NASTY POLITICS

The current New Yorker Magazine cover is disgusting. I mean, does anyone other than a Republican think this is funny?

Mark my words, the Republicans play dirty, and they will be pushing the Muslim envelope big time as the race heats up. Much like Bush cronies did in the 2000 Republican primaries (making phone calls to Republicans insinuating that old daddy McCain had a black child), McCain cronies will be making similar phone calls to Democrats insinuating Obama is a Muslim.

Let's hope Obama doesn't get sunk by this swift boat.

PANDERING TO THE RELIGIOUS RIGHT

McCain’s extremist opposition to gay adoption is not only stupid, but lacks scientific backing.

In a revealing interview with the New York Times, Sen. John McCain (R-AZ) — an adoptive parent himself — declared that he opposed the right of gay couples to adopt children, even if it meant leaving children in orphanages:

Q: President Bush believes that gay couples should not be permitted to adopt children. Do you agree with that?

Mr. McCain: I think that we’ve proven that both parents are important in the success of a family so, no I don’t believe in gay adoption.

Q: Even if the alternative is the kid staying in an orphanage, or not having parents.

Mr. McCain: I encourage adoption and I encourage the opportunities for people to adopt children I encourage the process being less complicated so they can adopt as quickly as possible. And Cindy and I are proud of being adoptive parents.

Q: But your concern would be that the couple should a traditional couple —

Mr. McCain: Yes.

So old daddy McCain would rather see children waste away in orphanages and foster care than be adopted by loving parents - even after study after study confirms that children raised with gay parents are NO different than those raised with straight parents.

What an asshole.

DIGITAL DIET

Is this really Jennifer Hudson?

Either she is about to check into the anorexia wing of the Nicole Richie Hospital , or this picture has been photoshopped to death.

I mean, thin is always "in", but I kinda liked Miss Effie White big-boned.

HEART ATTACK

I'm having a Heart moment.

I hated these girls in the 1980's, but lately, their sappy metal power ballads - "Alone", "What About Love" and "These Dreams" - are making me smile. I also adore watching their dreadful videos on youtube. I mean, was their wardrobe, hair and makeup team on crack? I've never seen so much eyeliner, purple hair, leopard print and lace outfits in my entire life - not even in a Cher video!

I also love how the director is forever trying to shield the obesity of lead singer Ann Wilson. In one video, she was only seen in a cropped - no chins - face shot in a video screen next to the stage. In another video, a wide-angle lens is used to stretch her body; and in yet another attempt, the hairstylist glued her long hair extensions to her chubby cheeks to minimize the width of her wide face. If all else failed, the director would blur her out with artful dark lighting or use a body double. And if the group was ever shown on stage, it was from far, far away and Ann was dressed in a head-to-toe black coat.

Of course, Ann's vocally challenged - but thin and blond - sister, is all over the videos in skimpy outfits pretending to sing.

I've read that the sisters' hated making these videos - and I don't blame them, but they are my new guilty pleasures.

COFFEE BREAK

You know, I need to stay out of Starbucks.

Let me explain:

I don't understand why a person would wait 10 minutes in a line of 20 people and not have your order ready and your money out. Today, some twat in front of me stood for 10 minutes, and when it was her turn to order, didn't know what she wanted....furthermore, she had to fiddle around in her obvious fake Coach bag for her money.

Well, I had had enough.

"Don't you think you could have figured all this out while you waited 10 minutes in the line - you are making everyone wait."

She looked at me with evil in her Jersey eyes ..."I don't think it's any of your business."

Thank goodness for New Yorkers...three people behind me screamed at her to hurry the hell up.

As she picked up her coffee, a black woman yelled at her...."And you ain't fooling anyone with that fake Coach bag either."

Only in New York, kids, only in New York.

ROT IN HELL

The wicked witch of the south is dead. I hope the munchkins are singing and dancing – because I certainly am.

Patron saint of hate, Jesse Helms, passed away on July 4th and I couldn’t be happier.

This man proudly proclaimed himself a bigot of both blacks and gays and fought against their civil rights his entire life. What’s frightening is this man spewed his hate while he was a United States Senator for over 25 years!!

Here are a few direct quotes from him and examples of his handiwork:

"The Negro cannot count forever on the kind of restraint that's thus far left him free to clog the streets, disrupt traffic, and interfere with other men's rights."

