Random RuPaul

With the wonderful Judy LaGrange:

Pity Party

Last night was the final of three shitty interactions in one week. They were sad reminders of a harsh reality I can't change, and I really felt like doing some crying. I have this problem where I can't just cry for myself. It started a few years ago, and I'm pretty sure I even know what triggered it. So I won't cry immediately when something terrible happens to me, but I will sob like a fucking baby while watching Disney movies. Something in me says it's okay to redirect it. I don't know how to fix this other than getting to that point and feeling it for myself. That's what I needed to do last night. It was late, so I didn't have the option of watching What Dreams May Come. I settled for the quick solution to bring the tears: the series finale of Six Feet Under. The last sequence gets me every time, and last night was no exception. I quickly burst into suffocating sobs. The kind of crying that literally hurt. Then I felt sorry for myself for a few minutes after that, trying to get it all out. I blew my nose for five minutes and went to bed. I felt so much better this morning and not nearly as melancholy. I've been in a pretty good mood today, in fact. I don't know about you chrome heartless bastards, but I recommend a good cry every now and then. Here's the last few minutes of 6FU, but if you don't already know what happens and plan on watching the show, skip it:

Gossip Sniz

Oh, Gossip Girl. How I love and hate you. I like to watch it and chat with my friend Brady about how awful it is. We have fun. So this shit show is back for a third season. There's not much to say other than everyone is in a heated competition for who can be The Worst. There can be only one (worst)!

Dan is still a douche. A gullible douche. And he needs a haircut STAT.

Chuck should have just died. Now he's fucking the actress who played Fleur Delacour in the Harry Potter movies. She bothers me. Mostly because I've seen her topless for some French movie. Not what I wanted to see.

The parents haven't had much of a chance to prove just how shitty they can be.

Nate is still pretty and just begging for a face full of cock.

Blair is still a cunt. Surprise.

Vanessa. Yuck. This gypsy bitch is still slumming around. GO BACK TO HAITI, BITCH. No one wants you here. At least she combed some of the dreads out. A bitch wears so much chunky jewelry, you can hear her coming from two blocks away.

Then there's Serena. Woof. First of all, she spent this latest episode dressed like a hooker extra from Night Court. See the above picture. That's really the only reason I wanted to write this post. Just. . . ugh. Just soak it in, and deal with that shit for a minute.

I apologize if you were expecting something more substantial here. My feelings can best be expressed by a still from an episode of Sex and the City:

Frosty the Snizman

Frosty the Snowman Gay porn. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Only homos. The dildo picture is the best, but I also appreciate the several typos spread across the pages.

Back to the Bitch List

In an archeological coup, the fourth page of the famed Types of Bitches List has been unearthed. Please enjoy:

The Affair

Mark and I will take tennis lessons from the one and only Novak Djokovic. You see, his uncle knows someone who knows someone who owes him a favor, you know how it goes. At first it will be considered a one-time thing, we'll take him out to lunch and the court; but then he'll see how atrocious our technique is and how charming we are, and he will offer more lessons. He'll quickly become a trusted friend, and Novak will relish the time away from the media. We'll watch movies together, packed tightly onto a sofa, the skin of our legs singing whenever contact is made. We will play fight and wrestle while wearing those cute tennis wristbands. After a morning of perfecting our backhands, we'll retire inside, sweaty. We'll continue our chatting as he showers. Those Serbians are not shy. Then one day he'll get a phone call, get a serious look on his face, and ask us in that sexy accent if we would excuse him for a minute. When he finally comes back inside, his eyes are pink, and he's choking back sobs. Mark and I will hug him and ask what's wrong. As we hold him, he will tell us that his girlfriend broke up with him. He was going to break up with her, but it still hurts. He will say that he's known for a long that time it wasn't going to work out and that he was trying to be who everyone expects him to be. This will of course bring on a fresh round of crying, and we'll do our best to soothe him. Eyes still wet, Novak will put on a brave face and insist that he's fine, that he knew it had to end because he was too different. When I ask how, he will look up at me shyly; and there, wedged with Mark behind him and me in front of him, he will kiss me. Our hands will start roaming, and Mark and I will kiss away his tears. Yada yada , double penetration of a tennis superstar, yada, jizz EVERYWHERE.

More Boring Fat Girl Stuff

I realized I haven't really been keeping track of the books I'm reading, so I should make a list somewhere. I want a record of it, and instead of storing an obscure list on my computer, I'll just do it here. So feel free to ignore this, as it is mostly for me. It strikes me just how much of a nerd I am when I look at all these together. The books I've read so far in 2010, in no particular order:


