If it could happen to anyone, it will happen to me

Drunken Logistics [Part 2]: Shit we say...

2012-01-28T13:03:00.000-08:00

Given the recent flurry of "Shit _____ say" videos I figured this post would be appropriate... These are various quotes, conversations and texts between my friends and I. Most of them are between Dom and myself. I am henceforth in this piece referred to as Z... I hope you find these as funny as I do, but you may just have to know us...

D: Imagine going into a butterfly garden with a tennis racket and swinging it around furiously. That would hurt everyone.
Z: That's worse than dead baby jokes.
S: Um dead babies are worse than dead butterflies.
Z: Meh... I beg to differ...

Z: These pickles are fking nasty (drunk eating McDonalds)
D: Rinse em off and save em for bloody marys in the morning!
Z: You're losing friends.

D: If all my teeth ever fall out this will be my liquid breakfast! (Holding a bloody mary at 9am)
Z: Bitch, obviously that's already your liquid breakfast.

Z:We should go on more game shows!
H: Um, because we go on so many now??

CJ: I want to...wah wah wah... (I wasnt paying attention til I heard what came next)
H: Well I want you to be pretty. Looks like we're both gonna be pretty fucking disappointed tonight.

D: (texts a picture of wine by his bed) I wish I could say I pay someone to have a glass of wine ready for me when I wake up... but I fell asleep with it unfinished. someday I'll be rich and famous and I will have that special someone pouring me bedside wine.
Z: I would save up to pay for them to clean up your puke first.... priorities.

D: I was sleeping... and no, I wasnt passed out on or near a bench by the lake.
Z: I wish you had been. And then woken up covered in pigeons.

Z: (after getting off house arrest, and to the tune of ding dong the witch is dead) Ding dong my bracelets gone!
D: Like.

There's this creeper that frequents the saloon dance floor and hes constantly sweating through his clothes... we have theorized he lives in the rafters and comes down to feed on the souls of twinks...
D: OMG the creature crawled down from the cieing at the saloon to feed!! And it seems to have aquired a cell phone from a previous victim.
Z: Warn kappus. The token black guy always gets it early.

D: I just made up imaginary friends at lush to make myself feel better.

Z: I'm a sad panda...
D: Pandas are a worthless animal.

Z: Yeah his bf is growing on me, but I think it's cancerous.

D: Did you guys finish your wine?
Z: Sooo much wine...
D: I envision you convulsing on your back with wine spilling out of your mouth "sooo much wine"

Z: Um, I'm talking to myself in our gibberish language... that's a problem.
D: OMG, fail.

D: Choo Choo... I'm mother fuckin Zekira, and I'm gonna get mother fuckin wasted!

D: He's such a creeper, I almost want to get drunk and tell him. Because sober I'm afraid I might actually feel some semblance of guilt afterwards.
Z: Yeah he's too wonky for real life telling off.
D: Yeah it would be like slapping the coca cola bear.

D: It was sort of like my own sweet and sticky tour... In bed. Madonna can suck it.

D: Just had to tell you... Disco ball in the front seat = coolest thing ever. It's like a little club in my car whenever I drive by any light.

D: So I'll be like, "my friend got gonhorrea from you and you havent responded to him..." like that?

Z: Have you ever been sober in a bar? It sucks.
D: Once. I almost stole a drink.
Z: Yeah, cause you've never done that before. *eyeroll*
D: I know.

Z: Is it totally creepy that I just shamelessly facebook stalked him?
M: No, everyone facebook stalks each other. However, the fact that you double checked your references with google is pushing it.

D: I just saw the white cappers and thought of us and how awesome we are.

S: In vegas it's all open all night, and you can take youre drinks outside from bar to bar.
Z: Why don't I live there already??
H: (Deadpan) Cause you'd be dead.
Z: True.

Welcome to the building?

2011-11-11T21:10:00.001-08:00

Tonight upon my arrival home from work I found my roommate's two dachshunds loose in the apartment with quite the mess left to clean up. After cleaning up a bit, I decided I ought to walk the overly hyper mini-hounds around the block and such. I leashed the pups and proceeded out the door and to the elevator.

While in the elevator I recieved a text from an unknown number. I opened the message right as the dogs and I hit the ground level... The elevator door opened and the dogs tangled me in their leashes. I tried to maneuver the dogs around my new neighbors that were awaiting use of the elevator in which during this attempt I dropped my phone. The neighbors got on the elevator and I regained leash control. I picked up my phone and to my surprise, horror, embarrassment and of course humor, the message still displayed on the face up screen was a photo of someone's ass, with a caption reading "cakes 4 dayz." A nice ass, but an ass nevertheless. This person had the wrong number and now my new neighbors...well, yeah... No wonder they didn't even attempt to assist me in picking up my phone during my troubles as many bystanders do. Where's my reality Tv show?

How many drag queens does it take to fix a car?

2011-10-24T00:35:00.000-07:00

Answer: Zero. As you will see...

[Random side note: I have a lot of storyish material, none of which on it's own seems to be worth it's own individual entry. Like the time I met a really hot Irish guy, and the stereo was on shuffle at my apartment, and when he leaned in and kissed me Enya started playing. I shit you not. True story. Amusing as it may be it really isn't enough to dedicate an entire entry to it. So until I figure out how to compile all those little guys into a more substantial piece of textual entertainment (suggestions welcome) I leave you with this little gem...]

It was the late summer of 2005, and having not yet moved to Minneapolis I joined two friends on a trek up to the Gay 90's for our weekly drag fix. Everything seemed to be going just fine. I mastered driving an enormous van in a full length gown and 6" stilettos. This was a trip we had made several times. In fact, the time previous to this our navigator passed out in the back of the van on the way home, leaving the other 2 of us driving around all of Minnesota for about 3 extra hours trying to figure out where we were. The two of us in boy clothes and drag face on, hopping from gas station to gas station, trying to get legitimate directions was not easy.

This time however, everything was going just fine. Until one of my cohorts had to urinate shall we say rather substantially. It was no big deal though, we were almost to Minneapolis. So I pulled the van right up to the front of a gas station attached to an Embers just south of the metro area. All three of us popped briefly out of the van, each towering over 7 feet tall in heels and hair, and encrusted in stones big enough to do some serious damage. The woman in the store armed with binoculars to watch for gas thieves driving off, with purple eye shadow smeared above her lids (I assume as a warning to predators.) was certainly not expecting this whatsoever.

We all hopped back in the van after the initial emergency was resolved, and to our horror the van would not start. Not even a little. We checked everything we knew of (which really isn't much, as you may have guessed) but this sucker was not about to haul our big padded asses the remainder of the trip. So front and center, of the random little gas station we sat, three enormous drag queens with one enormous van sitting entirely stationary.

We sat there furiously punching buttons on our phones (yes this is way back when you actually had to push buttons to make your phone work) attempting to get a hold of any one who might be able to assist us in this disaster. But it was to no avail. After another hour of sitting idle the purple eyed redneck inside insisted we move the van to the side of the parking lot. I suppose we were scaring away the entire customer that might want to stop by. *insert tumbleweed blowing here*

How many drag queens does it take to push a van across a parking lot? Well this time it was two to push it and one to steer. Ever pushed a van in 6" heels? Well take it from me, it sucks. Especially when your friend in the front seat can't steer it anywhere because that's apparently shot too. Because of that small steering issue, We were only able to get the van a short distance before she hit the brakes as we were going to risk hitting a gas pump. At least the brakes worked... but without warning the van stopped and I still attempting a heave ho maneuver, ran face first into the back door.

So now we are in the middle of the parking lot, when one of our phones begins to ring. It is Delta, who is calling about a Halloween costume one of the others is making for her. Fortunately she was kind enough to drive all the way up and get us. With her on the way and the van sitting exactly where we left it, there was nothing to do but wait. A while longer we noticed it was reaching bar close... and as bar close neared the hicks began coming out of their watering holes to stuff their faces at the Embers we were now directly in front of. One drunk asshole decides he wants to fight, and the three of us aren't backing down. As if we could just leave the situation, anyway right? Well as he begins to approach us, out of nowhere, a shiny green Cadillac whips in the parking lot braking directly between us and them. It is the short but wildly intimidating, ferocious Delta Dawn to the rescue. At the sight of her lovely presentation of a baseball bat and a tire thumper, the drunks are scared back inside guided mostly by the jerking of their collars by their girlfriends.