The University of North Carolina was "the University of Negroes and Communists."

"There is not one single case of AIDS in this country that cannot be traced in origin to sodomy."

Homosexuality is "degenerate," and homosexuals "weak, morally sick wretches."

In 1993 sang "Dixie" in an elevator to Carol Moseley-Braun, the first African-American woman elected to the Senate, bragging, "I'm going to make her cry. I'm going to sing Dixie until she cries."

More recently, when a caller to CNN's Larry King Live show praised guest Jesse Helms for "everything you've done to help keep down the niggers," Helms' response was to salute the camera and say, "Well, thank you, I think."

Helms would win election against black opponent Harvey Gantt with an ad playing to racist white fear-- the so-called "white hands" ad, in which a white man's hands crumple a rejected job application while a voiceover intones, "You needed that job…but they had to give it to a minority."

With his passing, it’s another nail in the coffin for “old white man” politics.

Rot in hell

GAY PRIDE

It was gay pride in Manhattan this past weekend.

I started the festivities at an awful party. John Cameron Mitchell - of Hedwig and Shortbus movie fame - was hosting a “Judy Garland” soirée in the West Village. I’ve never been a fan of Miss Judy – and I once painted her daughter Lorna Loft, who was quite nice until I mentioned her sister Liza, but hey, that’s another story. I love John, so I thought I might meet some interesting queens.

Boy, was I wrong.

The bar was filled with pretentious artist wannabees – the kind whom take themselves sooooooo fucking seriously. Now don’t get me wrong, I love a pretentious fag, but they must be a pretentious fag with a sense of drama and humor– these fags were dull as dirt. Furthermore, there wasn’t an attractive man in the bunch. I mean, I hate going somewhere where you don’t find anyone interesting or anyone you want to fuck – now that sucks.

Saturday I went to Nowhere Bar – my usual Saturday night hangout. My buddy is the DJ, so I Black Bitch it up for free. The theme was double-headed disco, and the place was packed. Of course, nights like this – gay holidays – bring out the nuts. As I danced to Cheryl Lynn’s Got To Be Real, I met Don – a 50-year-old lawyer. He was high as a kite on X, and had a slight odor of BO, but I was hungry for attention, so I let him buy me a drink. After that, he wouldn’t leave me alone. Okay, he kept telling me I looked 25 - and he gave me a twenty-dollar bill to kiss him on the cheek. And yes, I took the dough; I have Botox to pay for. I guess my friends are right: I am a whore.

On Sunday, I went to the parade to watch my Israeli march in the Pride Israel contingent – he was shirtless and looked hot. He waved at me while he carried his flag. Sappy for an old broad like me, but I blushed like an innocent schoolgirl. What can I say; I’m a sucker for a man with an accent. We made plans for the following night.

Now that, honey, is pride.

LIVING LOHAN

I swear, I wasn't going to watch this show, but with nothing on the boob tube this summer, I don't have much of a choice. And, no, I wasn't about to read a book - although I can't wait for the Madonna tell-all in a few weeks.  

As for the Lohan's, who knew that a 14-year-old from Long Island had such a hip-hop soul?

Of course, I'm joking, but this show is a train wreck you can't take your eyes off. The basis of the show is mother Dina attempting to turn her youngest daughter Ali - an ugly version of sister Lindsey - into a singing sensation.

Mother Dina looks fabulous. I mean, with her bleached hair extensions, skinny jeans and that blank Botoxed expression, she's a priceless example of stage mothers gone wrong. At any moment I expect her to scream out: “Sing out June, Sing out!”

Hey, lightning struck twice with the Simpson sisters, so maybe little Ali has a chance, but I’m not holding my breath.

AMERICA'S NEXT TOP MODEL

Of course, Tyra's sappy show has yet to create a supermodel, but I did recently work my magic on season three winner Naima.  

I think I made her look like a supermodel, don't ya think?

The 99 CENTS STORE

I had a good laugh today.  I was picking up some paper towels and Ajax at Jack's 99 cents store when I came across frozen fish (tripoli and salmon) in the freezer section.  I mean, you're taking your life - not to mention your stomach - into your own hands when you buy fish at the 99 cents store.