I Drink for a Reason - David Cross
Some Things That Meant The World to Me - Joshua Mohr
I Was Told There Would Be Cake - Sloan Crosley
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo - Stieg Larsson
The Girl Who Played with Fire - Stieg Larsson
The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest - Stieg Larsson
The Stranger - Max Frei
Dead And Gone - Charlene Harris
My Booky Wooky - Russell Brand
Wishful Drinking - Carrie Fisher
Chocolate, Please - Lisa Lampinelli
For A Few Demons More - Kim Harrison
The Outlaw Demon Wails - Kim Harrison
White Witch, Black Curse - Kim Harrison
Black Magic Sanction - Kim Harrison
The Coffin Dancer - Jeffrey Deaver
I Love You More Than You Know - Jonathan Ames
Angels of the Deep - Kirby Crow
Scarlet & The White Wolf - Kirby Crow
Mariner's Luck - Kirby Crow
Land of Night - Kirby Crow
The Hours Between - Sebastian Stuart
Warrior's Cross - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Wicked Gentleman - Ginn Hale
Turnskin - Nicole Kimberling
Mental - Eddie Safarty
31 volumes of Bleach
3 volumes Naruto
several collections of various x-men trade paperbacks
Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind
Stone of Tears - Terry Goodkind
Blood of the Fold - Terry Goodkind
Temple of the Winds - Terry Goodkind
Soul of the Fire - Terry Goodkind
Faith of the Fallen - Terry Goodkind
The Pillars of Creation - Terry Goodkind
Naked Empire - Terry Goodkind
Chainfire - Terry Goodkind
Phantom - Terry Goodkind
Confessor - Terry Goodkind
Stardust - Neil Gaiman
Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang - Chelsea Handler
Disco Blood Bath - James St. James
Freak Show - James St. James
Faithful Place - Tana French
The Black Prism - Brent Weeks
The Way of Shadows - Brent Weeks
Shadow's Edge - Brent Weeks
Beyond the Shadows - Brent Weeks
Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson
The Well of Ascension - Brandon Sanderson
The Hero of Ages - Brandon Sanderson
The Warded Man - Peter V. Brett
Desert Spear - Peter V. Brett
Orange Is the New Black - Piper Kerman

Currently reading:
Sickened - Julie Gregory

Upcoming:
Kraken - China Mieville
Blood Meridian - Cormac McCarthy

Mean Disney Girls

I love it. I pretty much quote this movie on a daily basis, so any funny interpretations of it are welcome.

The Police Sketch Artist Game

My new friend Judy taught me this game. She said she and a friend used to look up guys on the Illinois registered sex offender website. One person--the victim--would choose a guy, and only she would be able to see him. She would lie in bed pretending to be the sole surviving victim of this horrible man. She would then relate his information and what he looked like to the other person--the police sketch artist. How fun!

A Lovely Little Jaunt

I spent the weekend in Chicago visiting my dear kindred spirit Blanche. We went to high school together, but I didn't know her very well then. We started reconnecting this year, and I am so so grateful for it. She is a peach and a half and makes the world a brighter place. I took the train up, and you know how well that went. I stayed with her and her husband, and met Judy and Jim: also peaches.

We kikied for hours, and Blanche made us homemade pasta. A regular Martha Stewart, that one. She puts Ina Garten to shame. Bitch keeps a TIGHT household.

We headed to a club to see the wonderful Pandora Boxx perform. She was supposed to go on at 12, but there we were, milling around the place, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Drag performers are notorious for their tardiness, so we thought nothing of it and busied ourselves with the goings on around us. Ooooh there was some shit. As expected, there was a plethora of shitty faggots. A few of them cute. Not many great looks, but oh well. It may have been cool outside, but it was HOT in there. One gay really committed to his whatever looks in the cardigan and beanie. I hope he had a heat stroke. There were SO many girls too. I'm not used to that at a gay club. And tons of lesbians too. As evidenced here:



I was a little shy about taking pictures, but then I thought, what the fuck? I don't know these bitches and probably won't see them ever again. Also seen: the trashiest skank ever. She had ratty Britney hair, raccoon eye makeup, a ruffle denim micro-skirt, and some kind of Ugg BOOTS WITH THE FUR. I didn't get a good picture of her unfortunately.

There were two go-go boys, which was a new experience for me. One was really muscled and meh in the face. The other was adorable and had a sexy scar on his midsection. He was still a shitty, shitty faggot. Look, even at my sexiest and lowest-self-esteemiest, I would never have danced on the bar in my underwear for money--and I've done some crazy shit in my twenty. . . one years. What really killed me was his Santa's little helper look. His red underwear was attached to red suspenders. The pièce de damn résistance that brought it all together was the mark of a crummy faggot: FLIP-FLOPS. Yes, boy was shaking his ass on the bar for dollars in flip-flops. I didn't want to be attracted to him, and at first I was determined. He won me over though. That mop of hair gave him a boyish cuteness, and he really did have a nice ass. We decided, however, that he was stuffing his underwear. Oh well. I still wanted to hate fuck him:



We witnessed a great scene through the window. There was a party trolley filled with all kinds of wasted people dancing and carrying on. There was one kid who had obviously started the party early, and he was swaying in his seat, chugging water from a giant jug. Luckily the traffic light was long enough for us all to observe. Some drunk buddy talked to him for a moment, and the kid drank more water, swaying the whole time. He gagged and fought the urge to vomit. This continued for what felt like a long time, but must have been only 45 seconds. It was a game, and I was really hoping he would puke before the trolley took off. He heaved more and more, and finally he threw up! All of us watching in the club cheered and laughed as the kid spewed onto the street. Fantastically hilarious.

None of us had ever been to that particular venue before, so we didn't know there was also a giant basement, which was apparently where the performance was. By the time we wised up, we had missed the first set. Oh well, we saw enough to gag us. The opener, Jade (also from RuPaul's Drag Race) was great. She did a ballet number while lipsynching, and she was really on point. And en pointe. Pandora was her usually goofy self, and she delivered. She performed to what is becoming her signature song: