to meet my stalkers (that's the unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of her own universe in disgust...i mean disguise...on the far left limeade shirt)
fer some st patty's cheer...so i had no access to someone's electronical world to write a full fledged newsworthy story...so i decided to pull from the GET OF MY DRESS archives...and relive one of my many past excursions in OPRAHVILLE kittens...so re-enjoy or enjoy fer the very first time :
who's yer DADDY?
well…i’ll tell ya one thing…it sure as shit ain’t ME!
i accimentally gave myself a home lobotomy this weekend...TWICE...
so i couldn't think str8 (and seriously... why the H-E-double hockey stix would i anyways?)...and like any television series that's comes to an end until the new season begins...today's episode is a rerun...so i give you a piece of my past...to relish in fer the 1st time or relive it all over again...enjoy!
i’ve come to accept this is now the category i fall under to 20 somethin’s out there in desperadoville…i was there myself at their age…the only difference was…i never expected my 40 somethin’ stalkers to foot the bill…or take them for granted...i’m not the type who expects nor likes the pamper’n process without reciprocate’n the pamper’n process at the
same time but...pamper’n really belongs on small whiny puke buckets...
and prune poachers...period!
so anywho’zll ding…i got a wild hair up my naturally smooth anal entrance a few weekends back and decided to text my library of contacts to see if anyone else was in the mood for a random road trip to Oprahville...
5 minutes later i got the only spontaneously intelligent response from my 20 somethin’ road tripper
who text me “when shud i b redy?’
2 hours later we were off to the windy city…and my only purpose...
for said spontaneous trip was fer clown shoes...why not!
it was a joyful ride on the way down…since i hadn’t initiated a road trip on my own out of state since (hmmm…lemme think fer a minute)…ok *DING* times up…it was needed
i learned a new road trip game that totally beats the alphabet game…
whatever city was up ahead was the name of the reign’n queen of that town and there was a back story we made up of said queen within seconds of spott’n the sign…try it…you’ll love it!
fer example...Baraboo : mulatto queen who wears lots of feathers...
and thinks Beyonce should be president
who lives fer Shirley Bassey's catalog...plus...she's discovered a lump!
Waunakee: middle eastern indian queen with tourettes...
obsessed with old school Cher songs and enters any pageant she can to help pay fer her "trans"formation
we arrived at my friend’s around 10ish…and no time was wasted with small talk…we said the proverbial “hey…how’s it been?…got anything to eat?…we’re goin out”…cuz i was in need of many cocktails from the hydroplane shakes i was still recover’n from
so off to HYDRATE…
a very 90’s look’n danceteria…but with free cocktails thrown at us
why complain?
after meet’n up with my co-pilot's X…and soak’n up the eye candy…we popped in next door to Elixir fer more alcoholic freebies and chitter chatter with the locals…by midnite…i was pumkin pie…so i left the 20 somethin’s to themselves and went back to my friend’s to count sheep
by morn’n…mr. friend had gone to work and left me house keys…my mission was clear…but i didn't wanna go on this adventure alone…so i chatted on line to the locals and snagged me a headless horseman
within minutes...but let’s get real here…when non heterosexuals see yer an outta towner…fer me at least…it's like shoot’n fish in a horny barrel!
he could only send a face shot thru text…which ended up bein’ a picture of a cell phone block’n his face…cuz he had to be “discreet”….(which 99% of the time means they’re f*ck’n around on someone) but i didn’t wanna spend all day hunt’n fer company…so i said why not to a free lunch…since i wasn’t expect’n a marriage proposal or my co-pilot anytime soon...
so he told me what he was wear’n and all that jazz…and we decided to meet half way
as i’m gett’n to the half way mark…i’m look’n all over fer a guy with a stripped shirt…khaki shorts (i know…UGH right?) and a cell phone hot glued to his face…i notice across the street someone match’n this description (minus the cell phone in the face)…so instead of make’n an A double snake of myself…i decided to call…and sure enough with the cell phone in his face…it was a match
first impressions…like’n the “look”…obvious that he works out…
(stunt hottie in picture)
but i was more into his outfit…and what i need to do to get him outta it…HA…only kidd’n (maybe not!)
he apologizes fer being “discreet” in his picture…but he’s an attorney fer the state of Illinoyed…which i didn’t really care about his ferry tales…since i was in town on a reconnaissance mission as an undercover KGB agent...
with my co-hort in crime...i just wanted someone to have lunch and hang out with while i was in town (since i fergot my chloroform spray at home…i hadda do it the hard way)
lunch was good…then he asked if he could hang out fer a while…
i was game since his blue bug eyes were no longer bugg’n me…(hey i’m just give’n ya a visual…not judge’n)
he asked what i was in town fer…and like a small child with tourettes i said
“CLOWN SHOES”
(like i would be there fer anything else...Oprah no longer lives there)
he oddly laughed but took me to Beatnik’s…wear i found em…but decided to wait on gett'n em and meandered to the holy grail that any non heterosexual male with taste…“Borderline’s”…jammed packed with any...
