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My comedy set started out a bit rough, the audience had just watched over and hour and a half of show with Mimi Imfurst, Pandora Box, Kelly Mantle and Bianca Del Rio; had a 20 minute intermission and were now asked to sit through another hour of show. But once they warmed up to me and I warmed up to them the comedy was just rolling from my glossy mouth. Everyone involved was fabulous, an incredible range of variety and the delightfully urban Harmonica Sunbeam closed the show with a bedtime story about Goldie Locks and The Three Bears set in a NYC project that project that had us in tears. Luckily my mascara was waterproof. Here is a little video of me behind the scenes getting my makeup retouched:

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I dressed casually for the affair-a simple light cotton plaid shirt, with a pair of grey jeans, a silver necklace, bright yellow watch for some color and a pair of dressy moccasins. When I am out of drag I like to wear comfortable clothing. I think it has to do with the fact that being wrapped up like a mummy with huge tits for hours at a time can leave a girl breathless. The only problem they had was trying to tone down the shine bouncing off my shaved head. Yes people, out of my green wigs I have a completely shaved head. The wigs stick to it like Velcro. Mimi was very competent as the interviewer, though I had wished some of the questions had been a little more dragtastic. Like for instance Mimi could have asked me: “If you were a cosmetic what kind of cosmetic would you be?” Sort of like Miss Walters tree question but with a drag flair. To answer that question, I would be liquid liner. It sleek, it’s black and is one of the finest finishing touches you can add to your face. Tomorrow we will be in full drag in front of live audience doing our comedy. I will be documenting the back stage antics with my flip HD so keep a look out.

For those of you not in the know I am one of the fashion commentators in the back of Life And Style Magazine. Check out this weeks issue with Heidi Montag on the cover and flip to the back and catch my witty and sometimes bitchy comments. Here is the link to the magazine: LIFE AND STYLE

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What could the offensive object have been? A bag, a brick or a dead body? It could have been a dead body because it had weight to it, not budging when I fell over it. Sadly it was not as dramatic or as interesting as a dead body when I caught a glimpse of it in the flickering light of the movie screen. A mid sized black speaker, you know the kind where sound comes out of it, commonly used as a stage monitor, dumbly sat there looking at me; which I might add is usually used down stage (at the front). Who would have left a goddamned speaker in the back of the stage? My paranoid mind immediately went to, “What enemy of mine would want to see me fall flat on my face?” Oh I have a few people who would like to see me fall into a pit of hungry alligators, but as far as I know there are no such pits in PTOWN; so I suppose falling over a speaker on a darkened stage would suffice.

Later that night when I returned to the comfy confines of my home I started mulling over the revenge theory and the possible culprits and frankly it held a much weight as a condom filled with sand. Frankly itching powder in my wig, sawing the heels of my shoes and gluing them poorly back on so I fall on my ass or putting crazy glue on my tucking tape are better ways of getting revenge on a drag queen. A blackened speaker in a darkened theater is about as clever as Sherry Vine parody song. I will just have to chalk it up to a technical mistake, a mistake that could have happened to anyone, but sadly it happened to me. The following night when I returned to the theater the speaker was gone leading me to believe it was just carelessness and not callousness that caused my belly flop.

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At the beginning of the summer I was at my best weight in a long time; thin, toned, refreshed and if I may say so myself fuckable. Cut to three weeks into the season, an ear infection, a car accident, over worked, not getting enough exercise and all that weight I had lost had crept up on me like a mugger in Central Park. I was in deep denial and I still wanted to believe that I was my former thinner self. I would look at myself in hundreds of mirrors until I found the mirror that somehow corroborated the thinner version I so wished to be again. As for the other mirrors they were terrible liars and were destroyed; who cares about 150 years of bad luck.

We all know when we gained a few pounds; certain parts of the body give us strong hints. For me it was my lower back, right above my left butt check. Whenever I moved I would feel it jiggle ever so slightly and with each jiggle it was as if it was saying to me, “You are a lard butt and please continue to feed me.” The voice of the Jiggle was of course that of James Earl Jones. I could not stand this jiggle and wanted it dead. Over the span of 10 days with better eating habits, light exercise and a positive attitude I had the jiggle down to a light whisper, “I am shrinking, shrinking! What a world when a big drag queen like you can destroy all my beautiful wickedness!”

So the next time someone compliments my gorgeous thinness instead of going for a bag of chips and a milk shake I will thank them politely and celebrate by taking a lover.

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I am going to be completely honest with you, which coming from a man who wears a green wig and a dress that might not mean to much- I suffer from depression. At different times in the year it does seem to get worse, with the change of seasons being the most damaging to my fragile psyche. On the Cape the change of seasons can be felt already and in preparation for this change I have started taking 1000 mg of vitamin D daily. They say people living on the Eastern Seaboard do not get enough of this vital vitamin, which is found in abundance in the rays of the sun. Seasonal depression is what they call, mix that with regular depression and it can be a toxic mix.

Depression for me manifests in many ways: overly sensitive, hopelessness, lethargy and isolation. I can’t even watch animal planet in safety. Where did that non sequitur come from you may be asking yourself? It does stick with the topic of depression so just hear me out. When I watch another animal devour another animal it just sends me into the spins. I avert my eyes from the screen and sometimes I get a little teary eyed. Perhaps this natural behavior just reminds me of how cruel life can be, how it is truly about the survival of the fittest and that the weak truly do get trampled on. When it concerns humans the same applies; but the one thing that separates us from most creatures on this planet is that stronger people can be advocates for the weaker ones, helping them to survive. But my heart still sinks when I witness one creature hurt another, or when I witness a program where one animal chews another one to bits. It is the natural order of things but it still saddens me hence how it relates to my depression.

