ME & MRS. JONES pt. 2

"you know i had to sit my big fat tired lazy ass down...oooh what a relief

i'm exhausted...we've been all over the country...me and my jewish piano player...you know how we people get along so well" ~ SANDRA BERNHARD...of course those lucky enough who got to see this fabulous rendition of "ME AND MRS. JONES" by the vivacious vixen MISS BERNHARD be performed in my nightly repertoire when i was start'n out on stage in the 90's at the 90's is also the perfect segway into this week's very blog...don'tcha think?

now that PRIDE is in full swing...just remember you can't bounce on 

all those outta town throat plunger parties without a vat of gun oil lubricant and a gallon of poppers kittens so cash in yer bitcoins and be safe...however...fer those of you that are look'n fer somethin' a lil more substantial amd a lot less suicidal & spermicidal...perhaps consider grabb'n yerself (in the privacy of yer own room sicko) and get tickets to the hottest tour in yer town this summer...

i also wanna add a happy 62nd to the man called BOY this week...therefore...if yer hooked on him as much as i have been since 1982...grab yerself a seat to see CULTURE CLUB this summer as they hit the road in selected cities across the globe and since i got ya on a promotional ticket frenzy...ya might as well get yerself a free ticket to the catch-up train so yer not lost as to what the H-E-double hockey stix is goin on by click'n here fer pt. 1

so once we had landed at O'hare...both me and my new best friend fer the

next 24 hours scurried off to baggage claim to claim our baggage and then hunted down our driver we were promised by the producer who would whisk us away to the studio to meet the rest of the "cast" (i put "cast" in quotes fer a reason kittens...you'll find out soon enough...now on with the program)

this was the 1st time i had ever been inside a stretch limo...and lemme tell

you right now i just felt like i was bein' driven around in a gigantic sperm wagon on wheels...although i've enjoyed the occasional throat plunger thru-out my unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe lifestyle...i much prefer my cars compact like my compact and had no desire to google the area code in order to contact my driver!

and though the guests of THE OPRAH SHOW at the time got to stay 

over  nite at the gorgeously designed and spaciously opulent OMNI hotel in beautiful downtown Chicago...

 

me and Dave were give'n a $50 bar tab at some tacky Howard Johnson 

equivalent sleezy no-tell motel next to the studios...where you were greeted by the lovely afternoon shift in the park'n lot who so generously offered you a sip of their minty fresh swill to take the edge off any stage fright...but hey...$50 is $50 right? H-O-W-E-V-E-R...

i can bet you dimes to donuts though...MARTIKA never had to put up with this kinda shit start'n out!

after we had finished our park'n lot chaser and max'n out our biggest bang

with our newly acquired JENNY bucks at the bar...we met the rest of the "cast" that was gonna be on my episode and keep in mind...i was under the distinct impression that i was come'n on THE JENNY JONES SHOW to display my unique unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe skills since i was that shy and quiet as a kid and now that i was grown up i was a drag queen (well...i was never nor AM NOT old and ugly as that tired title suggests...but that's neither here nor there kapeesh!)

after we had all said our proverbial hello's and doled out our fake hugs

to one another...we were split into 2 groups...the 1st group of the people that were part of my "cast" who were their to hopefully sell their creative accomplishments and parlay them into somethin' bigger...was sent off with this drill sergeant producer to keep us in line and tell us all the do's and don'ts once we were in front of the camera...while Dave and the other plus 1's went off with another show handler to a "secretive" location in the back of the studio i guess

i had always assumed the term "green room" was some highly sensitive 

secretive technical industry term...however...once i got to the desired dress'n room...wouldn't you know it...the room was literally fuck'n green...apple green to be specific!

once i had sectioned off my section on the large wooden picnic tables

set up in front of the brightly lit mirrors...it was time fer me to transform into my stage presentation of the deliciously naughty nurse (which would normally take a 3 hour tour) though i knew i was under time constraints with the show so i worked as fast and as diligently as possible without degrade'n my artistic integrity by block'n out the chatter clatter...sipp'n on my ovaltine and feverishly work'n it out

as some of the other floor mops milled about the room discuss'n how 

they just wanted to go out on stage and basically CHEECH & CHONG their way thru the tape'n (i was the oldest at 26 of the pre-selected "wanna-bee's" after all so i wasn't really work'n with the brightest bulbs on the christmas tree) 3 of the chicklets in the group were in absolute awe of my transformation apparently and wanted me to teach them a few make-up tricks...only a few of them though had stuck out in my mind after all these years...

