pretty forced — I feel like a better m.o. would be if Jeff Beacher fired all his wacky staff, and just went out on the Strip every night at 10pm and hired 20 wackos, Home-Depot-style, to come in and do their shtick. God only knows you can find MUCH weirder weirdos hanging out on the sidewalk in front of Planet Hollywood any night of the week…including, I’ve even heard, some random bitch with an Electric Pussy!!! (Hmmm, maybe I should hit up Beacher for a job….)

Then another night, my same journalist friend got invited to the one-year anniversary party for this über-pretentious “hip Asian dining” joint at the Encore, named after Steve Wynn’s new trophy Frankenhag, Andrea. The party was chock-a-block with the “Who’s Who” of Vegas Society, meaning it was basically a roomful of Botoxed, collagen-lipped, fake-titted designer-label-wearing society whores and their wizened, pervy old husbands (many of whom probably jerk off to this very blog). UGH!!! If it hadn’t been for all the AMAZING free sushi, I couldn’t have handled it — plus, there were all these gorgeous babes standing around passing out free champagne.

That’s right, to balance out all the old Botox hags they had hired a bunch of sexy young models to come hang out at the party — only they weren’t really paying them; they just forced all the new hires for pool season to come to the party for no pay. I learned all this talking to one of them, this beautiful tall blonde from out of town. She had driven five hours to be at the party, and had to be back home again to work in the morning…but if she didn’t, she’d lose her coveted upcoming gig as a bottle waitress at the Encore’s pool club this summer.

I had always been curious as to how these pool babes get their gigs — I know there is FIERCE competition for those bottle service jobs, especially at the pool clubs. They’re always posting audition notices at my gym, and the girls have to show up in bikinis, with headshots — waitressing experience not important. Well, come to find out this poor blonde bitch drove up here from 5 hours away to audition at several pools this year, and it was intense! Hundreds of gorgeous girls shivering in bikinis in the bowels of ginormous hotel-casinos, waiting for hours until called up to walk down a runway in front of a table of judges. Creeeeeeeepy!!! Then the lucky ones get hired, and presumably make an ass-ton of money serving drinks to rich assholes and drunk douchebags in the hot summer sun. They also have quotas to make, a certain number of girls they have to bring into the pool each week, and table clients they have to book — it sounds like a lot of stress and I’d never want to do it!! But apparently, chicks across America flock here to try it…so what do I know? I think it goes back to my unwillingness to simper and pule.

Anyway, talking to that chick was the most interesting part of the party, and explained why there were so many babes in slutty bebe dresses and Christian Louboutins milling around. They were extra-thick at this one table, surrounding this miserable-looking old-ass pervert who kept stroking the legs of the miserable-looking blonde bitch beside him — apparently, he was some kind of mega-high roller ancient Mafia guy who had to be placated with bimbos to keep him from exploding in a geyser of dago rage. WOW! Who are these people, and what the fuck are their lives all about?!?!?!

For the people-watching alone, this party was amazing. Andrea Wynn herself mingled about the room with an industrial-strength binder clip at the back of her head holding her face taut, god only knows what kind of horribly pretentious babble spewing from her trout pout. Her blind old husband was nowhere to be seen, probably off banging an elbow through a Moldovan hooker’s eye socket. The best part of the entire party was when this alleged Grammy-winning blonde chippy sat at the grand piano and played an ÜBER-pretentious Norah-Jones-style version of Nancy Sinatra’s “Bang Bang.” The whole room of idiots stood by spellbound, as if it were the most amazing, groundbreaking artistic interpretation since Crispin Glover covered Charles Manson’s “Never Say Never to Always.” GAHHHHHHHHH!!!!! SOMEBODY PASS ME ANOTHER GLASS OF FREE CHAMPAGNE BEFORE I SHIT IN ANDREA WYNN’S MARTINI GLASS!!!!!!

And this, dear readers, is why I will never write for a mainstream Vegas publication: I simply can’t/refuse to play the game. I gotta call a spade a spade….or in this case, a Frankenhag a Frankenhag. And the saddest/funniest part of the whole thing was, all those slutty young chippies in the bebe dresses were just Frankenhags in waiting. AND THAT, my friends, is what Vegas is all about!!!!  (Also, let me tell you something — those bottle waitresses may look pretty, but a very close friend of mine was hired to create a spreadsheet for one of the pool clubs, to ensure that no two waitresses are ever at adjoining tables two days in a row — they have to do this to make sure the bitches don’t collude and figure out a way to sheist money from the club. As if they’re not already making enough!! Like I said…who ARE these fucking people?!?!)

Anyway, you can see why I desperately need to get the fuck out of town!! I’m waaaay overdue for an adventure, and thankfully, a new friend I met has offered me the perfect getaway: roadtrip down to Baja California for some crazy off-road race at the end of the month. Apparently, thousands of speed freaks and beach bums gather in San Felipe each year for this race, and my friend has invited me to come along and camp out on the beach, eat shrimp tacos and drink cheap Mexican beer. How could I say no to THAT?!?!

But meanwhile, I still haven’t made my monthly nut. And wouldn’t you know it, some Japanese TV crew contacted me yesterday, wanting to shoot footage of me busking on the Strip for a documentary they’re filming about Vegas — the same weekend as the Baja race!!!!! Fuck. Which should I do??

The Japanese crew is only paying $100, so it’s not really about the money — AND, they also tell me it’s a “family” show, so I can’t wear my Electric Vagina outfit or even my weed showgirl costume :/ I’d have to wear my regular showgirl outfit, and that is L.A.M.E. But still, I could be on Japanese TV!

On the other hand…I could also get the fuck out of town and go to Mexico, where I’ve never been, and get high as fuck with a bunch of hippie freaks and gearheads. Decisions, decisions. Which path do YOU think I should take????

 

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