and all you could possibly ever want to own by Madonna musically whether it be on dvd or cd format...and many other hard to find artists
after he induced the Madge coma…he no longer existed in my world (even though i had been here a few times in the past) each time was like goin…
on a roller coaster ride until you puked...but after 20 minutes…i pulled the plug and left without purchase…but secretly knew i would be back before return’n home
still no word from my co-pilot…me and attorney man (thing is…though i found him attractive and easy to talk to…i had my premonitions as to why i didn’t need to remember his name...which you'll find out soon enough) walked around a bit more…small chitter chatter and he convinced me to go on a date with him later in the even’n…and i agreed…so it was set….he was gonna take a nap…after all it was 5 o’clock and he was 45
i declined the offer to “nap” since we all know what that means…
besides i was wide awake…and didn’t want to do the walk of shame so early in the even’n…any respectable person knows…that is best saved fer the break of dawn hours only
so after a simple peck he said he’d call me in a couple hours and take me to
BERLIN fer MADONNARAMA nite
this guy is either psychic or knows how to just have a good time…either way…i would rather be no where else…and as i walked away…he told me to stop at “Buck’s” to see the “tootsie roll”
whatever that meant…an hour later i met up with my co-pilot and his X fer cocktail hour...we stopped at Roscoe’s fer a pre cocktail cocktail hour but the lines were too long already…and i wait NO where fer a drink unless it’s Madonna or Boy George serve’n me a tacky margarita
and fer some reason...i don't see that happen'n anytime soon...so i suggested Buck’s across the street…and off we went
it dawned on me as i seen the 6’4 non caucasian bartender make’n candy shots fer the 40 somethin’ gaggle of soccer moms with bad Molly Ringwald
haircuts (we included ourselves in the cheer since it was my bday weekend getaway as well) to ask him to see the “tootsie roll” as my date suggested
he laughed...hmmm…was it somethin’ i said?
minutes later…and keep in mind it’s only 5:30ish in a fairly packed bar on a sunday even’n…without any warn’n…i found out what all the “tootsie roll” fuss was all about…mr. bartender had let his pet anaconda “tootsie roll" outta his “cage”…BUT…it was no tootsie roll…OH NO!...it was more
like mr. snuffaluffagus’s trunk!
(just close yer eyes and visualize since there is not enough space on here to advertise...and i am not joke'n when i say that)
though in shock (and i rarely get shocked)…i felt like i was aboard the...
millennium falcon and gett’n pulled into the death star’s tractor beam
the co-pilot fumbled fer his camera like madam butterfly have'n a corinary
but this was not to be a repeat performance
after the flirtation and free cocktails ended…my date finally showed up and off we went to pit stop #2…the Lucky Horseshoe
i wanted to see if the “professional dancer” that i met the last time i was
in town was there (doin' a research project of course)...and of course he hadda educate me on the difference between a "stripper" and a "professional dancer" righhht!...that's like say'n some people say the glass is half empty...some say it's half full...i say "where's the fuck'n bartender?"
plus...he was the only reason to visit this shit hole of a bar…
i mean…this quaint lil shit hole of a bar
he was on his “professional dancer” break…(which i’m pretty sure meant he was “make’n rent” with some guy from meals-on-wheels in the back room)…but i’m not hear to judge…i know the economy ain’t the best in these try’n times
so me…my date…and the co-pilot (the X left due to being a downer to this outta-towner) did a quick shot in the back of the bar…and had the bartender take the proverbially cheesy “here we are gett’n shit faced at a strip joint fer our next facebook post”
and i no longer was high on my buzz as i noticed outta the corner of my eyes in the mirror behind us…my co-pilot and my date thumb wrestle’n
behind my back!
i had no plans on a marriage proposal mind you…but if yer a 45 year old "discreet" adult and make a date with me…you don’t try and recapture yer youth with some 20 somethin’ tattooed sing’n STD (hey in my story...he may have had one…i cannot deny or confirm)
and if yer a 20 somethin’ tattooed sing’n STD...who just got a ride outta town and a place to stay fer free…you ought think twice before cross’n...
a queen!
we were the first in line…and 20 minutes later we were inside… it was as if the gates of that mythical pillow factory in the sky had opened and invited us in
i didn’t want to waste one moment on chitter chatter any longer…i was like
“hey mister dj…put a record on”...and i was off to the floor
i grabbed both my entourage’s to hit the floor with me…but they resisted…i didn’t have a care in the world…i just floated up to the center platform and stayed there fer the next 60 minutes…sweat’n my A double snakes off…it was surreal to see the sea of Madge madness around me…
envelope'n me into their circle…i felt like Ester Williams in cocktail heels but after one too many tried to show off their best vogue moves on the center platform that i had pretty much occupied the entire 60 minutes…along with this hostess twinkie and his match’n hag…i missed my foot’n and crowd surfed to the floor…not by choice but by the voguers now that have take’n over my territory…no biggy
well except…wait…what ever happened to my 2 entourages i came with?
hmmm…were my premonitions comin’ true?
as i scanned the crowd fer any sign of either of them…
i was gett’n outta my buzzed blouse and into my pissed off pants
seconds later as the crowd somehow split like the dead sea…i noticed them both…walk’n joyfully hand in hand…like a priest on a playground...that is...
until they spotted me and immediately disengaged their hands and pretended as if they had never seen each other before in their life
i got him into a remington party...and he repays me in metaphoric puke!
instead of break’n down and say’n “you know…i have a little prepared speech i tell my suitor when he wants more than i'd like to give him…gee blank i had a really nice time...ahhh...you don't deserve my fucking speech!”
i decided to just walk right out the door back to my friend's place as if i just survived the school blow’n up in my face…there’s a new HEATHER in town!
i ignored all 13 texts i received that nite from them both deny’n they had no idea what i was upset about or that “we were look’n for you everywhere” crap line…and i also ignored the co-pilot's desperado phone calls til 3 am plead’n to answer the phone so he could have a warm place to sleep
i could’a cared less if they did or didn’t fornicate that nite…fer reals...
ok maybe just a wee bit...but that's cuz of the cocktails...i swear on a stack of Madonna cd's
see...thing is…you may be a 20 somethin' singer in a band…
but i’m a 40 somethin' queen with a car!
don’t fuck with a queen or you’ll get a heel to yer head...
i am no one’s daddy…i’m a queen at heart!
now...get off my dress!
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