Well now I have to go to the bathroom, being that all we had to do in the meantime was sip on the bottle that was fortunately stowed in the back of the van. So Delta escorted me in to the little boys room. At which I proceeded to walk up to the urinal next to some random dude, hike up my gown and proceed to do my business. It's lucky he was already at the urinal or Im sure he would have peed himself. The look on his face was somewhere along the lines of terror, confusion, disbelief.

At any rate, on my way out the door some drunk is shoving fritos in his mouth and calls me a faggot. To which I immediately replied "Duh, dumbass. What gave it away? The makeup or the dress?!" He found this a rather shocking response, as his mouth just dropped open and half chewed fritos fell out. At which I followed up with "Real classy, sweetheart" What did he expect I was going to do? Cry?

So finally, we are all more than ready to head home. We stuff our giant weaves and long dresses all into the car and head for home. Finally, and thankfully. Had it not been for Delta, even though our jewelry doubles as weapons, I hate to think what would have happened to us without her! Needless to say her Halloween costume was made for free that year, especially after she got a speeding ticket driving us home.

He whips her hair back and forth!

2011-05-24T11:07:00.000-07:00

It was just another night downtown about five years ago. Lucas and I were walking from the Gay 90s to the Saloon well on our way to happy drunk land. Suddenly out of nowhere this crazy chick flies running past us full speed ahead. God knows what she was on, besides some kind of mission! A bolt from the blue, she was severely f*cked up on something, and sh!t-faced drunk, and running full force.

She was so hammered in fact, that while she was running extremely fast down the street, she wasn't getting very far because she was running in a very wide zig zag pattern. As we were walking behind the crazy train watching her she "zigged" if you will, to the left, and then "zagged" sharply to the right careening full force and face first, into the side of a building. At which point she then literally flew backwards at least ten feet, almost entirely horizontal in the air and landed flat on her back.

Lucas and I practically fell over each other laughing hysterically. Who doesn't love watching crazy b*tches biff it?! After laughing for practically forever we finally regained our composure. As we began to walk towards her limp body strewn across the curb we realized she was not moving a single muscle. Was she dead? Who knows... Concussion? Oh definitely...

Worrying just how severely injured she might be, we were encroaching on about five feet away from her, we were startled when her lifeless corpse lept up in one single motion! And without even notice of our existence began running down the street again as if nothing had happened.

Slightly confused, a little startled, yet wildly entertained we looked at each other and began and began laughing again in utter disbelief! Then looking at the ground where her pile of motionless body had just been lying, was this chick's ponytail! I was rolling with laughter as Lucas picked up the weave, tucked it in his hat and began skipping down the street.

This is my life...

The art of war! - Drunken Logistics part 1.

2011-05-11T19:54:00.000-07:00

"So this one time when I was really drunk..." ...I have many a story that begins with that exact phrase, and thus I will begin to share them with you here.

We'll start with last night. Fast forward to me already shitfaced drunk: Apparently when my friend asked me if I was sure I was OK to go to the bar after several long islands and no food, I responded by licking his face... apparently that means yes. Later that night when my friends dragged me home from the bar I came into the house and decided I needed yet another cocktail. I opened the door to the liquor cabinet to discover ants swarming a bottle of schnapps, at which I screamed bloody murder and ran down the hallway. (If you don't already know, I have a VERY SEVERE phobia of ants....yes ants...don't judge.) My friend, who's face I had previously licked, began squirting them with windex... this was not good enough clearly as I being heavily skilled in the art of killing the ferocious little bastards, sprang into action completely hosing down the entire cupbourd with dish soap. You would have thought I was putting out a fire... an indistructable demon fire from the very depths of hell. I was a super warrior defending my home and my freedom from these treacherous mother f***ers.

I once again decided that emptying half of a jumbo bottle of dish soap was still not good enough, these bastards need to pay! I threw not one, not two, but four pots of water on the stove to boil. If the water wasn't going to kill them the heat would! as they began getting hot and bubbly my plan was working, I started flinging boiling hot water through the kitchen onto the floor into the cabinets, anywhere the ants would even think to go! All the while with the battle cry "THESE ANTS ARE FROM THE DEVIL! FROM HELL! GO BACK TO HELL ANTS!" Then refilling the pots and throwing them back on the stove (By round two of water I was too hammered to even think to let the water get warm before i decided to mercilessly drowned the insects) Then my friend started trying to sop up the water with paper towels.

I was (in my head) a boiling water bearing ninja valiantly doing the world a favor, taking out ant after ant. But then the fate of the world swung in the balances as I took one faulty step... I stepped on a wet paper towel slipping and falling flat on my back and knocking into a bottle of grenadine with my shoulder. A wave of water and paper towels hit the refrigerator as my ass hit the floor. Ants began to swarm the spilling grenadine. In one last freak out I reached up from the floor, striking a pot of hot water off the stove, knocking it to the floor to kill these ants and dissolve their beloved grenadine! Alas the battle of the booze had been won!

I then apparently went upstairs, still shaken from the near apocalypse and passed out. But the world was now well aware - I will f**k up an ant if it so much as looks at me funny.

What do plastic forks, my butt, and peanut butter have in common? [Part 2 of 2]

2011-03-18T16:13:00.000-07:00

If I remember correctly it was around Homecoming. This particular evening we were targeting yet another one of the girl soccer players houses as we knew she would be gone at the school football game. We loaded up on plastic utensils and toilet paper and headed over. We did one of the most impressive jobs I've ever seen.

If you don't know what a forked lawn is, A)I'm sorry about your childhood and B) it looks something like this:

We had successfully completely covered this house in toilet paper from the roof to the trees, even the power lines and telephone pole. The lawn was covered in forks. It was like snow in september.

Suddenly a light came on... we ran and hopped in the car as we saw the garage door open. We peeled out and found ourself being chased! We didn't recognize the car or the person in it.

After we lost the car behind us we reconvened at a friends house. My friend's cell phone began ringing with an unknown number. Finally he answered it and it was someone who claimed to be a police officer saying that we needed to come back to the scene of the vandalism. Skeptical of the situation we finally went back. It really was a police officer.

While our friend was gone at the football game her stepfather saw what we had done, and thought that the perpetrator was her harassing ex boyfriend. He then jumped in his car and chased us down and once he had our license plate number the police officer gave us the lovely courtesy call. When we arrived on the scene and he saw that it was us, he laughed and made us clean it up. While we were cleaning it up our friend came home with a big WTF on her face and started taking pictures.

The police officer took all of our information and called our parents. Jokes on him, it was my mother who bought us the toilet paper and forks, for this purpose, in the first place!

What do plastic forks, my butt, and peanut butter have in common? [Part 1 of 2]

2011-03-18T14:37:00.000-07:00

High school contained some pretty ridiculously awesome experiences. One of my favorites was the ongoing rivalry that rose from amongst the soccer team. The age old battle of the sexes would play out in harmless pranks. Amongst saran/shrink wrapping cars, TP-ing houses, forking lawns and other such shenanigans two distinct experience stick out in my mind.

One night all of the guys were hanging out, them playing Halo, and myself a bit less butch chatting on AIM. (does that even exist anymore?) Suddenly we were overcome by screeching of girls and the revving of engines. We had been hit! We all rushed outside to see our cars utterly trashed. Toilet paper, cereal, maxi-pads (no they weren't used for god sake) stuck to the windows and mirrors, chocolate syrup, maple syrup, an array of condiments. You probably could have stocked your bathroom and made a meal with all the shit that was on those cars. We had to retaliate quickly, they would never expect such immediate retribution. We hosed down the cars and hopped in.

Just a little warning from hind sight. 5 teenage boys buying eggs and toilet paper in bulk at 3 am is less than subtle. After driving around for what felt like fourteen years to get the cops to stop following us we went to the house in which the girls were all having a sleep over. We sneaked around the house to the back where all the cars were parked. My brother immediately began dousing everything in sight with heavy amounts of flour, while someone else syruped the hell out of each windshield. I then ever so delicately put Vaseline on all the windshield wipers. We then TPed the hell out of it all.

But the question remained, how do we get our revenge for the maxi-pads? Condoms? Too easy... then suddenly in a moment of sheer inspired genius, I dropped my pants, smeared peanut butter across my ass and then using it like a stamp printed copies of my ass across the vehicles. I then realized I had an ass covered in peanut butter. Now what? So of course, I quickly wiped it off in the grass, much like a dog scooting along the carpet. We hopped in the cars blared linkin park to alert them of the disaster and immediately left. Amongst the rest of the chaos the ass prints went unnoticed, until they were pointed out by one of the girls' five year old sister. Guess how easy peanut butter ass prints clean off of your car? It takes about 3 carwashes and 4 car wash employees laughing the entire time.

The Elephant in the room. Literally!

2011-02-20T12:36:00.000-08:00

For my 23rd Birthday, David, my boyfriend was going to be out of town. So I decided to have a party the prior weekend at my house, so that we could celebrate together. We invited all of my friends as well as all of his.

I spent the entire week beforehand badgering him to give me my birthday present early. He insisted that he would give it to my best friend and she would then let me have it on my actual birthday while he was gone. Since he wasn't going to be around, I firmly believed that he should give me my present at the party rather than make me wait until my actual birthday. After all doesn't he want to see the happy look on my face when I open it? I clearly had no idea what this man was capable of...

Earlier in the week it simply became a fun childish game between the two of us. This was peaked by seeing a mysterious package arrive at his house. I not only interrogated him with persistent questions, but stalked his every move and constantly guessed for hints as to what it might be.

On the evening of my party he showed up with a large beautifully wrapped package. My birthday present?? He actually brought it! He set it on the table and after about 16 seconds of pretending to be polite and patient I asked him if I could open it now. Even though there were only 3 people at the party so far he relented. My excitement had built up through our going back and forth all week, and it wasn't really getting a gift that excited me, it was more or less wondering what he had picked out. What was his idea of me? What would it say about us? Well folks here is what I opened up...

Yes. That is correct. A plastic elephant that when the trunk is pushed downward, a cigarette comes out of it's ass. This is it? This is what you got me? I've spent the last several months with this man and THIS is what he thinks I want? This is what he thinks of me? [My anxiety is slightly returning as I write this] I could not believe it. I looked up at him and tried my hardest to paint on a smile. He excitedly asked "Do you like it?!" To which I simply responded "Th- tha- thanks honey" *insert horrible attempt at a grin*.

The thing is, I am terrible at hiding what I really think. Not that I ever really attempt to, but I really didn't want to hurt his feelings so I tried... and failed. It was obvious I hated it, but I kept up the charade. I tried to feign that any of my disappointment was because "I smoke 100's they wont fit." but to no avail. I literally began rethinking the relationship and just how out of touch was this boy? So pretty, so sweet, yet so completely clueless?

As friends began showing up for the party he would have me parade around and show off my gift... while in front of him I would smile "look what David got me. Isn't it funny? Ha ha." and once he left the room I would immediately turn to them "can you f***ing believe it? what the hell is that about? It's my freakin' birthday, is he crazy?!" Little did I know that every time I left the room he was informing everyone else that it was not actually my real present.

After about 3 hours of this going around the party, I am the only one that's not in on the joke. Amanda begins to see that this may just actually negatively impact the relationship if someone doesn't tell me that my boyfriend isn't that nuts. So she tells me that this is not my real present, and that she has it at her house and will give it to me on my birthday as instructed. I initially did not believe her. I thought she was just trying to give him an out, so that he could fix the situation by finding me something else and pretending it was a joke all along. Then I found out the whole party had been in on the joke the whole time. Bastards.

By the time my birthday actually rolled around all the build up from his cathartic prank had left me worn out over the situation to where I frankly was over it. However when she handed me the gift and I opened it, it was very sweet. An electronic picture frame preloaded with pictures of us. With him out of town getting this gift was indeed very sweet, and thoughtful, and did say a lot about him and how well he knew me. The first picture: him and myself with that fucking elephant. It also said a lot about his humor.

A sticky situation...

2011-02-10T09:57:00.000-08:00

A few years back I was doing a show at a hotel in Rochester. I had previously met this very attractive guy named Chris. This particular evening Chris was also in town, so after the show I quickly changed out of drag, and we hung out and continued drinking. Now, realize the bar where we were serves Long Island Green Teas in mason jars, of which I had probably a dozen, cause that's how I roll. At any rate, we proceeded to get drunk and go back up to his hotel room. Granted we were both so drunk that very little happened before we passed out...

The next morning I woke up with about an hour to go to my room, pack up and check out. As I walked down the hall to the elevator I began to feel like my left testicle was stuck to my leg...? Standing in the elevator I stood with my feet just a bit more than shoulder width apart, and began to lean to the left bending my left knee, then to the right bending my right knee... Yep. Sure enough, my balls aren't moving. Something's stuck?! BUT WHAT?! I'm kinda freaked out so I get off the elevator and quickly go to my room into the bathroom... I check below deck and there is clearly a sticky substance that is to blame for the discomfort. It appears to be... white eyelash glue? Suddenly a scene crosses my mind - two other queens Kat and Helyn may have come into my room in the middle of the night and glued my balls to my leg with lash glue... because they are crazy and had they thought of such a prank, they undoubtedly would have done it! But they didn't know what room I was in last night, so that shoots down that theory.

Suddenly it dawns on me. He was chewing gum in bed last night...

A couple minutes with some cold water and a razor, problem solved. This would make an excellent topic of discussion for brunch.

P.S.
I think I have next years Halloween costume all picked out...

While you were sleeping...

2011-02-10T09:38:00.000-08:00

First off I would like to note that an old roomate of ours the night before this happened had a creeper over to spend the night. He was weird and wasn't leaving any time soon. Not that the rest of us cared, there were drinks to be had...

It was a usual summer Sunday at the house. Jonny, Heather, and I all spent the afternoon in the sun, on the deck with mojitos and margaritas. Of course cocktails in the summer sun eventually makes you tired so I went in to the cool living room and fell asleep on the couch. After a while, faintly in my sleepy haze I heard Johnny call my name from elsewhere in the house. This halfway woke me up. What woke me up the rest of the way was an odd warm wet sensation on my foot... I woke up in a state of WTF, look down at my feet, and see Ryan's creep licking my toes! Needless to say I was stunned. I pulled my feet back and stared at him. He just looked at me with this weird "oops ive been found out" look on his face... Just then, Jonny walked around the corner and saw something screwy was up, and asked "wanna go smoke" barely awake, startled, and confused I look up at him and just nodded yes, and went out to the deck again...

Later that evening creeper was still there... we were in the living room watching a movie when Ryan and the creeper came down and sat in the chairs... we were stretched out on the floor and decided to give each other foot rubs in front of him just to mess with him. He finally left when he figured out there would be no further footsie action for his creepy ass...

Extremely hot, to extremely naked. Oops...

2011-02-02T10:14:00.000-08:00

It was Twin Cities Pride Parade 2008... Already sweating our tucked away balls off, after waiting around in full titty drag for hours in the blistering heat and sticky humidity, we finally were able to walk the mile and half trek...

Realize that during this entire process, while you all are warm in the sun standing there for the parade, wearing no shirt, and flip flops, that I am not only walking in 6 inch stilettos, I am wearing more padding than a football player, plus a good 4 to 5 layers of wigs...

[That's me on the right]

Now I've done this Parade for about the last 6 years... It's nothing new... but 2008 was one of the worst yet... of all the prides before and after, this one proved to be especially treacherous. By the time we arrived at Loring Park I was so dehydrated, and ready to be done... downing bottle after bottle of wonderful water, and sitting under the shade of a large tree, I knew there and then, I was certainly doomed to heat stroke. But, we still had a show to do...

We sat waiting for another hour until our spot on the stage was up. We finally did the god awful show. After which I rushed into the changing tent and proceeded to rip my wig and dress off with reckless abandon! I began taking off my make up with cold cream and bottled water, and stripping off the many layers of foam rubber padding, and dance tights. All I could think about was getting to heather's house and dipping in the pool to cool off and relax for the remainder of the sweltering afternoon.

The relief of being out of face was all too wonderful until I realized... Oh. Shit. The only thing I had in my bag to change into was my tanning speedo... *face-palm* the plan had been that after the park we would go to heather's to lay out and tan and go swimming. I was going to be around my close friends where nobody would care, so I didn't mind so much being scantily clad there. But right now, My car is at the beginning of the parade route, and I'm in public with every homo in the metro milling about! FML.

I mean at the time I looked more like this so it wasn't as disturbing as it might be now...

