The Name of the Game

Just 'cause I haven't showed him off in about, um, five minutes.

I give you:



Stinky Stinkerson.
Barky Barkerson.
Sulky Sulkerson.
Sheddy Shedderson.
Pukey Pukerson.
Itchy Itcherson.
Scratchy Scratcherson.
Poopy Pooperson.
Momey Momerson.
Sleepy Sleeperson.
Cutey Cuterson.
Puppy Pupperson.

When I'm Sixty-Four

I have been spending an exorbitant amount of money on personal maintenance. Seriously my friends. Between the waxing, facials and mani-pedis, I’m headed for the poor house.

Here’s my theory. The more you start to indulge in these quick aesthetic tune-ups, the more you start to need them. I’m serious. When I was only getting one mani-pedi every two months or so, my feet were soft, toes lovely, hands like butter. Now? Scaly chipped, peeling and cracked after like five days. Sure, summer plays a role, but I think there’s a greater evil lurking in the shadows.

Age. There, I said it.

I get it now.

The older you get, the fatter, dryer, pastier, frizzier and wrinklier you get. It’s all true. Holy fuck.

Anyway, my point. With the pending nuptials bearing down on me, I’ve been feeling some added pressure to get the car into the shop, so to speak. Through out the summer I’ve been going for monthly facials, I’ve had purifying back treatments, hair cuts and colours. I’ve been springing for the “good” shampoo.

Naturally, summer requires waxing. I’ve been upping the ante and going full burn on the bikini in prep for poolside in Sin City. Also, have added eyebrows to the list, something that until this year, I’ve always tended to myself. Now there’s no going back! The brows need a professional! That arch, that perfectly “natural shape” that is SO NOT NATURAL AT ALL. I can’t do that. No way.

Then there's the ever present gym-membership. Plus I’ve been religious about weekly yoga. And this week I added a tanning package to the list. Tan lines won’t do, will they? NO THEY WILL NOT.

Add up all these services and it feels like springing for the full detailing at the car wash, you don’t really want to pay someone to shake out your mats, but do it yourself? As if.

So this fall, when I’m wearing last year’s boot cut jeans, instead of this year’s drainpipes; and if you see me in pointy-toed kitten heels, instead of round toed platforms; just know, underneath those out-of-date fashions lies smoothly waxed skin, soft, supple heels and a bloody expensive tan.

My one saving grace? Am off food. Saving a few bucks there. But trust me, once I’ve actually fit into my dress, I’ll be back on the burgers, and those few extra dollars will be flying out the window as well.

Will I give up my other services then, too? Somehow, I don’t see it happening. Like prune juice and comfortable shoes, looks like they are just an inevitable part of my future.

I'm a Hustler, Baby

So Scarb recently put in a request for my porn star stories.

I haven't pulled them out of the vault in a while, so bare with me if they are a little fuzzy. I'm going to try my best not to pull a James Frey, so I should add as my disclaimer that these were different times. Wilder times. Times where my memory has a few holes, we shall say, and we shall say no more.

You'll have to take my word for it that I do have photographic evidence of my short-lived aquaintance with Ron Jeremy. I would gladly post the pics for you here, but a) there are other people in them who may not want pictures of themselves hugging the Hedgehog posted on the internet and b) I don't know how to use the scanner.

The Background:
I did a brief stint in LA. The year was 1999. I went there for a few reasons but I guess the primary one was to get away from the insanity that was quickly enveloping me here in TO. I was partying. A lot. Betty Ford seemed a little excessive, yet I do question why I thought LA was the answer to finding healthy living and sobriety. Hm. Moving on...

My dear friend (and YES, ex-bf, but we really were just friends at this point) had recently moved his promotions and talent booking agency to LA. He was living and working out of a two bedroom apartment in West Hollywood and I went out there to help. Or, to go to the beach. Whatever.

The Clients:
While the client list for said talent booking agency had originally consisted of famous club and rave DJs, urban and electronic musicians, if you will, in LA the clients started to take a turn for the, well, weird. He started taking on celebrity clients who would get booked to make appearences at parties and other events. Corey Feldman (yes, I met him too, that's a story for another post, don't let me forget, it's a good one), Vern Shroyer... enter Ron Jeremy.