one of the chicklets wanted to fill out an application to be a new SPICE GIRLS (i christened her SALTY SPICE since she knew how to dish it out)

one of the floor mops wanted to be the new MARILYN MANSON (but looked more like ERNEST BOURGNINE in bad clown make-up and a dusty unbrushed black wig he 5 finger discounted from the 70% off bin at the dollar store...hey these are only obscure memories my dementia riddled mind can recall)

while the youngest of the floor mops wanted to be the lead singer in THE PRODIGY tribute band you could rent fer yer goth wedd'n or briss (though he looked more like a rejected applicant from a HOT TOPIC interview fer huff'n on the manic panic durin' it)

BUTT wait...there's more

once we had all completed our looks fer the stage...one of the producers

came in and gave us a quick run down of who was goin out first and what to expect from the audience and things we could and could not say to them or we would be kicked off/edited from the show (ie: fuck you! kiss my ass! suck my dick! which should'a been a no brainer since this wasn't cable tv however this wasn't their first time at the rodeo) instead they told us to be spirited...animated...laugh...have fun and most of all...try and throw in a "TALK TO THE HAND" or "YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS YOU DON'T HAVE A FACE AND BODY LIKE MINE!"  when possible

i had heard these quotes numerous times on hypnotically tacky daytime 

talk shows from RICKI to JERRY to MONTEL to GERALDO to SALLY JESSE fuck'n RAPHAEL and then i thought to myself (i said self) how is it that many of these train wrecks appear'n on all these shows are practically repeat'n each other on different stages practically verbatim time and time again? NOW I KNOW! they were fed this annoy'n BS before tape'n...it was all so pathetically disappoint'n fer me and i fer one WAS NOT goin to be pigeon holed into ANYONE's lame self centered tag lines... 

so when the time had come fer me to spew this regurgitated vomit...i...ummm..."borrowed" a tag line from my fav-o-rit goth queen "ELVIRA MISTRESS OF THE DARK" movie that i had just watched the previous nite before jet sett'n off to do the show (which i'll get to later)

everyone's nerves were kick'n into high gear and matters didn't help 

when the door attached to our green room opened up and out popped a herd of scantily clad porn stars that apparently had filmed an episode before ours that was about married/date'n couples in the industry of adult entertainment though there was one particular steroided stallion that had strayed from the herd after gett'n a glance of me like a beacon of beauty (since i was almost 7 ft tall in hair and heels) make'n a bee-line straight to my 8 inch shiny red patent luchinni heels...scoop'n me up like a forklift with his massive guns flex'n...rave'n to me how he desperately needed a shot though the massengill magpie i surmised he was attached to was not too pleased with me literally curled up in his gigantic arms caress'n his enormous hard pillow'd pecs

cuz when i got home to develop the film from my instamatic camera (yes all you kittens born after 2000...you had to actually wait 3 to 5 days to see what pix you took and if any actually turned out) which of course the ONLY one that i wanted in full KRYSTAL KLEER view was with this incredible edible HULK (i don't mean that in any Jefferey Dahmer way mind you) though wouldn't you know it...he had asked his maxi pain in the ass to take our pic in the green room...however...all i could see when i picked up my prints was a close up of her fuck'n finger prints with her cheap Lee press on nails hang'n on fer dear life and a bit of my red platform heels (what a complete cuntasaurus!)

it was confirmed that i would be the "show stopper" as in the last guest

to appear out on stage the producer said...then all of a sudden it was as if the seas of porn stars and producers had parted in front of me and there stood this teeny tiny franklin mint of tv talk show figurines MISS JONES herself...check'n out the cast from the island of unfit fortunes...that is until i had caught her eye so she meandered her way thru the crowd and gleefully asked me "wow...from across the room your chest looks so real...who did your make-up?" i simply exclaimed to my newer best friend JENNY "ME!" and she followed it up with "i should hire you to do my make-up" (and that is a direct quote...though i never did get an application)

as we left the green room to cross the hall fer film'n...a line had already 

gathered outside in the hallway fer another show that was bein filmed directly across from ours and though these pleasant pheasants patiently waited to be let into the studio...they also expressed mild shock and awe...glare'n at me in particular like a tractor beam with their death stare aim'n straight fer my Alderaan (well...since i stood above the rest of the flock) 