Perhaps my problem is not with depression but with acceptance? This is how life is and how it has been since it began. I was born into this planet and I don’t think it is going change anytime soon. Today I will pray for acceptance and for the winds to stop blowing. For god sakes I do not want to have to chase my green locks down Commercial Street. How depressing that would be. Though it would make a fab entry in my diary.

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Hello gentle Americans. Somehow my best thinking had me get in a car this past Saturday, on one of my coveted days off and head off to Ogunquit, Maine to do a show. I am exhausted from my work schedule so why I said yes is beyond me? Money is the first answer that pops in my head. Secondly I actually like Ogunquit.

Ogunquit bills itself as the PTOWN of Maine. Yes, if PTOWN were in a coma with feeding tubes pumping nutrients (consisting of Vodka) into its limp body. Getting there was no picnic either. On the one road leading into Ogunquit, traffic was at its usual crawl. Perhaps it is more like PTOWN after all? PTOWN has route 6 and Ogunquit has Route 1; A similar two-way road, with cars going in opposite directions, leading into town where traffic clogs up like the arteries of a fat man whose eaten to much bacon in his lifetime. While I was perusing Life And Style Magazine, catching up on those Kardashian bitches, smoke started pouring out of the hood of car. The lovely dip-shit who was driving me forgot to put water in the engine, or something like that, and the car began to overheat becoming the eyesore and embarrassment of the road. My ego would not allow me to sit in a smoking car (for god sakes would JLO sit in a smoking car?) and in a huff I grabbed my wig and my suit case and said, “You stay with this jalopy I am going to walk to the hotel.” I only made this bold move because I knew the hotel was only a ten-minute walk away. Grandly I strode down the road, neon green wig in hand, as the people in the cars looked on with curious eyes and the occasional snicker. Frankly if this had happened in New York City people would have been hollering lewd remarks at me; I was grateful this happened in Maine.

Upon reaching the hotel I went up to the desk clerk and curtly said, “I am here to check in.” I so wanted to lie down for an hour and recoup. She was a middle-aged woman with brown hair, sweet face and politely dressed. “Oh no you’re not,” She replied, her sweet faced changing to that of a substitute teacher in the public school system with a room full of punks. “Everyone has checked into the hotel.” “Not everyone because I am standing here.” I condescendingly responded. No backwoods broad is going to tell me I have checked in when I had not! “It would be under the name of the club, Mainstreet,” I added. She looked down a the registration book already knowing her answer, but being that the customer is always right she looked anyway. Two seconds later she came up with the same response, “There are rooms booked under Mainstreet for next week but none for tonight dear.” She had to throw a bitchy dear in there didn’t she? I asked if I could use the hotel phone so she could talk to the owner of the nightclub. Being that the customer is always right (even when she’s not) she hesitatingly agreed.

As she was being yelled by the owner of nightclub, this hot hunk of a man walks into the lobby with hotel keys in is hands and exasperatingly says to me, “You won’t believe what just happened?” Normally I would not care but his muscled physique had me in complete rapture. “What?” I asked wide-eyed like a schoolgirl. “I opened the door to my room and sitting on the bed are two naked men sipping cocktails. What the hell is that all about?!?” Without skipping a beat I said, “Well at least you have a room. And it comes with amenities obviously.” I don’t think he was gay, because he did not laugh at the best line that popped out of my mouth all day. Realizing my audience was dumber than a box of nails and that it was obvious that no matter how much the owner of the club yelled at the desk clerk no room would materialize, I picked up my wig and suit case and left the building. You know I must have been tired because I did not even stay to find out the end of the nude men saga on the bed thing.

It all ended up well. The car just needed some TLC, the show was well received and my driver and I slept in a storage room above the club that had two beds in it (Would JLO do that? No fucking way!). There was no glamour, but then again this is Maine, how glamorous can it get in a quaint little gay town by the sea?

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I thought of doing the parade but I wanted my costume to be unique and unexpected. I thought of going as Spike Lee’s movie, ‘Jungle Fever.’ I would be completely naked except for a large blow up of the poster covering my front and backside. But when I went on line to look for a high res image there was nothing to be found. Then I thought I had a eureka moment-I was going to get another white male and we would go as happy gay couple and wheel two adoptive black babies in a large stroller. But when I went to the beach and asked these two white lesbians if I could borrow their black babies for Carnival they promptly began to beat about the head and face with a Birkenstock Sandal. I also e-mailed Madonna to see if she could loan me one as well. For god sakes she has two black babies now, think of all the publicity it would get? Madge did not e-mail me back. Finally I thought I would go as Jungle warfare. 15-20 fags dressed up like Columbia militants or perhaps a Vietnam flash back? We could wear cute army outfits and look more like the porn version of a jungle army: torn clothes revealing lots of exposed flesh, strategic splotches of green and black paint on our faces and pecs, with our private areas covered in mesh. I am moist like a Little Debbie Snack Treat thinking about it. No one returned my phone call. I also thought of going as Malaria. You know the deadly disease that is caught by an infectious mosquito. But trying to find a sexy mosquito costume on-line is almost impossible.

Alas I will probably just wear something completely expected-an animal print dress, cut so low you will see the tip of my snatch, with a bone in my wig. It won’t get points for originality but at least I will be sticking to the theme.

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