OH C-A-N-A-D-A! pt.1

so there i was last wednesday nite...wait'n on pins and needles...

with a large dollop of my weekly regime of a pearl necklace Queen Helene mint julip facial mud molest'n my over sized pores...to help turn back time just enough so i could look impossibly fresh when i meet the BOY of my dreams!

wait...lemme back it up a bit...i get the sense yer lost kittens...

so there i was 3 months ago...on a partly cloudy wednesday afternoon...with winds outta the south 10 to 15 mph...read'n endless stories of misery and bitchyness on FB socially retarded media (side note...remember when FB used to mean fuckbuddy? i miss those simple days)...but i digress...

so i ran across an ad to send in yer bestest 80's BOY GEORGE look...

and i just happened to have a pic of my look 2 h-weenies ago when i won $200 big ones...so i entered it think'n nothin' will come of it...

fer a chance meet'n with the BOY and the boys and kick ass seats fer the triumphant return of the greatest 80's band alive...CULTURE CLUB...hey this is my story...it's a fuck'n fact kitten...so stick that in yer crack pipe and smoke it!

i texted my fav-o-rit unintentionally internationally unknown...

failed luva friend desperately seek'n age'n stalker Vicky and said if i won...that she would be should be so lucky that i hold onto donkey kongs and not grudges...and i would bestow upon him a once in a lifetime opportunity she could finally cross off her tiresome bucket list..since her looks...much like her girbaud jeans...were fade'n fast...plus i figered this'll be my one charitable act of the year

well...it wouldn't be but 2 weeks later that i received this very email...

i was literally blown away (well...cuz apparently they installed a glory hole beneath the library computers without my knowledge...ummm you can laugh kittens...i'm only kidd'n) i was picked fer the meet-n-greet with BOY GEORGE...MIKEY CRAIG...JON MOSS and ROY HAY...

YES...CULTURE FUCK'N CLUB kittens...SERIOUSLY?...i've been wait'n fer this moment since 1983...i hadda pinch myself...(and then i hadda slap myself silly cuz it fuck'n hurt)...but then i reluctantly remembered i promised ol' Vicks vapor rubber to be my +1 if i had won...and i'm not one to break a promise...unless of course someone hotter came along...well needless to say...she was in luck!

so flash foward 3 months later...and i'm up at the crack of dawn...

try'na get dawn off my crack and out the door to meet my precious Vickster at the airport..since apparently she couldn't be bothered to pick up my unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe A double snakes like a lady...(it's sooo hard to be me...trust me!) cuz it's ALWAYS about HER! (kisses V...i love ya like a cold sore!)

before i would drag my perky A double snakes across town on the metro with the sea of early morn'n meth heads and emotional wrecked wal-mart beauty queens...only to run thru the fuck'n rain drops like some homeless hungarian with a limp to the damn train station...i hadda pick out the perfect look to present myself in...when i would finally meet the BOY of my

dreams in Windsor Canada in less than 48 short hours...hmmmm decisions! decisions! decisions!...i felt like a bridezilla on her wedd'n day bourbon...turn'n my shitbox into a tornado of mixed poly blends and sequinned blouses

ultimately i decided on my pinstriped bondage pants from London i bought 15 years ago (and yes...i can still slide into comfortably without the jaws of life to get me into or outta em)...a skimpy lacy top from new york 13 years ago to showcase my ample rack that i bought and paid fer in full fer the past 7 years...a buckled corset from chicago i bought 2 years ago to give me just a hint of a barely there waist line...a pair of crotchless fishnets i borrowed indefinitely from some sad queen with turrets...that i turned into make shift  fingerless gloves...and topped it off with my swarovski inspired metal gun with holstered belt buckle complete with real silver plastic bullets

i was goin for a sorta Mad Maxine meets Rocky Horror meets Annie Oakley...why not!...once i reached the airport...i doubled checked everything 3 times like the neurotic OCD'er that i am to make sure there would be absolutely no issues at the gate...then Miss Vicky Ticky Taffy texted me to say she was already wait'n on the other end of security fer me...thanx alot lady!

