Tuesday, May 30, 2006


Donna and Babs sang it best…”Enough is Enough.”

Let me explain.

I was at Mr. Blacks, my usual Sunday night disco watering hole, and yes, I was cruising for a bruising. I was about to dance when in walked a real dreamboat. He looked sorta foreign, and since foreign men love me, I smiled at him. He came right over and introduced himself - he was from Israel and fresh from the army. Yes, a real mister.

When we arrived at my apartment, he was all over me. I don’t know why, but foreign men are animals. And this one was relentless – kiss, kiss, kiss. Just when I thought we were done, he was at it again. My lips have not had such a workout since…well, I don’t remember when, probably the last time they were augmented.

Now I’m game for once, twice, maybe thrice, and then it’s lights out – anymore than that and I’m sorry, but come morning, I’m not going to look the age I told you I was.

At sunrise, and thankfully exhausted, he informed me he was straight and engaged to a girl named Saget. I wasn’t shocked, and honestly, it explained the blue polyester striped three-to-a-pack briefs he was wearing.

I gave him a fake number and sent him on his way. I don’t know if it was the fiancĂ© or the exhausting lovemaking, but whatever it was, enough was enough – sleep comes first.

Sunday, May 28, 2006


Ok, I thought I had heard everything when I heard Madonna and Tina Turner speaking with phony British accents – these girls are from Detroit, Michigan and Nutbush, Tennessee!

But what really gets my goose is hearing pretty boy Justin Timberlake talking thug. I mean, this kid is a former Disney mouseketeer who I guarantee has never seen the inside of a ghetto.

Doesn’t he realize how insulting his carefully cultivated ebonic speech is to poor blacks everywhere? I’m truly surprised Dr. Dre doesn’t slap some sense into him.

Saturday, May 27, 2006


My friend Peter has recently embraced his inner bear. Yes, bear as in animal. In the gay community, if you are over 35, hairy and overweight, bears are all the rage.

For years, Peter has tried in vain to fit into the trendy world of gaydom, only to be rejected time and time again because of his girth. In the bear community, he is celebrated for his extra trips to the buffet table and encouraged to say goodbye to Mr. Atkins and his South Beach ways.

I had no idea this bear world existed – and like all worlds, it has it's own rules and regulations. Yes – and I am not kidding – there are even different categories of gay bears. Let me see, there are muscle bears (bodybuilders gone to seed), panda bears (Asians), cubs (younger bears), seals (smooth bears) and otters (skinny guys with a bear fetish).

Dear reader, I swear, I am not making this up.

In a culture of perpetual thinness and whirling disco balls and where an extra inch on the waistline is reason enough for an empty dance card, the bear community offers many gay men a much-needed escape - in other words, fat is where it’s at.

Thursday, May 25, 2006


Gay men never cease to amaze me. A friend who works out like crazy to achieve a muscleman body recently informed me that he has no sex drive whatsoever. And he tells me he is not alone.

Apparently, men who take HIV drugs lack testosterone, and thus, have very little - if any - sex drive.

Hmmmm….. with no penis passion, why bother to knock yourself out at the gym? To me, it would be heaven to lay on the couch, get fat and order Two Boots pizza and never think about sex again.

I ask you – why bother killing yourself to look sexy when sex is the last thing on your mind?

Tuesday, May 23, 2006


Yes, another Oprah item. Now don’t get me wrong, I still view Oprah as a saint, but lately she’s been pissing me off.

I watched her “Legends” event on TV the other night and I was appalled that not only would Miss Oprah admit to being influenced primarily by celebrities, but also primarily black celebrities – and I’m sorry, but just how did Mariah Carey influence you, Oprah?

Now if Diane Sawyer or Katie Couric held a similar event and praised only white women, all hell would break loose. I smell a double standard here and I don’t like it.

And finally, wasn’t it pompous of Miss Oprah telling her guests the dress code was black and white – and then Oprah shows up in ruby red.

Saturday, May 20, 2006


I ask you: Is there anything more depressing than the Lean Cuisine isle at the grocery store? I mean, nothing says "I'm a lonely loser" more than a stack of frozen dinners in your cart.

Sad, but true.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006


Now I don’t make women scream that often, but I did the other day at JFK airport. I was heading to Minneapolis after an eight day stretch of shoots and I was exhausted – not to mention full of soy lattes. And anyone who knows me is well aware of my peanut size bladder, so restrooms are always on my mind.

After checking in, I went to buy my required travel magazines – Us and In Touch – and to find a restroom. Unbeknownst to me, someone had obscured the WO on the restroom door, so in my bladder challenged state, I barreled right in.

Well, to put it mildly, all hell broke loose. I was barely in the door when the women started screaming and yelling for security. Now excuse me, but in my lined lips and penciled brows, I have been mistaken for Nicole Richie on more than one occasion, so I don’t see what the fuss was about.