The Hedgehog:
I first met the Hedgehog when he came over to our apartment for a "meeting". It was around dinner time and we'd been preparing Shepherd's Pie, it was baking in the oven and smelling fantastic, but my appetite was low. I'd never met a famous porn star before, let alone one as notorious as The 'Hog. I didn't know what to expect... would he arrive naked? He didn't. I'm kind of sad about that now. Would he try to grope me? He did. It wasn't as bad as it sounds.

What can I say about RJ? He's kind of, well he's actually sort of, um, sweet? Kind? Likeable? Are the feminists going to come after me for that? I'm sorry. I'm a feminist, I swear, and I was prepared to dislike this guy, I truly was. But I LIKE HIM. I can't help it. He came in, sat down at the table, and shared our Shepherd's Pie. His manners are terrible. He talks with his mouthful and our dinner conversation DID involve the question about whether or not he could actually suck his own dick. I personally had never seen that movie. He offered to "prove it to me right here, right now." I regretfully declined. I'm kind of sad about that now too.

The Hustler Party:
That's right. I went to one. With The Hedgehog. Sorry, he wasn't naked for that either. Many of the women there were. I was incredibly, and embarrassingly, overdressed in my Snug jeans and a halter top. It was at the Hustler Store on Sunset Blvd. Joey Buttafuco was there, as was Corey Feldman. Did you know they are all buds? How's that for a posse? RJ was in fine form that night, ever the entertainer. He wants very badly to be a stand-up comic and he tells non-stop jokes. He also grabs a lot of asses. And the women? They love him. At least, the Hustler women do.

The Handshake:
Another night we all went out to see a show at the House of Blues, also on Sunset. I can't remember what the show was. That outta tell you how well the whole sobriety thing was working out for me. Heh. Anyway, I do remember this. We were backstage after the show. I was standing with RJ when two girls walked over to us and said to him, "We know you from somewhere... you're famous, right?" Ever the charmer, Ron held out his hand and said, "Yeah, you could say that." One of the girls grabbed his hand and started to shake is as he said, "I'm Ron Jeremy." Suddenly the girl's face become awash in recognition and she snatched her hand back as if she'd been burned. "UGH!" she exclaimed through her grimace and turned and walked away, disgusted and rubbing her hand up and down on her jeans.

I was mortified to watch Ron's face as this took place. I could see in his eyes that it wasn't the first time, and that it was crushing for him to have it happen again. He recovered with a joke very quickly, but he couldn't control that split second look and it spoke volumes for me. I'll admit I'm a softy and I hate to see people hurt. I cry when they cry, no matter who they are. But even I learned something in that moment -- you really can't judge a book by it's cover. And you can't judge a man by the number of gang bangs he's starred in.

The T.Dot:
The last time I saw The 'Hog was when he was in town for the premiere of his movie, Porn Star: The Legend of Ron Jeremy. My friend from LA was in town representing RJ and setting up various media appearances, etc. We were to pick Ron up at his hotel room and get him into the limo and over to the premiere on time. A few of us were going in the limo together, so we had a nice dinner and went together to get Ron from his room. We knocked on the door and heard some muffled noises from inside. After a few moments a stick thin, large breasted woman opened the door stark naked and stood there staring at us as we were the paper boy and she was in a robe and slippers handing us buck for the service. After she graciously explained that she was giving Ron his "rub down" before the show, she went back inside to coerce him into leaving with us.

We all piled into the limo together, naked woman now somewhat clothed, and drank champagne on the way to the theatre. My girlfriend who was with us got some choice photos on Ron's lap and sandwiched in between him and Ms. Naked. It was really fun. The premiere was a smashing success. If you've never seen the film, I highly recommend it. I think you'll be surprised to learn some of the things revealed about The 'Hog. And I suspect, that like me, you'll come away from it with a new perspective on what drives this furry, horny, strange little (yet LARGE) man.

There are many things that I loved about California. The weather, the beach, the shopping and the laid back vibe. But probably the best memories from my stay there were some of the characters that I had the pleasure of meeting. When in LA, you think you want to spot a celeb and you're constantly on the look-out, it's true. But for me, spending time with that aging porn star with a heart of gold was so much more fulfilling that a glimpse of an A-lister could ever have been.

Well, unless we're talking Brad Pitt...

These Boots Were Made for Walking

But these shoes were made for wedding!



Not exactly your average wedding shoe, but I guess I'm not exactly your average bride.

Besides, I had no choice. It was love at first buckle.

Viva Las Vegas.