the months i hadda go thru plann'n this vacation...deal'n with DUI issues i had 10 years prior (hey i ain't the only one drink'n drano shots at the bar...so quit shake'n yer head...no one was hurt but my ego) i was finally

make'n my dreams come true...or so i thought!...as i stripped off every piece of metal hold'n my dignity together and place'n them neatly in the plastic seats ready to take a ride thru the x-ray fun house of horrors and i got my complimentary cavity search...i notice that there seemed to be a bit

of a hold up as they scanned my items...seconds would pass that seemed like a decade and the line behind me was escorted immediately to the opposite x-ray machine as i waited for my belongs to finish with their ride and come out the other end

stand'n there alone...all of a sudden i felt like i was shrouded in a beaded burka and sweat'n like an iraqi "goin on a picnic" in gitmo

SERIOUSLY?... i'm on my way to fulfill'n a chance of my lifetime thanx to the make-my-fuck'n-wish-finally-come-true foundation...brought to you by the lovely folks at 93.9 FM The River in Bingham Farms Michigan (special shout out to the lovely Amanda...thanx kitten)...serve'n the Motor City and beyond...and i get asked by this bloated KD Lang look'n carpet cleaner

to step aside...i'm think'n...damn it anyhow!...i knew i should'a marinated my perky A double snakes in patchouli oils instead of my usual jean nate' after bath body splash...so she slowly walks over to me as if to ask if i had any last words before they flipped the switch...and she says to me "sir...what do you have in your bag?"

i politely replied...as not to ruffle her unmanageabley feathered hair...

"excuse me sir...do you not know who i am?...i'm kidd'n...but seriously...i'm meet'n BOY GEORGE in Windsor tomorrow and it's just a costume i desperately need to be photographed in" and she was all like
"sir...i am referr'n to the other item...why do you have a gun in yer bag?"

"did they reject yer application at Home Depot or somethin'?" i thought

WTF you talk'n 'bout Miss O'Donnell?

i was stunned...just cuz someone grows a lil bit of facial hair...all of a sudden i'm Husani Saleem Mustafa try'na cross the border with an AK-47

next thing i know...4 other no so attractive police officers showed up...though 3 of them were just glorified park'n attendants with cracker jax badges on...let's be real here...then it finally dawned on me what the H-E-double hockey stix this Ellen Degenerate was referr'n to...my swarovski costumed waist holder-upper

i said she was more than welcome to open my bag...and search thru my belongs like a bad one nite stand...as i did not want to irritate this Lilith Fair groupie any further

so she removes the said "weapon" from my bag and inspects my belt like some gynecological exam...(hey...you weren't there) then places it on the counter to photograph it along with my license and airline ticket

then she video tapes said items...and just when i thought this charade was over...she then meticulously goes over my license front and back like she's Cagney fuck'n Lacey and writes down every bit of information from name...address...license #...hair color (of which i barely have any left as it is)...and my eye color

at this point...i knew she was try'na get my goat and get me to go all turrets on her pancake ass so she would have a reason to detain me and destroy my vacation...just cuz i'm not a lipstick love'n muff diver...but i decided to keep my cool and let her jack up her own tires while i chatted

up the real police officer that started small talk with me cuz he was a fan of Culture Club as well back in the day...plus...he even knew she was bat shit crazy...i mean...i'm all fer safety and security at the airport...but come the fuck on...after examine'n the belt and realize'n it was nothing more than just that...don't be a bitter C-U-Next-Time to me just cuz Melissa Ethridge won't let you dine at her beaver buffet

after Martina Navratilova finished complete'n her charade parade...she gave me the coldest stare of disgust like she thought she was the abdominal snowdyke who just lost the game to the Russians...thankfully though the nice gentlemanly cop...who knows an unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of their own universe when he see's one...gave me 2 options:

#1 either confiscate my belt to the land of nonreturnable misfit airport items

#2 have my belt shipped back to my shitbox...courtesy of US BANK

tune in next week fer part 2 of OH C-A-N-A-D-A! and find out what

sleep number i decided to go with...now get off my dress!