ANNIE GET YOUR GUN

In a landmark ruling on personal gun ownership, the U.S. Supreme Court declared a Washington, D.C. handgun  ban unconstitutional. 

Of course, Bush and old daddy McCain championed the decision.  

Obama did not.  

I ask you:  Why do people need to own guns?  It's a 100% fact that countries (Denmark, Sweden) that have strict gun control laws have dramatically less crime.  

America's gun obsession has lead to school killings,  drive-by shootings, domestic violence, suicides and other assorted killings.   

One loony man on CNN said:  "Now I can protect my family."  Protect your family from what?  I mean, is this the wild west where disputes are settled on the streets?

I'm sorry, but guns have one purpose: to kill or injure human beings. 

THE REAL THING

After my tranny date on Friday, I had me a hungry hankering for some penis. Yes, I said it - I wanted me some bonafide penis.

And I got it.

I met the man of my dreams - a hot Israeli with a filthy mind and a hot body -  and he was as sweet as cherry pie.  I mean, he even texted me after he sexed me to say he had a good time - and he signed it with xxxooo.  

Oh, romance in the year 2008 on the ultimate island of lost souls: Manhattan.

HANES FOR HER

What a weekend! Drama with a capital D.

Let me explain:

Friday night I had my date with my tranny man. We went to see “Sex and the City” - and I have to admit Josh (that’s his/her name) looked pretty damn hot waiting out front with his shaved head and tattoos. I swear, I couldn’t tell one iota he was packing a pussy in his panties.

After the movie, Josh walked me home. As we approached my block in the East Village, we discovered a movie being filmed with Julianne Moore – only in Manhattan do you stumble upon a movie star while on a date with a tranny.

At my door, Josh grabbed and kissed me.

At first, I liked his aggressiveness, and I have to admit the kiss was nice. Unfortunately, my smutty instincts took over and I started to run my hand southward to sample the merch.

That’s when it hit me.

Stop – don’t go there my brain screamed.

I guess it was the testosterone injections, because the more I said no, the more aggressive he became. I mean, I was like a school girl swatting his hands away as he groped me on the street. I wanted to yell Jessica Tandy's famous line from Fried Green Tomatoes – “Honey, just how many of those hormones are you taking?”

I mean, I’ve performed just about every perverted sexual act known to mankind on east 12th street, but I wasn’t about to add tranny rape to the list.

As I pushed him away, he asked me what was wrong. I told him I just couldn’t get past the pussy thing. He said that shouldn’t matter if two people find each other attractive. Maybe there is some truth there, but I’m just not that enlightened. I guess I’m old fashioned – I like a man with a penis.

I went upstairs alone.

The next day I received a text message informing me that I was very small minded.

MY MAN

Okay, tonight is the night - my date with my tranny - and I am a bit worried.

Via the internet (Thank God for the internet) I found that the proper term is: Transman.

I can hear it now..."Mother, this is my date...the transman." Sounds like a superhero (ine), doesn't it?

What I don't know is if my transman has a vagina or a makeshift penis; and to be honest, I don't want to find out.

What I don't understand is this: If a woman thinks she was born a man, and goes through hormones etc..why would she be attracted to a gay man? I mean, wouldn't she be attracted to a woman?

Life on the island of Manhattan: Why is it so confusing?

GENUINE GENDER

I was out drinking last night.  

Oh, not that much, but a  few Black Bitches (vodka/Diet Coke) to wet the whistle and loosen the inhibitions.

I wasn't looking for love, but the bartender kept staring at me - he was cute in a "bearish" type of way - you know, tattoos, hairy and beefy.  He wasn't my type, but he kept my glass full and my face smiling with his jokes.

Later, he asked me out - but he had to tell me something:  He was transgendered.  

Transgendered?  I was shocked. The man was butcher than anyone in the neighborhood...well, I guess that wasn't saying much since it was Chelsea.  

Many of my friends are trannies, and I love them all, but a man with a vagina?  I mean, my life is confusing enough.

In the end, I gave him my number - we are going to the movies on Friday.

PISSED OFF

You know what really pisses me off?  

Women (it's never men) customers at Starbucks that wait 20 minutes in line only to reach the counter without their money in hand.   These bitches make everyone wait while they search their purses for their billfold and then search for that 13 cents so they won't have to break a bill.  On top of this, these stupid women have to repack their purses while everyone is waiting.  

I hate them.

DON'T MESS WITH A QUEEN

It's official: Madonna's bitchy brother Christopher has written a nasty tell-all book called "Life with my Sister" - detailing his many years as his sister's tag-a-long sidekick. Apparently, the book is filled to the gills with details of lady Madge's saucy shenanigans - and I hear Mrs. Ritchie is none too happy about this.

Well, what did she expect?

I mean, everyone knows that brother and sister were thick as thieves in Madonna's hey-day, but she turned her back on him when she married Guy Ritchie - apparently Guy Ritchie cannot stand swishy queens, so Christopher (as well as most of Madonna's gay friends) had to go.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Don't cross a queen!

I met Christopher several times in the late 90's at uber gay haunt Beige, and I have to say, he was one snotty queen. But then again, if I was Madonna's brother, I'd be one snotty queen, too - hell, I'm already a snotty queen. LOL.

Unfortunately, time has not been kind to Christopher - perhaps he could use a portion of his book money on some "work."

In any event, I just can't wait to read the book - it comes out July 15.

THE BROKEN HIPSTER

Okay, we all know that skateboarding is the new Manhattan trend - but do we really need to see middle-aged men with greying sideburns on these things?

I think not.

I mean,  one of these aging hipsters is bound to get a broken hip.

The other night I was scoping celebs at the Waverly Inn when two 40+ men came zipping up on skateboards.  Of course, they were decked out in Prada, but that isn't the point.  Two cute girls behind me both chuckled outloud :  "Grow up!"

I could not have said it better.

THE BACHELORETTE HE-SHE

You've gotta see my friend Riftgirl's latest video on YouTube.

IPOD BLUES

Thank God for George Michael.

His words, wisdom and music are getting me through yet another heartache…I don’t know what it is about 80’s icons, but they always ease my pain. One summer, when I had my heart broken by a cab driver, nothing but Belinda Carlisle could sooth me. And when my husband died from cancer, it was all about Dusty Springfield – I know she is technically a 60’s icon, but she did have a resurgence compliments of the Pet Shop Boys in the 80’s, but I digress.

Well, now it’s George’s turn. His “Listen Without Prejudice” is playing nonstop on my ipod. I mean, I can hear his pain through his feathered hair.

My relationship that never was, is now over – he has left Manhattan to pursue his dreams of stardom. Did he like me? Or was it just convenient sex? I guess I will never know. I keep thinking I should have done more, but I could "woulda, shoulda" myself to death.

Why is love so hard?

THE GIRLS ARE BACK IN TOWN

I saw “Sex and the City” – and I loved it. I mean, what woman or gay man wouldn’t?

Fuck all the mixed and horrible reviews – if you loved the television show, you will love the movie. Granted, the movie isn’t as witty, quick-paced or groundbreaking as the original HBO series, but it is a valentine to all of the fans.

I am not going to give away the plot, but my big gripe with “Sex and the City” is that Sarah Jessica Parker has way too much screen time – and trust me, that big ugly mug isn’t too pretty in close-ups.

I mean, the title should have been “Carrie and the Sex and the City Girls” – very Diana “The Boss” Ross. Granted, Miranda has a good storyline, and Samantha has some of the best lines, but poor Charlotte has nothing to do but shit her pants.

All and all, a good Manhattan movie – but not the best. My favorite is “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”. Holly Golightly was the original Carrie Bradshaw.

TIME

Do you know how to tell if you have too much time on your hands?

Watching the entire 2006 Dynasty Reunion on YouTube - that's how.

One of my best friends emailed me today with the news that she spent the evening watching the 2006 Dynasty Reunion show in its entirety on Youtube.

First off, I was amazed that she would admit it.

But after thinking about it, I'd probably do the same thing.

SAVING MONEY

In these times of economic woes, I've found a few stylish ways to cut costs without cutting out life's necessities.

Let me explain:

I love my Starbucks' Soy Lattes - yes, I do. However, I find the $5 daily cost a bit too steep, so I order a small plain coffee in a large cup. Large cup in hand, I mosey on over to the bar and fill the remaining half with soy milk for a makeshift latte.

The savings? $3.10.

Everyone knows I love my Black Bitches - I also love saying it to bartenders - but the price of a vodka/Coke combo can hover around $12 at most lounges. Well, I can't sit home every night, so now I order a draft beer - not only does it "butch" me up, but saves me around $6 per drink.

If anyone else has any stylish money saving tips, please pass them along.

IDOL THOUGHTS

Okay, I admit it – I loved the American Idol finale.

I mean, it was like The Lawrence Welk Show for the new millennium – shiny happy faces singing/slaughtering legendary songs.

Highlights included a fabulous vintage Gladys Knight singing “Midnight Train to Georgia” – that sista can sing. Also loved Miss George Michael – another sista that can sing. I mean, even Simon gave sister George a standing ovation.

Lowlights included poor chubby Donna Summer – her black pantsuit wasn’t doing her any favors. I mean, is she getting fashion tips from Hillary Clinton? And can we talk about leathery Bryan Adams? Poor dried out thing looked liked he hadn’t drank a glass of water since his last hit in the 1980s. Remember Bryan, Botox and Juviderm are your friends.

Finally, as much as I love David Cook, that weird comb-over hair-do has got to go. Face facts sista, you’re balding, so shave the head because you're not fooling anyone.
.

THE SKINNY ON THINGS

Over drinks last night at uber-trendy Beige, my skinny friends and I were discussing a serious topic:

Weight gain in a relationship.

If your partner or wife or husband or whomever puts on extra weight, do you still have to fuck them? I mean, if they're no longer a hottie - and you still are - what do you do? Now, I 'm not talking five extra pounds, I'm talking 20 plus pounds and a serious addiction to channel surfing and deep dish pizzas.

After much debate, we agreed that in Manhattan, you can't afford to let yourself go...and if you do, you have to let that person go.

Sad, but true.

A DOG FIGHT

Thank God Obama pulled up his Ivy Leagued sleeves and jumped in the Republican mud and came out swinging.

After Bush's stupid and insane anti-Obama comments in Israel, Obama - unlike John Kerry - didn't waste a single moment to defend himself.

Good for him - because as we all know, the Republicans play dirty.

BIG BALLS

I couldn't resist.

Let me explain:

I happened to be in the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport this week - and I couldn't let the opportunity slip by without a visit to where Republican Senator Larry Craig met his fate. You see, I normally travel via the smaller HHH Terminal, so I've yet to pay a homage to the stall of hypocrisy.

Armed with my Canon Sureshot, I strode into the mensroom. I was surprised there wasn't a guard or anything - and the promised floor to ceiling walls between toilets were no where in sight. I guess you can still play footsie.

As I snapped away, no one paid me the slightest attention - except one man. He approached me outside the bathroom and gave me his email address - "Please," he said. "Send me a few of those pictures - I lack the balls to take them myself."

"What are you going to do with the photos?" I asked.

"I want to send them to my friend John Waters."

How appropriate - I emailed him the photos today.

THE SHOW IS CLOSED

She won big in West Virginia tonight, but big fucking deal. I mean, she's out and she knows it.

I love her quote she gave reporters this week:

"A woman is like a tea bag: You never know how strong she is until she's in hot water."

Well, she must be some strong ass tea.

They say there's no second acts in America, but I have feeling that won't hold true for Hillary Clinton.

A HARD GOODBYE

My fuck buddy is leaving Manhattan.

Okay, he's a little more than a fuck buddy. I mean, it's hard to have great sex with someone - as well as great conversation - for six months and have no emotion. I know he wasn't my boyfriend - he was way too young and way too cute, but it was nice in the lonely wee hours of the morning to pretend he was.

Maybe...just maybe...you don't always get what you want, but you get what you need.

Yes, I'm buying that one.

LAST ONE AT THE PARTY

I hate to say it, because I support Hillary, but I think it's time for her to drop out of the race. The polls suggest she has a stronger chance to beat old daddy McCain in the fall, but I guess the public has spoken.

Let's pray Obama doesn't fuck up.

THE WRONG WAY TO WRIGHT

Here's what I don't get about the Rev. Wright controversy:

He says that white people are attacking the "black" church. I've also heard other prominent blacks report that speeches such as Rev. Wright's are common in "black" churches.

If that is true, what does that say about black Americans? I mean, could you imagine the shit that would fly if such statements were spoken in "white" churches?