luckily a handful in line were all too eager to meet me and snap a shitty pic of us together on their motorola flip phone to post on their myspace page...turns out they were in line fer THE JERRY SPRINGER SHOW (which would seriously explain all the worn out acid wash guess-what-these-aren't jeans and bad potato sack V-neck tops from The Limited and The Dress Barn)

soon enough...one by one...each member of my group was lead out to  

their death on stage like a cattle call where they would meet up with their plus 1 from the other side while the producer was egg'n the audience on to respond back with questions and cat calls...and lil ol' waify me wait'n patiently in the wings powder'n my nose and watch'n on the monitors as the stage turned into some sorta all to common WWE match between the audiences and the guests while another producer that was stand'n next to me backstage reiterated that i could say and do whatever i wanted just as long as it didn't involve swear'n like a sailor or stripp'n down to my nibbley parts...

oh and to add to the shock value i noticed on the backstage monitor...the title of the show had now been changed to "YOU'RE TOO FREAKY TO BE FAMOUS" to my shock

i was give'n a 5 minute countdown backstage before i was told to break 

thru the doors as the smoke machine filled the corridor which was practically choke’n me off fer what i had assumed was fer tv dramatics...only this time as i was prepare'n to remember to lyp-sync fer my life (years before that o-t-h-e-r drag show) to PEGGY LEE's "FEVER" i noticed on the monitor back stage JENNY look'n straight into the camera say'n "up next after the break is MATTRESS and he thinks he's going to be a bigger supermodel than CINDY CRAWFORD!"

WHAT IN THE HOLY SASHAY SHANTE' LIVE'N FIDDLER'S FUCK IS SHE TALK'N ABOUT?"

tune in next week fer the excrutiate'n conclusion to ME & MRS. JONES

now GET OFF MY DRESS!

ps...on a side note...a part of my past is now deal'n with alot on her plate

at the present...this lil rapp'n ray of sunshine (i'll just call her Miss Calories Calories Calories) recently lost her job of almost a quarter of a century all cuz of her dangerous do rag...no that's not right...i mean her bitch'n Three's Company tee...no wait that's not it either...oh yea...she was deemed an "inconvenience" to her employers all cuz she's deal'n with that foreigner that decided to move in with her unannounced called stage 4 breast cancer (the nerve right?) and then to add more himalayan sea salt to the already painfully open wound...

Jen had to say goodbye to her beloved family pooch Elena of 15 years who was deal'n with her own body malfunction'n in her twilight years unfortunately...so i ask...NO that's not right...i IMPLORE you (yes Jen i do believe you OWE ME fer that one *wink*wink*) if you don't need that mocha choka frappe latte caramel'd caffe'd macchiato and/or can skip yer friday nite date that costs you $2.99 fer the 1st minute fer the next 4 weeks...why not dig deep down in yer nana's coin purse and buy a feel'n by help'n heal a helluva lady out with yer change fer a change! click here fer more info

ME & MRS. JONES pt. 1

picture it kittens...it's 1997 and the all time best indy sleeper hit of the year

that put a spotlight on the often over looked tawdry and very tempt'n lifestyle of a temp worker trapped in cubicle hell...focus'n on the trials and tribulations of what life is really like in the copy room and the supplies nazi who's in charge of it all "CLOCKWATCHERS" starr'n a stellar cast of 4 cackle'n C-U-NEXT-TIME'n besties...fresh off her first indy aussie hit "MURIEL'S WEDDING" a few years earlier TONI COLLETTE..."PARTY GIRL" gem PARKER POSEY..."FRIENDS" alumni LISA KUDROW and ALANNA UBACH

bubblegum euro-popp'n Danish delights AQUA release one of the biggest

mind numb'n thumpers of the year with their infectiously confectionary smash hit "BARBIE GIRL" as the 3rd single off their debut album "AQUARIUM" gain'n the group international fame and an unfortunate lawsuit with the plastic gods...which would also get a 2nd chance at life 26 years later...

remixed with ICE SPICE and NICKI MINAJ (cuz of course...WHY NOT!) appear'n in that no doubt brain dead blockbuster of the summer about that self centered unrecyclable plastic mold that has been indoctrinate'n insecure girls about their bodies around the globe since it's 1st infestation in the 1950's

the people's princess DIANA SPENCER would make her final fateful 

freeway escape from the pesky paparazzi with her driver Henri Paul speed'n like a bat outta hell thru the Pont de l'Alma tunnel in paris that i'm still not entirely convinced to this day was not ordered by someone within the establishment with "outside" influence

and the unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of her

very own universe (that's me...just in case yer tune'n in fer the very 1st time) would be home "sick" from my day job as mgr of Northwest Athletic Club (currently LIFETIME ripoff FITNESS fee's) cuz i was sick of deal'n with the infamous "KAREN'S" of the sweat'n with the desperado's crowd from the nite before