But still, I'm not one to be walking around showin' my bits like that. So I start making phone calls, but all of my friends have already left the park. I finally get a hold of Nate who has not yet left. He is parked nearby and hanging out on the other side of the park. If I could find him, he would take me to my car. Perfect. So after being changed into this strip of fabric, I shove my drag into a couple bags, throw on my shades and venture into homo-land, praying to the powers that be, not to run into anyone I know... (yeah right, ME not run into someone I know at PRIDE).

Well it was certainly too much to ask, because about 10 steps out of the tent I hear a "Hi Steven" it's My ex-boyfriend... awesome... after that awkward run-in I get about 10 steps further... "hey Steven" My other ex-boyfriend... wow, we're on a roll. Screw this... I picked up the pace and booked it to where Nate was lounging, all the time collecting whistles, gawkers, and cat calls. He wasn't ready to leave yet, of course, so I had to chill for about a half hour, in the buff, waiting... Finally when he was ready to go, we walk to his car, where I will apparently be sharing the back seat crammed with 3 other people that I have never met... more awkwardness.

I finally make it to my car and at this point I have to pee so bad because of all the water I drank after the parade. I floor it to Heathers house. Hot, exhausted, have to pee, half dead, and half naked, I stumble in the door and run for the bathroom...

All heather says, in her driest sarcasm: "Um... I think you should wear less."

Ecstasy, Hookers, & things that won't melt ice...

2011-02-01T11:27:00.000-08:00

This particular weekend was sometime in December of 2007. I was living back in Rochester for brief period of time and Ace would often come down from Minneapolis to visit. This time, like many others, we got a hotel so we could party and hang out and not disturb those whom I lived with.

The first night we decided to go to Aquarius. It was the only thing remotely resembling a nightclub in Rochester, MN and a pretty scary one at that. To give you some visual, this is the inside of Aquarius:
it is located just a little bit past this tower that resembles an ear of corn...

Yes, this is where we are choosing to go. Clearly we have been more than spoiled with our Minneapolis night life...

At any rate, this particular evening Ace and I were of course, lookin' fierce sashaying into the club... hole... whatever... We sat at the bar sipping our cocktails unable to look away from train wreck after train wreck, passing by us. As you can see from the above photo there is no shortage of nappy there.

Suddenly a coworker of mine appears out of nowhere, and comes over to say hello. She has clearly eaten a roll or 2. That's not the awkward part. She then proceeds to tell me that she is bisexual, and begins to describe the kind of girl she would like me to help her find, and proceeds to describe Ace to a T. Real subtle.... (insert emphatic eye roll here) she then proceeds to hit on Ace, telling her how she loves her apple crisp scented perfume... How many drugs are you on? Ace has two scents, Masquerade by designer Bob Mackie, and the honey scent of her burt's bees lotion. Neither, nor both in combination smell like apple crisp. We eventually pulled the "gotta go to the bathroom" line and went elsewhere.

We went outside to smoke and as we chatted some guy in the far corner of the patio kept looking over at us for unsettling periods of time. We couldn't figure out though, if it was me or her that he kept looking at. Eventually he turned and made a bee line directly for us, and began talking to us. He claimed he just moved there from Florida for some sort of forensic investigation college degree program. Wait, rewind... you're saying you moved all the way from Florida to go to Rochester Community and Technical College for forensic science? I was born at night, but it wasn't last night.

Moving right a long we eventually go back to tend to our cocktails. Eventually this guy comes through the bar and finds us, and invites me... just me... over to meet his wife and friends. This is odd, but I decide to humor the poor fool. I follow him over to said "wife"... she was clearly a hooker. I'm not even close to joking. I've seen enough of the seedier side of life to be well aware... Her lip liner looked like it was done with a sharpie. I've seen graffiti more elegant and blended than her makeup, and she was wearing more cheap Claire's rhinestones than a baby drag queen at her first pageant. Abortions look more life like.... Next to his "wife" was another hot mess, "sensual sales associate" if you will. Next to her was a Hispanic fellow in a plumb velvet suit (WTF) and cowering next to him was a smaller younger Hispanic male who seemed to be his bitch (best part is, I look white, so Hispanic people don't expect me to understand when they speak Spanish). After meeting all of them I exchanged pleasantries and went back to find Ace.

Not long after that, this guy came back to find me once again and this time invited me to come sit with me in some strange attempt to separate me from Ace... you're dumber than a flock of Palins if you think that's ever going to happen. I brought her with me, they sat me with them and she kind of stood back and watched. You could see Professor Plumb discomforted by her presence and it was not long before Ace and I dipped out of the club completely. It was obvious that whatever these people were into it was a cash only business... drugs, guns, or sex. And from the looks of it, it was the last one and they were scouting me out.

We left, passing by my strung out and now vomiting coworker, hopped in the car an with all the December freezing rain we practically sledded back to the hotel in the car....

The following morning I woke up with an issue of personal health and pain. Due to stresses and many other external circumstances I was not well and needed to go to the E.R. So we went to get in the car to go to the doctor. Unfortunately, we were parked on a slope, on inches of ice, in a rear wheel drive vehicle. There was no leaving any time soon. But this was an emergency, so we immediately began to think of ways to get the car out. The hotel had nothing that could help us and we hadnt prepared for such an event... What could we put under the tires....?

The night before we bought something called Vampyre Vodka:

It's all cool that it looks like blood and all, but it tasted syrupy and gross so we didn't drink a whole lot of it. We had nothing else so we figured since it doesn't freeze we might be able to throw it under the tires and maybe spin into some kind of traction... Not even close. Instead we spun the tires flinging what looked like blood all over the snow. The car is still stuck and it looks like we have brutally slaughtered someone with the car and just kept spraying blood from under the tires! It was quite the sight...

Something like this:

Next we tried jamming cardboard under the tires... what did we have to lose? But it too was to no avail...

I then thought... "hey, sand would help!" ...one flaw: we didn't have sand... so we tried coffee grounds... I'm sure you can guess there was no luck here either... The car was still in the same place and all we had done was make a rather disturbing accident scene. Between the grounds and the vodka it looked like someone went through a wood chipper...

Meanwhile, this entire time another hotel customer had been watching us from his window laughing. He came down and pulled two large metal spades from his truck so we could chip the ice away. I was too excited for the relief of the spades to be at all upset that he had just been sitting there laughing the entire time. We finally chipped the ice away and were free. I went to the doctor and everything ended just fine.

And the saga continues...

Painted Blind - Literally.

2011-01-29T15:48:00.000-08:00

In 9th grade science we were assigned to yet another horrific, group project. We were split into groups and assigned to build a rocket out of pop cans, a 2 liter bottle, and cardboard. We had to think of everything from the center of gravity, to the aerodynamics, weight, etc. We would be graded on two things: distance, and art. And we were only allowed to use a certain amount of each material.

My strategy: F*ck distance get an A on the art aspect. The reality was, we were in NO way shape or form going to do well on the distance aspect, and frankly I didn't give enough of a damn to put that much effort into a two liter bottle... so I cheated. When I took home the mangled piece of crap we came up with in class, to be painted, I built an entirely new, sleeker, sturdier and more aesthetically pleasing trajectory than the ball of aluminum and tape we had come up with in class. I used whatever materials I wanted, because once painted, who's going to know?

The rocket was complete and ready to be painted. It was going to be epic. I was going to spray paint it silver, fading into copper at the base with hand painted flames streaking down the nose.

I went into the basement to get the spray paint. I went to my room to grab my flip flops before heading to the garage to begin the artistic process. As I reached down to pick up my sandals, the can of copper spray paint slipped from my arm and struck a metal bracket that held the door in place. It struck it at just the perfect point near the top of the can that it punctured the can...

Suddenly a copper mist is filling my bedroom. Like an ethereal being from some fairy tale movie. Only this was a bit more of a horror scene, suddenly everything was getting hosed down in copper! I grabbed the can in a flurry of panic, trying to think of how to defuse the situation quickly with the least amount of damage. I tried to place my thumb, my hand, anything, over the spewing puncture, but to no avail, the pressure was too great. In my attempts to do so I ended up spraying it everywhere else, including all over my chest, and face, and eyes.