I'm sorry, but anti-American and anti-white bullshit shouldn't be spoken in any church.

ANGELS AND KINGS

It's no secret that I love Ashlee Simpson - she's the ultimate ugly duckling success story.

I mean, she grew up in the shadow of busty blond big sister Jessica - and that couldn't have been easy for a girl with little talent, no tits and a big nose. However, with the help of a doctor's scalpel, she has transformed herself into a surgerized swan - and nabbed a rock star boyfriend.

Call me crazy, but I rocked out to her first album. Yes, I realize it was overproduced bullshit, but somehow I connected to her overproduced teenage angst - probably because I have so much of my own.

As luck would have it, Ashlee and her rock star fiance (Pete  Wentz of Fall Out Boy) have opened a bar named Angels and Kings located just steps from my apartment in the East Village. Ashlee and Pete are attempting to fashion it into a grungy version of the super chic Beatrice Inn. I've made it past the velvet ropes several times, but Ashlee was always surrounded by people - until last night.

Let me explain:

It was just after midnight when I saw my idol perched all by her lonesome on a bar stool. Her eyes were lined in heavy black makeup and I think (I hope) she was DJing because she was wearing "cans" over her red extensions.

I couldn't let this moment go by.

I casually bumped into my idol as I elbowed my way to the bar to order my $20 Black Bitch.

"So sorry."

She looked at me and smiled.

OK, this was my moment - try to be cool.

"The music is great tonight - who is this song by?"

"New mix by Madonna - here, have some drink tickets for your Black Bitches - what is a Black Bitch?"

"Vodka and Coke -Diet Coke if I'm feeling fat."

She laughed and handed me the tickets. She adjusted her "cans" and wandered into the crowd.

I had to catch my breath, but I had to be cool or the ever present security would label me a stalker.

The rest of the night was a blur.

I plan on going back every chance I get.

BRATS

You know, you gotta love the rich.

Let me explain:

In Manhattan, we have a problem with brats. You know, spoiled rich kids with mommy and daddy paying all the bills. One of these brats (who is Jewish) recently told me she had started a scarf company called Peace Treaty with a Muslim friend. Apparently, these two brats think it is groundbreaking news for an Arab and a Jew to be working together. I mean, does anyone buy this bullshit?

In the same breath, she asked me to work a 10-hour day on her catalog for $150.... or perhaps a scarf.

Was she serious?

She cried poverty....and then told me she just bought an apartment on Central Park.

Yeah, you gotta love the rich.

HILLARY

You know, I am sick of people saying that Hillary Clinton should drop out of the race. I mean, she won last night by double digits - obviously some people want her to say in the race.

Furthermore, she has won all of the large electorial rich states - New York, California, Texas, Ohio and Pennsylvania - not to mention the much debated Florida and Michigan. I agree that Obama is the future of the democratic party, but this is America afterall, and democracy rules, so let Hillary continue on.

SHE'S SHOWING HER AGE

After many years of looking a perpetual 28, Miss Nicole is showing her age. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, even with a forehead filled with Botox, the lower face never lies.

THE NEW 50

Many of you have asked me for a pic of former Go-Go Belinda Carlisle - a judge on my new favorite show "Rock the Cradle."

Well, here it is. Yes, this is what 50 looks like in 2008.

MY NEW ROLE MODEL

OMG - I have a new role model.

Let me explain:

I was channel surfing the other night when I came upon MTV's new reality show "Rock The Cradle" - a horrific train wreck of a program that features the off-spring of famous singers competing American Idol style. I was about to switch channels when Chloe Lattanzi took the stage. I was stunned - and fascinated - not only by her awful singing, but her puffed up porn star meets Pete Burns face. I mean, this girl is only 22, but looks 45 via Priscilla Presley's surgeon. I was even more stunned to learn she was Olivia Newton John's daughter. Furthermore, People magazine ran a lengthy article about her bout with anorexia.

Yes, I love this girl.

Check her out on MTV. Oh, Belinda Carlise and her own plastic cup face is one of the judges.

God, I love this show.

PARTNERS

You know, I'm starting to rethink this boyfriend thing.

Let me explain:

I ran into a friend last week that I had not seen in years.

Why?

Because he now has a partner.