BUTT wait...before i move on from this...

let's get off my train of thought fer a mere moment...how did it ever come

to fruition that the name "KAREN" would be synonymously linked to all these off-the-wall-bitter-bat-shit-crazy-gluten-free-starbucks-slurp'n-road-rage'n vaginal secretions? cuz seriously kittens...the very 1st thing that pops into my slowly dementia'd mind when i hear the name "KAREN" is that of the soothin' sounds that flow like a cool spring creek from that waify holly hobby dressed songbird KAREN CARPENTER from the 70's supergroup "THE CARPENTER'S"

everyone's fav-o-rit booze chugg'n perfectly quaffed fag hag/beard (depend'n on yer sensitively triggered ego) with the acid tongue and a killer rack KAREN WALKER of the hit series "WILL AND GRACE"

or canadian trampoliner KAREN COCKBURN who won the bronze medal at the 2000 summer olympics and the gold in 2003

from this day forward...let's stop with the besmirch'n of the name KAREN 

and just refer to these short tempered in yer face unfuckable diabetic maxi padd'n piranha princess's with a tenacious tendency to talk shit outta their dilapidated derriere as "KAREN" and refer to them as what they really truly undeniably are...absofuckinlutely cankersour CUNTASAURUS's!

ok now where was i? oh yea...so i called in sick from work and as i was

lounge'n on my then roomie's futon in the live'n room one lazy rainy april afternoon...aimlessly flipp'n thru the channels like some unconscious coach potato when all of a sudden i could feel the spirit of HEATHER O'ROURKE completely possess'n my milky white flesh...bein put into some sorta tv trance...summoned by an evil electronical entity practically pull'n me into the question mark on the screen exclaim'n "were you shy and quiet as a kid and now that your all grown up your a drag queen? if so give us a call!"

well...i did what any unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n

illusionist of their own universe would do...i called the "other" phone line to find a palpable prick to tickle my tonsils that was within walk'n distance since my eggs were about ready to expire (well it had been like 2 months at that point...i had suffered enough) and since i only had roughly 4 hours of uninterrupted bliss to myself before the roomie would return home...i flipped thru the many callous kinky callers like a neurotic nympho from Nantucket in november...unfortunately no one was worthy enough and i was all outta doin any more charitable acts fer the season...

so i opted to call into the other phone line that i had written down...which happened to be the "THE JENNY JONES SHOW"

i had already been a performer of the stage fer roughly 2 years at this lil

particular point in my so called life so this just seemed like the next obvious stepp'n stone in my non calculated career...so after being rerouted more times than my GPS try'na find my g-spot by the operator i finally was patched thru to the producer who gave me a 15/20 minute interview inquire'n about my background and why i thought i was a perfect fit fer this episode

before hang'n up from the interview with the producer...i was told they 

would get back to me shortly so i had figered i had aced it perfectly to perfection with just the right amount of phony as fuck tv enthusiasm like all those pathetically jubilant diabetic STD's on "THE PRICE IS RIGHT" and would hear back from them within a week or 2 at max

well...suffice it to say...hollyweird (or in this case) hollyweird adjacent

DOES NOT truly understand the concept of "shortly" in the real world since it would take roughly 3 full seasons to pass before i would finally get a damn return phone call from them and was told to be in Chicago in 2 days and to bring a friend...where there would be 2 round trip tickets wait'n fer us at the airport check-in...this was all so new and extremely exhilarate'n fer me so of course i feverishly rearranged my DNA along with my work schedule and coerced my hot trainer friend Dave to be my plus 1 on the show and 2 days later we were jet sett'n off to the city formerly known as Oprahville

well there ya have it...tune in next week fer part 2 of "ME & MRS JONES"

now GET OFF MY DRESS!

OPRAHVILLE

so after all these years...i FINALLY made MY WAY to see the infamous...

st patty's river beautifully toxic green sludge flow like the mississippi...in the windy city...and ya know what?...a google search would'a sufficed my curiosity...and a cattle prod would'a got me thru the damn crowd alot quicker 

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

Mauston : a queen in her advanced years with a limp leg and a glass eye

 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

after a lil hydroplane right outside of Illinoyed…

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!

i ignored it for now…since it was all about MADONNARAMA nite at BERLIN

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!