Blinded, my eyes practically sealed shut with spray paint, I remembered that the bathroom across the hall was being remodeled and was torn apart, if I toss it in that shower it will be the least damaging rather than trying to get it outside or anything else. [Or maybe at this point my fourteen year old brain was high off of all the fumes. Who's to say?] I felt my way across the hallway, leaving a trail of copper paint sprayed across the hall ceiling and copper hand prints groping at the doorways and knobs. I tossed the can in the shower and opened the window. Then frantically began to rinse my eyes for fear I might go blind!

It was no use. I could see nothing. I needed help. The only people home were my brother and my napping mother. I found my way halfway up the stairs calling for my mom, brother whoever I could find. My brother came to the stairs and turned on the light, revealing my bronzed image. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" He got my mom who washed my eyes out and began scrubbing the copper off my face. My dad came home and saw me looking like a bronze statue you would see in a local park or town square, and immediately burst into laughter... a better response than I expected, indeed.

Eventually after the humor of the situation subsided and the spray paint fumes began to win, we were forced to go out for a while leaving all windows open and fans on.

I completed the rocket project at a later date, and yes, our rocket took first in artistic presentation. Damn right, it did!

Great Balls Of Fire

2011-01-29T14:46:00.000-08:00

My brother has a problem. It's called burning stuff. Besides the fireworks you can buy in stores and the occasional blowing things up in the microwave I remember a few moments vividly...
Once in high school he was melting salt peter and sugar on the stove in yet another attempt at one of his homemade explosives. When he realized it was getting too hot he reached (over the smoldering mass) to turn off the stove, at which point the concoction exploded sending tiny searing flecks of blackness burning into his arm.

Another time he had the ingenious idea of stealing copper sulfate from chemistry class, because it burns green and that's just plain cool. He stuck some on a fork, in the kitchen, and ignited it. My thoughts: "Now WTF are you going to do with it??" His thoughts: "PRETTY!" ...until he realized that standing in the middle of the kitchen with burning copper sulfate on a fork may not have been the brightest of ideas. At which point he went outside and flung it on the ground where he watched the pretty green flame of wonder until it burnt itself out.

This obsession with fire, and lack of foresight began at a very early age. I did not participate in nor encourage his pyromaniac tendencies, and here is precisely why...

When I was about 8 years old we lived in a house in very small town in southeast Minnesota. Our back yard contained a small garden and a very old barn sitting on an acre of land. Directly behind our property was a High School, complete with baseball diamond, soccer fields, decent sledding hills, and a drainage ditch. A great set up for 5 through 9 year old boys... to get into trouble.

One fall day my brother decided it would be a good idea to gather dry leaves, chunks of old barn wood, and whatever dried stuff from the garden he could find and light it on fire... in a five gallon bucket. I knew this was not going to go well so I followed him in hopes to keep him from having to stop drop and roll. His idea of thinking ahead was holding this fire near the small drainage creek so there would be water nearby.

I watched from a safe distance as he lit the rubbish on fire. The flames began to get higher and higher, licking the sides of the bucket and leaping out the top. It was getting out of control fast so I ran over and picked up the ice cream bucket he had next to him, that contained very little water. I quickly dunked it in the creek to get more water and splashed it on the fire.

Obviously the intended result is that the flames would be extinguished. But of course nothing is that simple in my world. Little did I know that ice cream bucket did not contain little water, it contained LIGHTER FLUID. Thus rather than extinguishing the fire, the flames soared in the air like a fiery dragon of vengeance leaping from the very depths of hell! Imagine my 8 year old shock when the perceived water caused an explosion comparable to a super nova...

As the sides of the bucket began to melt and cave in, my brother kicked the bucket over into the creek... mind you this is the creek in which i accidentally introduced lighter fluid by dunking the bucket in my initial junior fire fighter attempt. The flames being dumped into the creek lit the lighter fluid in a streak of flames that floated atop the water for what seemed like a mile long stretch in my young mind.

Dumbfounded.

We watched to be certain all flames burnt out and nothing else caught fire. And luckily no other plant life surrounding the creek caught fire or we would have been entirely screwed.

Good Intentions-0, Holy Crap-1

I have cancer.... just kidding.

2011-01-16T20:35:00.000-08:00

Last summer I was out on the town for yet another night of debauchery with Mike. If I remember correctly (and there's not much of that night I remember at all), we began at the 90's and meandered through the bars down Hennepin and landed at Gladius just before last call. We were lit like Christmas trees. The next thing I know I woke up with no idea where I was... suddenly it all started coming back to me... not my classiest night. It had been clear that I left the bar with a gentlemen who was apparently living in a hotel room. Nothing had actually transpired that night except for the part where I recall him blubbering to me about how he has cancer and doesn't trust men etc. etc.

That morning I sprung up, got dressed and booked it to work, but not before he handed me his number and got mine. For what? So I can continue to council him more on how having a potentially fatal illness is not the end of the world? Talk about his trust issues? Wasn't really a great night... I never heard from him so I didn't really worry much about it.

A month later I'm at the saloon. My brother is bar tending at Gladius and sends me a text that someone is there looking for me. That's odd. It's almost bar close and I'm heading down that way cause we're parked there anyway. I get there and it's the mistrusting cancer victim. I walk in and walk right PAST him and he doesn't see me. I go back to the kitchen and talk to Tina who tells me he seems a little loose in the noggin and I should just duck out the back. Of course that's not me, I just go right up to him and start chatting. And the conversation goes similar to this...

cancer boy: You never called me.
me: You never called me, either.
cancer boy: Well I was scared.
me: of what?
cancer boy: I have to tell you something.
me: go for it.
cancer boy: I don't really have cancer.
me: why was I expecting you to say that?
fake cancer boy: I was just really scared.
me: of what?
fake cancer boy: That you wouldn't like me and now I feel really bad.
me: well it didn't win you any points. and not only did you lie, you lied about having cancer. who does that?!
fake cancer boy: so you probably don't want to go out with me?
me: Yeah, no.

And with that I went back in for another drink.
I'm flypaper for crazy.

It's a small world...and an awkward one at that...

2011-01-16T18:36:00.000-08:00

Recently I was at the bar (big shock) and Heather and I were waiting for Joe to show up with his new man interest. When he showed up, I began realizing who said man was as he crossed the bar. I had already met said man (we'll call him Albert).

A while back I agreed to go on a kind of date with Albert. We went to his place, drank wine and chatted. Nothing too crazy but very very enjoyable. He was cute, smart, funny, charming... as Heather would say (and later did say) "What's his 'but-'?" As the night continued on he his 'but' came out. He's a pianist, a musical genius really, and was playing me a most beautiful song that he had written... for his funeral. That is correct. He had apparently been fairly recently suicidal. After that conversation, he began asking me what I thought about moving in with him. Then invited me to his birthday party where I would be introduced to his family and all his extended relatives. Um... wait what? Back up... I need to get off this crazy train.

You have probably already guessed that things did not progress passed the first date. You would be right. Now fast forward a few months. Mid July I am at a bar for a friend's birthday. I swing around the open area of the bar to get another drink, because if you know me you probably also guessed that my drinks are always empty. In waiting for my next dose of vodka I receive a text from Albert... and said conversation goes as follows

Albert: Don't look so lonely over there Steven.

Me: That's creepy. Where are you? And I'm not lonely, I'm getting a drink.

Albert: Well then don't stand at the loneliest part of the bar.

Me: Still creepy. And why would I stand in a crowd to get a drink? Where are you?

Albert: I'm here waiting for my bf so don't try anything.

Me: Yeah add that to the list of things that aren't going to happen. Later.

At this point I'm annoyed and creeped out. Crazy train is somewhere lurking in the darkness of this bar and I can't see him but he can see me. I'm outta here. I don't need to turn around and get shanked by a stalker, I have to be at work tomorrow.

Fast forward back to when Joe brings this guy to the bar. They are happily sitting in a booth with Heather, and I'm hanging out on the opposite side of the bar with some other friends. As I look over they get out of their booth and a fourth has apparently joined them. This guy we'll call Edgar... I don't know his actual name anyway... Approximately a month prior Edgar asked directions to a nearby hotel. I described said directions but he just want quite following what I was saying... I was leaving soon and walking that way anyway so I told him if he waits a couple minutes I can just walk him there on my way to a friend's.

While walking him there I begin to realize this goober is tweaked. Luckily it was a short walk. When we got there I was about to say deuces when he informs me that he realized he left his phone wallet and hotel key locked in his hotel room. So go to the front desk and ask for a new key. Well it's not actually HIS hotel room. It's someone else's, and he was there for a "party."
This is the part where I exit the scene. I tell him he should go see what they can do at the front desk while i go to the bathroom. I go to the bathroom, duck behind a ledge and sneak around him and out the door. Babysitting tweakers is not my deal. Besides, that's cuttin' into mama's drinkin' time.

Now they're both sitting with friend's of mine in the bar... good god, at least "fake cancer boy" isn't here too. That's a story for another day.

Things that aren't worth braving a blizzard for... here's one of them!

2010-12-27T08:48:00.000-08:00

This story takes place at a pretty crappy time in my life. Things weren't panning out and I ended up moving back to a smaller town with some friends. I was really not happy about it. This particular town held a lot of painful memories and at the time I did not like being there...

I met this guy will call him Bob. He was nice enough, and after initially meeting him he found me online and we began chatting here and there. We talked about a few different things and amongst those things it came up that I sincerely dislike the town we lived in, and it also came up that I hate Christmas... (now it's not like my only role is bitter old queen and this was the extent of the conversation, but these are key points that will come up later) I really don't like Christmas, though. The decorations are tacky, the music is painful, and people get crazy.

At any rate, "Bob" eventually asked me on a date, to which I agreed. Come the night of said date it was nearing Christmas time, and we got hit hard with a sh!t ton of snow. I told him that evening that we didn't need to go out, the weather was proving more dangerous by the minute and we could post pone for a later date, not that big of a deal. But he persisted and insisted that we go out that night, so I eventually gave in.

He arrived at my house to pick me up and when I got in the car he handed me over a dozen red roses. Jeez, that's kind of a lot for a first date. Not only that but it made the ride to the restaurant even MORE scary, because not only were we sliding all over in the snow and ice, i couldn't see over the flowers!

We got to the restaurant and were seated. As most restaurants this time of year, this one was decorated with huge decorations and playing jingle bell rock and other various covers and mixes of the same 4 crappy holiday songs you always hear. But I tuned it out as always, I mean I don't personally care for it but I'm not going to get all huffy every time it's around, whats the sense in that? Bob then began singing a long with each song, laughing at how I hate Christmas and pointing out how majestic each decoration was. Now THAT was irritating. It was like an instigating sibling that's just trying to work your nerves. Then the conversation began... he started asking me questions... and not the kind of questions you would generally start a conversation with, just one after another. It was literally like Bob and morphed into a living myspace quiz. "What's your favorite food?" "Favorite color?" "Diamonds or Pearls?" I was expecting him to tell me what Lord of the Rings character I was by the end of the night.

Dinner was over and by this point Mr. Personality over here had successfully bored me and annoyed me between his taunting Christmas banter and his "if you were a deciduous tree in the middle of French Guiana what kind of tree would you be?" He then asked what I wanted to do next. I really just wanted to bail and go bury myself in a bottle of homemade wine, so I just said "I should probably head home, its getting pretty bad out, but thanks so much for dinner it was very nice." Suddenly he was driving toward the edge of town... um wrong direction chucko! I asked where he was going and all he said was "taking you somewhere special"... We were now on the outskirts of town, driving uphill, on a very winding and curvy road through the woods in the dark, in the snow. All I could think was "have you never seen a horror movie before?" But I just sat there trying not to die. We almost went into a ditch about 4 times, almost hit an oncoming car twice, and almost a dear once. But we didn't actually get into any harm, somehow. He then parks the car at the top of a very high and steep hill, overlooking none other than the town he knows I hate. He has now successfully made all of the things he knows I don't like a point of interest in this evening.

I really can't believe we almost crashed about seven times for this. He's all proud of himself, a real romantic. He then looks at me and breaks the silence with "Did you have a bad childhood?"
Wait, what?! Who says that?! I just looked at him with god knows what kind of look on my face, "Uh...no. Not at all, why?" He then leans in to kiss me. Am i missing something? What signal was I giving that said "kiss me"?! I put my hand up and stop him. "Sorry I just can't." "Oh" he says "I should probably take you home" to which I of course agreed.

I went home put the flowers in a vase in the kitchen, and proceeded to hang out with the men who have always been my lovely silent companions, Ben & Jerry.

Stilettos and Broken Bottles, I'm Spinning Around In Circles. A True Story.

2010-12-24T01:48:00.000-08:00

This all happened when my friend's and I traveled to a drag event out of town. Not just anywhere, dear reader! We were going to a bustling metropolis, a kind of emerald city even. It was none other than the big apple itself - Des Moines, Iowa...? Now I know what you're thinking "Des Moines? That's not big." Well it is when it's 3 am and your stranded in the midst of it in full titty drag and you haven't the foggiest clue in hell of anything other than the fact that you are indeed in Iowa. But we'll get to that part of the story...

So the trip began swimmingly. We carted our happy asses down from Minneapolis in a caravan with all the usual antics a long the way... you know, everyone queening out to the radio, making the general cutty comments jokes and one-liners, generally flaming out, and pausing only to torture anyone who may have fallen asleep in the car along the way. We check into our lovely rooms at the Embassy sweets, the poor unwitting lads with nary a clue what was about to hit that hotel... We began the first night getting in face and heading down to the bar for the beginning of the weekend. After a few drinks I was cornered by a very large fellow, who sat there whining my ear off about shit I don't care about. Finally after I could handle no more, and I had consumed all liquor within my grasp I used the "I have to pee - be right back" line, and immediately began looking for my friends. I buzzed about the entire bar in search of anyone from my party, but to no avail. They clearly had gotten drunk and forgotten me. I then asked someone if they had seen my friends, and they informed me that they had gone to another bar. In fact this queen and her friend were on their way to said bar and would give me a lift. Sounds like a plan to me. Except she was full of shit. Probably the same shit she had caked on her mug in an effort to look like a lady...

Anyway, the bitch lied, my friends never went there. And wouldn't you know her friend ditched the two of us (luckily along with her car) at the bar. So here I sit with this drunken train wreck queen at a bar Ive never heard of, in Iowa. Then another false hope arrives. One of the people I came down with was hanging with some locals and ended up at the same bar. We devised that he was going to go back to the same hotel this queen was staying at and i would drive her car there as well, meet him and go back to our hotel. So I stuffed the mess into her car, hopped in and she directed me to her hotel. My friend never showed up to pick me up. Who didn't see THAT one coming? So here I am stuck at her hotel. WTF am I going to do? I dont even know where my hotel is. I dont even know where I am? I turn to the drunken mess confused and extremely annoyed and without a thought she snatches her keys from me and drunkenly slurs "yerrr not shtaken myyy car bitsch." As if I were even going to ask to take a strangers car, but how rude! She then offered that I could stay there with her and her friends. Oh, in hell! I was out. Deuces bitches, this queen has had it.

I turned and walked out the door through the parking lot towards a general area of the city where things seemed to be more lit up. Having no idea where I was, and much less where I was headed I just kept hoofin' it. Six inches of stilettos, ten inches of hair and a few feet of train sashaying aimlessly down the streets of Des Moines and not a soul in sight.

In the meantime, while I'm trying to figure out where the hell I am, my friends have made their way back to the hotel, insanely drunk. One of which, Heather, has decided that (s)he has not had enough to drink yet, and would love a glass of wine. However he has overlooked that while we picked up wine along the way, we neglected to bring a corkscrew. His drunken solution? I'll just break it open! His line of thought went something like this:

This was not the case. Banging the bottle seemed to be useless. Instead he took three huge chunks out of the bathroom counter before he realized that it wasn't real granite. Then he remembered that the kitchen sink was metal and thus the real life result was more like this:

In the mean time Travis had cleverly used a car key to push the cork of the other wine bottle all the way into the bottle in order to pour the wine. Heather, wasted and proud of herself for getting the bottle open held up her prize i.e. what was left of the bottom of the shattered wine bottle full of wine and shards of glass. "Got some!" she probably would have attempted to drink it had Travis not pulled it from her crazy clutches.

Meanwhile here you have me wondering the streets of butt f*ck Egypt not knowing which way is up, down, and under... and not a soul to ask directions... until, oh shit, an old rusty red suburban slowly pulls up next to me. The window slowly rolls down. I am greeted by an older african american gentleman by the name of "Bubba" - I can't make this shit up- "You need a ride somewhere?" he asks. Oh my god. This guy could kill me and rape my eyeball sockets and leave me for dead in the middle of a corn field and no one would ever find me!!! ...OR he could take me back to my hotel, and drop me off... I figured to hell with it, if he doesn't kill me somebody else is going to if i don't get back to the hotel. I'll take my chances at this point. So I hop on in, and luckily something decent happens, he takes me to my hotel, tells me how pretty I am and drops me off. [Bubba, wherever you are, you are a fking angel!]

So I proceed to go to our room... Half of my stuff is soaked in wine?! WTF? The entire ROOM is soaked in wine! It looked like someone hosed down the hotel with a fire hose full of RED WINE! What fresh gay hell happened?! At this point everyone was passed out, save Joseph, how told me the whole ridiculous story of what I missed.

The following day we scampered around the hotel hanging around, up to nothing generally good. We hung by the pool a while and of course the hot tub. We came across a very attractive man from New Zealand, which of course each of the boys felt inclined to compete for while heather and I just rolled our eyes. It was time for us to get ready for the evenings events, so we went up to drink and get ready. A little while later the New Zealander was in the other hotel room we had accompanying our friends. By this point Joey was rather inebriated and couldn't handle the fact that this man just might be interested in someone that well, wasn't him. Half of his foundation on he stumbles next door in nothing but a towel and begins to hit on the man. I pull his drunk ass back to the other room and tell him to chill out, eat something, and continue getting ready. Of course he doesn't listen, and practically runs back in to the other room. Heather and I immediately follow to see how much more of a fool he could possibly make of himself. And let me tell you, we sure underestimated him!! He practically flung himself on this man. We walked in to the room to see him wearing, again, only a towel and a little drag make up, on his knees on the floor asking this man rather loudly, why he would be interested in any of the others, because he is prettiest of all. Wow. Heather and I immediately sprang into action almost as if we had done this before, I grabbed his arms, and Heather grabbed his legs and carried his now stark naked ass, kicking and screaming back into the other room.

After being force fed a few bites of pizza, Heather decided to give him a caffeine pill to push the alcohol through his system faster. This was yet another in a long line of poorly thought out decisions made that weekend. We continued getting ready for the evening as Joey began to sway in front of the mirror. Heather was getting irate at this point, and to avoid any further catastrophe or loss of life I offered to assist him, by which I mean paint his face for him. I got through half of one eye before he could no longer sit up on his own. So pinned to the bed by my knees I held his eyes shut while I tried to finish. Suddenly his eyes popped open with a look of panic. He had to pee. Bad. His attempts at standing up failed, much less walking, so I hobbled the drunk to the bathroom, helped him shuck his pants and sat him on the toilet (god knows im not going to hold it for him! there's only so much I'm willing to do). When all was better again I walked him back to the bed and just let him lay there for a while, when suddenly he needed the toilet again but this time to vomit! He didn't say it, I could just see it. so i rushed him to the bathroom and leaned him over the jon. His hands bracing him directly above the throne, he leaned to the left and puked on the floor. "NO! over! over! to the right!" he moves his head back right and again missing the toilet puked in the bathtub! I grabbed his head and held it in place above the toilet while he continued to let the rest out. He then proceeded to pass out on the floor next to the toilet... yes in his vomit. I quickly finished getting ready and we had to leave. Heather mercilessly tosses him a pillow and we head out.

It was my turn to get drunk. It had been quite the weekend and I was ready for a cocktail, or 27. Travis later returned to the hotel picked Joseph up off the floor, pieced him together, and brought him down to the bar. I continued getting drunk and having a good time... I think.

The next day I woke up... in a car... a car I had never been in before with someone I didn't actually know but only vaguely remembered. We were obviously following my friends back to Minneapolis so I wasn't terribly alarmed, but why the hell was this guy coming with us? At the next rest stop I pulled Joey and Travis aside to ask wtf was going on. Apparently the night before Travis had convinced me to agree to date this guy... apparently he was now my boyfriend? and coming back with us for the day? Oh my god, someone bring me another drink. Needless to say that lasted about half as long as Brittney Spears' Vegas marriage.

What do Buffy, Wonder Woman, and Shiny Disco Balls have in common?

2010-12-22T14:44:00.000-08:00

The worst date ever. That's what.

It all began when my roommate (clearly the one with the least amount of foresight) somehow came up with the idea that all three of us living together should have a kind of triple date. Rather hesitant to the notion, said roommate took it upon himself to find me a date. He procured a rather charming (seeming) and attractive (seeming via photo) gentleman friend of his for me to go out with. After some convincing I agreed to his plan. Each of us three would go about on our separate dates for dinner and all meet up afterwards for a night of cocktails and glamour at the La Femme Lounge at the Gay 90's. Sure it all seemed well enough on paper... then that evening came...

It was a chilly winter night in Minnesota and I trucked it to a Northeast Minneapolis neighborhood, my date decided that he would cook us dinner. Nice enough of a thought... but this being my first meeting with him I was still unsure what to think. But I figured if he's my roommates friend chances are he's not going to murder me, chop me up, and serve me to future dates, so I haven't much to worry about in the way of safety...

At any rate, I arrived at the top of a steep staircase at this fellow’s apartment. First off the photo I had been shown was certainly nothing taken within the prior five to ten years. Furthermore I must say that from here on out I find it rather difficult to express the awkwardness in conversation and the subtle yet clear personality clash so I will merely try to give you a taste of the scene itself.

Walking in to the place was a rather odd experience... with furniture rather askew to say the least, i.e. at the front door one is greeted by the back of a couch barely a foot away. As I looked up from the imposing sofa I saw directly pushed in front of it a Byōbu? Confused by what might behind this screen, my eyes searched up toward the ceiling from which was suspended none other than a disco ball illuminating whatever might be behind the partition... ok I’m getting a bit freaked out here. I'm sure if this guy had any perceptive capability he would have realized the giant "WTF" written across my face with what may as well have been permanent marker. He then in one foul swoop swishes away the screen to reveal none other than.... a card table and folding chairs! Surprise!! Oh you charmer you... set with two Santa clause place settings. How romantic! Disco ball and everything... and having to climb over the back of the couch to get to it. Ok then...

Dinner wasn’t quite ready yet so he decided to give me the grand tour... so we make our way into the next room... the living room, again, the back of the couch blocking the entry one had to climb over as gracefully as possible... was this some kind of sick test? Or was it the home of MC Escher? In this room he was romantically playing a VHS or a fireplace with some god awful Christmas music... then he began to show me piece by piece shelf by shelf of his towering wonder woman collection. Dolls, boxed sets of both VHS and DVD, and other paraphernalia. *blink*blink* Hey everybody's got their hobby right? From here we moved on, climbing back over couches and such, and a long the way meeting many a magazine collage of Buffy the vampire slayer gracing each wall of each room...

Finally dinner was ready. At this point I had no idea what to think or expect. He brought out a pot of spaghetti, which in and of itself was fine, however I ate rather little. At this point we still had quite a bit of time left before meeting my roommates at the nine oh. His suggestion? Let's watch Wonder Woman! We proceeded to watch episode upon episode of wonder woman. Now I'm not dissing the show itself by any means - but at this point I was WWed out and bored to tears. Then he started making passes... at this point I had no choice. Time to feign ill! I successfully dodged the situation as it was starting to get a bit too personal for me. I proceeded to say fuck it, and went to the 90s to see how my roommate’s nights had turned out.

As it turns out neither of my roommates dates made it to the final event of the evening either. And furthermore when I asked my roommate what exactly it was that he thought I would have in common with this fellow, he confessed he was some random guy he found online.

This is my life.

A Manic Mondays Mugging:How I got hit on, and mugged simultaneously-all while burning calories!

2010-12-22T11:42:00.000-08:00

So this lovely charming afro american nutcase was following me saying all kinds of stuff to me tryin to pick me up... and he was offering me crack... and offering me sex in a random park... then asked me for 20$ so he could (admittedly) get more crack... incase you wondered, my response was a wildly irritated, and furiously adgitated, emphatic "NO!"... now you see monday in crack world, is opposite day, or so i gathered because at this point he seemed to think we were now dating, if not married... after turning him down and giving him EVERY reason to leave me the hell alone (save calling the "PO PO" as i didnt want to get, cut, beat, stabbed, and or shot) he insisted on giving me his number (WTF?!) and agreed if i put it in my phone and called him the next day (yeah, right...) he'd go the fuck away... so im like, FINE... and put his goddamn number in my phone... at which point he found it best to forcefully borrow my precious blackberry, and began questioning any possible cahoots with the police (because i so exude the presence of a cop, are you kidding??) In my futile attempt to retrieve my valued lifeline of technology, my temporarily forgotten digital camera fell from the hoodie of my pocket onto the boulevard. At which case his cracked mind noticed first and swiped it while my attention was turned to the phone he had already obtained.

FUCKity Fuck... DIRTY RAT BASTARD!

At this point his ingeniously cracked brain decided to use these two items as a lure down some unknown street to that same random park... I at first started to follow trying to get back my stolen treasures, and quickly realized after about half a block, that he was straying me from a more public place... pfft. I dont think so dickweed...

apparently a few blocks down someone had shot a cop. (good god, what a monday?!?!) and there were police zooming back and forth. so Mr. Crack-a-lack-a-ding dong had to get outta site ASAP.

Greeeeaaat...

so im running after him, and telling him if he gives me my belongings back, twenty dollars will magically appear from my pocket toward his habit. At which point he cloned himself. a much older version whom he referred to as his cousin, appeared from some shadow, apparently following accross the street the entire time... hot. this fabeled "cousin" decided to begin tellin me that i could give HIM the 20 bucks and then he would go get my stuff down the block and bring it back to me.

Ok, now i realize i havent played the smartest of cards at this time, but for f'ck sake, give me a LITTLE credit... really? I mean, I WAS born at night, but not LAST night... i told him to back off, fuming pissed queen mode... fortunately this dousche bag would rather have 20$ now for crack than a 200$ phone and 90$ camera to sell... thank God this dude had an addiction to feed (never thought i would say that! *shrug). so he began to return briefly to make the quick exchange, i pulled a wad of 1's and a 5 from my pocket, which added up to maybe 14$ and as quickly as I could tried to make the swap. I successfully retrieved the more expensive and more important cell phone, as his "cuz" was naturally assisting his "brotha" (dont know how you can be someones cousin and brother...? is this an "im my own grandpa" or "my daughter is my aunt" situation?? ... ok wildly inappropriate, i admit...). securing my phone i lunged for the camera, at which point i found the attempt less than worthwile, as they began to get even nuttier... in reaction to the crazy in their eyes, i decided to lunge back the otherway til i got to a lighted area. called the cops, who showed up unexpectedly quick, and took my report.

Jokes on them... the DUMBASS MADE ME SAVE HIS PHONE NUMBER IN MY CELL PHONE!! HA HA. (Not that the mpls police ever actually do anything remotely useful).

Out of the mouths of babes

2010-12-22T11:32:00.001-08:00

The most adorable terror named Matthew was at my apartment, yesderday. He was over to bite my roomate's ankles, and play with the newly born kittens, video games, and endless array of model cars. Any six year old's idea of a good time, naturally. The first thing out of the childs mouth was "I have a headache... and I have diarhea... and this kid in kindergarten punched me in the stomach today... it sucked. and my favorite girlfriend invited me to her birthday party. she's asian. her last name is "hong" that's why she's chinese..." I honestly don't remember the rest... now I know how people feel when I talk.

I was getting things ready to leave to go talk at a teen council meeting on sexuality and gender, etc., and then to minneapolis for a couple days. As I was bumping around the house, doing this and that, I suddenly heard the miscreant's voice behind me..."Why are you wearing a girls sweatshirt?!" he asked.

"It's not a girl's sweatshirt." I chuckled. "Why do you think it's a girls sweatshirt?!"

"Oh." he responded "Well, for a minute there, I thought you were gay or something."

Laughing, I looked down at the perplexed child and replied "But, I am gay."

Seeming confused and somewhat worried, he plopped down on the couch for a moment. Suddenly he sprang up shouting "OH SHOOT!" and ran into my roomates room, seeking shelter from the giant raging homo in a "girls sweatshirt."

Moments later, he said he wasn't actually scared, and was just pretending/joking. And was once again back to minature skateboard tricks and informing me of his diarhea.

How charming.

Good Idea/Bad Idea

2010-12-22T11:21:00.000-08:00

I have recently found myself with a few extra days to myself. Leaving one job, and awaiting the start date of a new position, I have about 8 extra hours a day to kill... As much as we are all well aware of how much I LOVE to sleep, after 15 hours in bed its time to get up and do something, eh?

Now, It's not that I have nothing to do... I have a lot I could and/or should be doing. But my Gemini mind requires much change and variety throughout my day... i.e. I'm easily distracted by shiny objects, blinking lights, pointy things, and the occasional butterfly. Thus I have found myself in some rather ridiculously yet entertaining circumstances.

Friday morning I woke up, and went into the bathroom to proceed with the daily grooming routines... Upon opening the medicine cabinet I saw the package of Nads I had recently obtained from walgreens, and had since neglected. I figured "Hell, I've got time, why not?!" so i carefully read all the directions and proceeded to apply the sticky shit in the direction of my chest hair growth. Then I applied the strip and smoothed it with the palm of my hand. At which point I looked at myself in the mirror -oh shit- what had I done? it dawned on me at that moment, that I was past the point of turning back. I could no longer even simply wash it off with warm water and be done with it. so i held my skin taut, closed my eyes, and in one swift motion jerked the strip up - then out, to avoid hitting myself in the face. i looked in the mirror and whimpered. The result was atrocious. 1 bare spot in the middle of my chest, that looked like something from the 40 Year Old Virgin . That fucking sucked! i sat there looking at the strip of hair. thinking... fuck now what?! so i just kept going. before i knew it the four strips provided in this kit were used up. i had random sparse hairs all over... and was beginning to break out like i had been attacked by 27 hives of bees. SHIT. I obviously had done this wrong, even with my strict adherence to the directions. I called my best friend and let her know of the tragedy that was my chest. And have gotten further help from professionals on how to make my chest look less like a freshly plucked chicken.

About four days later, my chest still healing from the immensely painful atrocity that was my self waxing job. I found it once again necessary to find ways to entertain myself. I went to Variety Beauty to pick up a few new wigs for the coming show, and then at Walgreens to grab a few more necesseties for the house and smokey cancerous treats for my lungs. Amongst the mighty aisles of ointments, tampons, and other various drug store goodies, I turned the corner and beheld a wall of hair dyes. I generally prefer my hair Jet Black for its sweet versatility. i.e. It blends with my wigs for drag, makes my eyes pop as a boy, and no one at work gives a shit. But since I don't have to start working til next week, and I wont be doing drag for a few more weeks, my decision this time landed on a lovely box of "Splat! Blue Envy." I got home and after fucking around with wigs for a hot minute decided to open said box of Blue Envy Hair dye. I proceeded with the bleaching process first, for more intense rebellious hair color. My scalp lit on fire almost instantly. The burn was insufferable. Thus I opted in a matter of seconds, to wash out the bleach and go for that more "subtle blue tint." After washing out the bleach I dried off my hair and slapped on the blue shit. after a while of dancing around the living room and fucking with wigs a bit longer I went in to wash it out... And here is where we run into issues. I popped a little shampoo into the balm of my hand, lathered it up in my scalp, and bent over under the bathtub faucet, as I have done so many times with black hair dying. didn't seem to have too many issues, until i realized the blue was not coming off of my hands... and not like any other hair dye either. it wasn't just light traces, staining my hands, it looked like i had just finished fist fucking an Oompa Loompa. I went to the sink to scrub my hands clean, which apparently was not an option... dismayed at my lack of progress I dropped my hands and glanced up in the mirror. I looked like the biggest fucking blue pen in the world just exploded all over my face. Washing my hair didn't really clean the dye off of me it just made the dye run from my hair to my face. I was fucking blue. It felt like the time I had a can of copper spray paint explode all over me... but that's a different story. I picked up the old towel I had already been using, and exfoliated everything the dye had touched. I was mostly successful in freeing my face of the blue ink stains, and my hands are now generally clean, but my hair is barely tinted if that, and my cuticles are stained for good, it seems.

Moral of the story... this DIY shit is for the birds. I do not prefer to look like a smurf with hives, and therefor I have decided that I will no longer allow myself to do any sort of my own semi permanent body oriented maintenance, not under direct supervision of a responsible adult.