Exhausted and hungover, I made my way back to the booth, where the guys were already setting up. I told them I hadn’t slept yet, and JP pulled me aside. “Don’t do that again,” he said. “If you need a place to crash, call me.” He handed me some Advil and water. For a while, I huddled under someone’s coat, trying to overcome my hangover while trying not to be in Eric’s way as he got the booth ready. By the time the other girls started showing up, I was back on, alive, energetic, perhaps a bit delirious. Fans started streaming in, at least twice the number of the previous day. I had time to hang out at the Girlfriends booth, talking to Dan and my friends over there including Elexis Monroe, India Summer and Prinzzess. Girlfriends is one of my favorite companies to work for, and I made it into a few group shots with the other gals. Dan told me I’d be shooting a scene with my friend Violet Monroe soon after we all got back in town. This second day of the expo passed in a blur, punctuated intermittently with the sound of popping balloons from some ongoing contest, which summoned increasing rage from myself (and others among my boothmates) as the day wore on.
As the convention neared close, I went to get ready for the awards show. I put on a slim fit pinstripe suit, blue shirt and silver tie. I hadn’t really brought awesome shoes with me, so fortunately, Sinister Heelz was there to help me out. A pair of super high platform heels with spikes completed my ensemble.
Dressed and ready to go, I headed out with Eric and Vanessa to go to the carpet, but a detour to my car to put stuff away cost me a ride in theirs. Eric suggested I call a taxi, but I opted to drive. Not entirely sure how to get to the Palms, I called Imani Rose who gave me directions. I got lost anyway, panicked, feeling unsafe behind the wheel, worse than drunk in my sleep deprived condition. I made it, somehow, and made the journey from my car to the start of the carpet in my awesome shoes.
I walked with Imani for a while, doing various interviews and getting our pictures taken. I pranced the carpet, doing a few high kicks here and there to show off the shoes. I was so happy to be there to be a part of the fun. I had never walked a carpet like this before – the “red carpets” at the various LA porn parties are more like red rugs, places to stand in front of a backdrop while the porn press snaps photos. At about the same moment I got to the carpet, my roommate, Elle, arrived at the Palms, wanting the keys to my car so she could put her bag in it. Elle didn’t have a ticket to the awards, so her plan was to grab dinner with some other friends who were in town but she didn’t want to drag her luggage around with her. I told her to find me and I’d throw the keys to her, but this proved difficult. I reached the end of the carpet without sight of her and was stuck loitering as people went into the theatre as we texted each other. Eventually she was able to worm her way through the throng of fans and I tossed her the keys and explained how to find the car. That settled, I entered the theater’s bar, where everyone was drinking and hanging out before the show. Apparently it was an open bar, but I was too high already from not sleeping to bother drinking anything. I stood around talking to Sasha Heart (who looked fantastic in a pink prom dress style number) and photographer Chris King as more and more of my friends filtered in. Eventually, I just had to sit down. My shoes were kick ass, but not so sensible. Inside the theatre itself I sat alone, slipping off my shoes. Elle texted me that she was downstairs, unable to get into any of the restaurants because of imposing wait times, unable to leave. She asked if there was any way I could get her in. I resolved to try and met her downstairs. We told the elevator security guard that we had left her ticket upstairs and then snuck past the ushers. No one noticed, and no one came to claim the seat she had stolen. The awards show itself was well produced, glossy, essentially fun. It had that veneer that porn shows the outside world. It was, in a sense, everything you’d expect – corny sex jokes, hammy acting, montages of porn that stayed within the bounds of Showtimes censors. I sat with Elle, near Lee Roy Myers and his wife Ester, glad of a seat, and of something that didn’t require my active interaction. I did not win, but I had not expected to. I was truly happy just to have been nominated at all. Hungry, Elle and I left as the wall of lesser wins continued scrolling down the screen. After a quick drink with Shay Fox and Alison Tyler, Elle and I headed to dinner with Todd Hunter, Sunny Leone (who had been inducted into the AVN hall of fame that night, and who had introduced me to Dan from Girlfriends), and some tech guys from IAFD. I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich (the first of several – vegetarian food in Vegas is sparse) and sucked down more coffee in anticipation of another night of partying until the sun came up. The did not materialize. Elle and I headed over to the Luxor, since if nothing else we could crash there, planning on attending the party there that we had ticket to. Moose at Girlfriends had recommended the party (I found out later that it had indeed been the place to be…a long time before we got there). I had dropped my ID in the car, and the guards at the Luxor’s club space would not let me in. I went back, reluctantly, and Elle helped me find it. We entered the club at last. A wall of pounding music hit us in the face, so loud we couldn’t converse at all, not even by screaming. I didn’t see a single person I knew or knew of, just the usual Vegas crowd. Nearing two days without sleep, I was in no mood for this. We left and headed for JP’s room. The only available sleeping space that remained was the floor, and all of the blankets and pillows were already claimed. The occupant of the couch was snoring, epically, and neither of us were quite tired enough to sleep under these conditions. We sat in the hallway, talking, winding down, wondering what to do with ourselves. An abandoned room service cart sat beside us, and Elle got the idea to steal its table cloth. We piled the food plates onto the ground, took the cloth (fortunately unspoiled) and returned the plates. Eric, awake and looking for someone, stared at us but said nothing. Deciding that there must be more room service carts around the hotel, we rode the elevator up and down, checking each floor. Like truant kids, we bolted when we heard what we thought were footsteps. We found two more carts, taking the cloth from one but leaving the other because it was covered in pizza sauce. Dressed in our pajamas, a dishtowel over each of our shoulders, we surprised a done up couple in the elevator. The guy turned to the girl and snorted, “or we could have worn our pajamas.” We rode with them, awkwardly, to the lobby and then continued our hunt. We found no more carts, but on the last floor we searched, we encountered a far greater prize, a roll-a-way bed left alone in the hallway. I snatched the blanket and pillow from it and we galloped back to the elevator. We laid out the table cloths on the ground, laid on them, and pulled the blanket over ourselves. Finally exhausted enough to ignore the snoring, I slept at last. It was six in the morning. Forty Eight hours of sleep deprivation.