I apologized and exited the restroom only to be greeted by two burly security men. Both men grabbed me as if I were Ted Bundy and ushered me to the security kiosk – and everyone knows that pretend policemen are on major power trips, so I knew I was in trouble. After 20 minutes of explanations and a call to the police station to verify that I was not a sex offender (no snickers from readers of the blog) I was released.

Moral of this story: pissing is apparently serious business, so be sure to look before you leak.

Sunday, May 14, 2006



You know what really smears my lipstick– snooty counter help. Honey, you are just a wrap and ring clerk, so get over your smug self. Who wants to deal with attitude when ordering a latte or checking out at K-Mart? It’s not my fault that you joined a gang and didn’t finish high school and can barely speak the English language.

I mean, whatever happened to service with a smile.

Straight people – why are these damn breeders pushing out babies in Manhattan? I mean, I moved to NYC to get away from screaming brats and fat hagged-out straight people. And for the love of God, what is in those compact car size strollers that take up the entire sidewalk?

And what happened to disciplinant? Believe me, it is not cute or cool to watch your kid screaming at Starbucks or running up and down the isles at Duane Reade. In my day, mothers were quick with the backhand to squelch a screaming brat – and my generation turned out just fine, thank you very much.

I’m sorry, but if you want to have a baby, move to Jersey where you belong.

On that same topic, why do gay people want to have kids? I mean, I’ve always considered that a gay perk– no screaming brats and changing shitty diapers - plus more money to spend on me. I just don’t get it

And Rosie O’Donnell sponsoring a gay “family” cruise???? What is that about?

I can think of nothing more torturous than being trapped on a boat with Rosie O’Donnell and thousands of screaming brats.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006


You know, sometimes I hate male models. Yes, these genetically gifted goons can be nice on the eye, but sometimes they can work your last nerve.

Now I’m not dissing their inflated egos or cocksureness, because if God had blessed you or me with their charms, we would be unbearable, too. And I won’t even talk about intelligence, because when you’re born beautiful…well, let’s just say God doesn’t give you everything.

What does piss my powder puff off is that men that make a living with their faces take such lousy care of their moneymakers. Case in point: I was working on a major advertising job when in walked the $3000 a day model sporting a dark tan and an unusual white outline around his eyes – and he had cut his hair into a faux-hawk. As the photographer turned to look at him, he gasped.

What happened to you?

Hey dude, It’s all chill…I went snowboarding this weekend and wore sunglasses.

What about your hair?

Some hot chick cut it.

Ok – but didn’t you know you had a job on Monday?

Sure dude, but can’t the makeup dude fix it? Right, dude?

All eyes turned to me – the art director was almost in tears.

I spent the next 60 minutes carefully mixing foundations to blend the two skin tones into a seamless finish – I won’t even tell you how long it took me to fix the hair. The entire time the model sat texting on his Blackberry and playing games.

As I said, male models - nice on the eye, but not too bright.

Monday, May 08, 2006


Two of my gal pals recently tied the knot after many years on the single circuit. I guess all the talk of gowns, rings and honeymoons has got me thinking about true love and what that means – or if it means anything at all.

Yes, I have smiled and cooed through the many, many, many pictures of husbands, new homes, pets and everything else the safety of suburbia promises, but I wonder: are they really happy?

Not that many moons ago I listened for hours to these girls go on and on about passion-filled midnight trysts and globe trotting sexcapades with thick-dicked men in fancy Italian sports cars, so bear with me if I question this switch to suburbia. Of course, these saucy relationships usually ended with them singing the eternal “why did he leave me” blues. But on the other hand, the guys they married seem so ho-hum and normal. I mean, are they trading in passion for polite conversation?

Call me crazy, but I guess I am an old romantic. I want to be tongue-tied and swept off my feet. I want my heart to beat a million miles a minute when I see my man turn the corner. Because when all is said and done, and you both get caught up in life and sex goes on the back burner, it’s nice to close your eyes and remember that passion and what it once meant.

I ask you: If you don’t have passion in the first place, how can a relationship survive?

Wednesday, May 03, 2006


New York City never ceases to amaze me. Today at the gym some pumped-up business lady was on the treadmill with her cell phone in one hand and her Blackberry in the other - and her ipod was in her pocket. Throughout her workout, she kept interchanging the three depending on its level of importance.

Bitch, you are not that important.

Monday, May 01, 2006


You know what really sucks? Watching some hot guy you were flirting with leave the club with some ugly skank - that sucks.

I was at Mr. Black’s last night canoodling with a real mister – no sister him – when I decided I could do better. Yes, a good haircut and a clever concealer application will do that to a girl. After several rounds around the bar, I knew it was a mistake, but when I returned, my mister had taken up with a rather rancid looking sister. And they were kissing so passionately it was as if they were auditioning for a Chi Chi Larue porn film. I mean, it was so steamy that the crowd around them was getting wet. I was so jealous - I have never been kissed like that.

The lesson I learned? When you think you have bagged a mister, don’t let him go – no matter how green you think the grass is on the other side of the dance floor.