Hello gentle Americans.   What a difference a day makes, 24 little hours.  ‘EAT ME!’ opened last night at the UU THEATER and I must tell you I am so grateful that is over with.

Opening night jitters can get the best of a girl, sitting nervously in my dressing room for the show to begin I applied another layer of lip gloss as I waited for my introduction.  The thick gooey layer of gloss acted as a bug strip, and as I sat in the mirror doing some light vocal warm-ups a nat landed on my upper lip.  Struggling in vain to free itself from the glam glue trap I gentle picked it off and placed it in a napkin and buried it in the garbage can.  “A noble death.” I noted to myself as I heard the intro music begin to play and rose from my seat, smoothing out the wrinkles in my skirt and awaited my introduction.

It was a packed house who was eager for some entertainment and I do believe I gave that to them.  After the show I raced back into my dressing room to pat some of the sweat off my brow and de-drag myself. Distracted by a fan wanting my autograph I pocked my head out the door and graciously signed my flyer for the show.  Returning to my lair I raised my jeweled hand to remove my false eyelashes and to my surprise I must have taken them off. Looking around the room for those spidery strips I could not find them. It was than that I realized I never put them on.  They were still in the box resting neatly on top of my makeup case.  In all my years of doing drag I have never forgot to put my lashes on.  They are a much-needed finishing touch to any drag queen (or glam woman for that matter) and if I had realized while I was on stage without them I would have felt as awkward as a hooker in church.  Tonight I will not make the same mistake.

Stay fresh,

x

Hello gentle Americans.  Tonight is the big night, my show ‘EAT ME!’ opens in sunny happy Provincetown.  Though it is anything but sunny.  The rain will just not make its grand exit.  Just when you think that it has stopped, the sun peeking out from behind a cloud, it decides that it has not finished crying.  Heavy pelits of rain come down tap, tap, tapping at your wig forcing you to seek shelter in some store front waiting for it to subside.

Yesterday I sought sanctuary in TOYS OF EROS, a lovely little sexy shop on Commercial Street.  As I was waiting for a dry spell outside I perused there fine selection of dildos. I remember when a dildo was just a stick or a hard piece of plastic resembling some sort of mutant penis; nowadays dildo’s have become so sophisticated they come with clitoral stimulators, prostate gland pokers, remote controls so a loved when in the other room can operate it for you and so many shapes colors and sizes your eyes could cross.

I was fascinated by one dildo in particular-the rocking chair.  Its base is made so that when you sit on it you can rock back and forth on it like a rocking chair.  After a hard days work I fantasized about coming home and sitting on the porch with a hot cup of tea, rocking back and forth on my dildo, saying hello to the neighbors boys, and letting the stress of the day just melt away.  I purchased one in black.

I will surely need to do a rain dance tonight to appease Mother Nature.  I just need a bucket, a dead chicken, a photo of Michael Jackson, a used tampon and some cinnamon.  ‘EAT ME!’ is playing at the UU Theater at 236 Commercial Street, 10pm.

Stay fresh,

Hello gentle Americans.  Yesterday I arrived in PTOWN with a limo filled with all my belongings.  Dresses, jewelry, casual cloths, wigs, make-up and heels filled the black stretch limonene to capacity.   A darling friend of mine owns a car company and graciously lent me that gas-guzzling beast otherwise I would have had to ship everything and who has the patience for that?

Arriving into town my heart warmed a bit I looked upon the Pilgrims Monument jutting proudly in the sky.  I did a silent pray as I gazed upon its grey majestic brick structure that went something like this:

Dear being of a greater nature (I hate the word God) please make my show ‘EAT ME!’ a huge financial success.  May the weather stay warm and sunny. May the fudge (which the town is known for) be rich and delicious.  May the men find me irresistible, allowing me the pick of the litter for my carnal desires.  May the ghost of Michael Jackson stop visiting me in the middle of the night and doing a moonwalk on top of my bed (odd as it may seem Mr. Jackson has appeared 3 times thus far, but I will tell you that story later) and may my breasts stay firm and high never sagging towards my nuts.  Oh, and let there be world peace.  Amen.

Deciding to jump right into the fray I signed up to do Show Girls last night.  Show Girls is a weekly event, led by Ryan Landry, where the towns performers get to present and showcase their latest numbers, song or routines for a packed house, promoting whatever show they may be doing.  I choose to do it for that reason and also to find out the local gossip and who has a bone to pick with you even before your high-heeled feet even hits the pavement.  I rather know who hates me at the beginning for the season so I can at least prepare myself when they sneer in my direction.

What I did find out was that the Owner of the Provincetown Gym wouldn’t let me hang my posters up at his fine establishment because I supposedly slighted him last season.  Racking my brain, desperately trying to figure out what I could have done, I came up with nothing.  That does not mean I did nothing it just means I don’t remember.  My feeling is if you if you been in this town long enough you are bound to piss somebody off.  My plan of action is to go to the gym and apologize for what ever wrong ding I may have done; perhaps bring an offering of good faith like box of fudge or perhaps even better a tub of Boy Butter?  I will keep you posted.

Stay fresh,

x

Hello gentle Americans. Gay pride has come and gone, but not for some.  As I was on the way to the Coffee Shop this morning I strode by a middle aged man passed out on the sidewalk, propped up against a brick wall.  He was shirtless, wearing a pair of bright orange hot shorts, holding a gay pride flag in his hand with and empty 40 next to him.  Though he did have a content look on his face, one that said, “I may be pissed drunk and passed out at 8:30 in the morning but boy did I live last night!”

The autopsy report is in: Michael Jackson had no food in his stomach only pills.  Darling if you were to cut open half the girls in NYC you would find the same thing.  I bet Anna Wintour (editor of Vogue) has a cup of coffee, a tic tac and some speed in her stomach.  Mr. Jackson was on to the greatest diet plan in the world-Pills! So a big fuck you to Jenny Craig!

Today I am on the road all day. Traveling from NYC to Province Town (A small fishing village off the coast of Boston) where I will be doing my show, ‘EAT ME!’ all summer long.   ‘EAT ME!’ opens July 2nd and I am sure it will be a smashing success.  I have written 6 new songs with some brand new comedy inbetween. If you have to be in the neighborhood just stop by and say, “Hi!”

Stay fresh,

X

Hello gentle Americans.  This just in: Michael Jackson is not dead, it was actually his sister Latoya who died. Due to their facial similarities the coroner made and honest mistake. What?  To soon?  Oh well.

This just in: Bob Dole is still alive! What?  Not soon enough?

It is shame that the King Of Pop died on the same day as Farrah Fawcet.  Her last big hoorah completely eclipsed by his death.  Normally someone of her stature and fame would have made the front of every paper but sadly she was relegated to page 64 with just a small 400-word piece with a polite photo.  Now Michael on the other hand is front-page news all over the world.  Timing is everything in showbiz, even on your last days on this earth.

Though his death may seem like a tragedy it does not surprise me.  He has been decomposing in front of our eyes for decades. Going from a talented, handsome young man to a ghoulish creature with macabre tastes and huge financial problems.  For Christ sake his nose died 15 years ago and had a polite burial at sea now the rest of him just followed.

To get an invite to his funeral would be a dream come true.  It is going to be more of a star-studded event than Liza’s last wedding.  Liz Taylor will be wheeled in and propped up in the corner as celebrity after celebrity come to pay their respects for a fallen pop idol.  Will it be open casket and if so who will be doing his make-up?  Will he be buried with all his belongings and his children like a Pharaoh.  Will the priest do a moonwalk to the pulpit than delivery his eulogy? So many questions that I am just salivating with anticipation!

Stay fresh,

X