He went on and on about how happy he was - he also added that the sex was still sizzling hot.

I couldn't take my eyes off his expanded waistline, double chin and poorly cut hair.

If this is what having a boyfriend looks like, I'll stay thin and single.

CLIENT #9

“I think hiring a prostitute is the way to go…

I mean, if you just want a bump in the night, at least you know exactly what you are getting.”

So said a friend over drinks at uber-trendy homo haunt Beige.

Let me explain:

Our table was discussing the horrors of the unknown when entertaining a one-night stand. You know, once you’re between the sheets, you never know what surprises await you.

Smelly pits
Uncut
Small dick
Strange sex habits
Not wanting to leave
Bad breathe
Snoring

You know, we’ve all been there. right?

Maybe my friend has the right idea.

HAPPINESS

Spring has finally sprung in Manhattan - and with it brings a sense of hope and happiness.

Over drinks the other night, my friends and I were discussing happiness - more to the point, what exactly is happiness. Of course, most of my table mates had the notion that happiness was the perfect mate, the perfect house etc...

I disagreed.

I think happiness is in the small details of everyday life.

Happiness is finding the perfect eyebrow shape.

Happiness is meeting a cute boy on the street.

Happiness is finding a job that you love.

Happiness is the perfect Cobb salad.

Happiness is a late night phone chat with your best friend.

Happiness is a clean apartment.

IN PRAISE OF SURGERY

I recently came across these now and then photos of Miss Cybill Shepherd - an actress who has said in numerous interviews that she will never go under the knife.

Well, honey, it's time to reconsider that decision.

IN HER/HIS SHOES

I came upon a rather heated discussion on a fellow blogger's page.

The topic?

Pro or con: Forced shoe removal upon entering the house of a host.

I say no way.

I mean, shoes are part of your outfit - and I always wear something with a little lift to give me that extra inch.

Also, I don't like walking around in my stocking feet.

THE LIST

Another piece of the puzzle in the mystery of finding a boyfriend:

I recently read that if you have a “list” of more than 5 no-nos when choosing a mate, the problem is you. I started to think of my no-no list.

1) Not fatties. Yes, I know this is superficial, but I could never date a man with a bad body.
2) No Drag queens. I’m femmy enough; I don’t want to date someone girlier than me.
3) I don’t have an age issue – anyone 25 – 50 is good for me, but they have to have confidence.
4) I’m very open minded with looks – confidence and positive energy can really make a man attractive. I mean, some of the best sex I’ve had were with so-called ugly people.
5) Must be passionate about something in life – work, hobbies, etc.

Ok, I only have five, so why no boyfriend?

A COUPLE OF FROGS

People say you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince.

Well, in my search for a boyfriend, my lips are quickly turning into lily pads.

Let me explain:

One of the best things about living in Manhattan is the anonymity it gives you. I mean, you rarely see the same person twice. With that in mind, sometimes I like to go out with a new identity. Sometimes I'm Tommy the graduate student, or perhaps Vinny the dermatologist, or other times I'm Johnny from Long Island. Oh, I'm not alone in this charade, before having her baby, my good friend Denise would frequent salsa clubs under the alias of Ramona....perhaps, it's a Manhattan thing.

After one too many vodkas Sunday night, I met a hot couple who wanted to have a three-way. Hmmm... Johnny could handle this one. Yes, Johnny from Long Island would be perfect for this assignment. In the cab to their Washington Heights apartment, the couple barely spoke to me. I mean, I was getting scared - very Silence of the Lambs. Once we arrived, we were greeted at the door by a third roommate.

"Oh, we texted him and he wants to try you out, too."

He was handsome and young, so I thought what the hell. We went to the back bedroom and got it on. Once we were finished, he left the room and said, "I'll send the other two in". Suddenly, I felt like a whore at VIP waiting for client #9. The couple and I had sex, too - one was hot the other not so hot. Afterwards, they barely spoke to me. I guess this couple has a three-way clause - no talking or getting close to the third party. Yes, it was odd - as if they were about to say - "It puts the lotion in the basket." I laughed as I let myself out.

I guess I had a good time, but one thing is for sure: In my search for my prince, there are three less Manhattan frogs to kiss.

ICONS

You know, I just don't get this gay icon thing.

I was having lunch with "a queen of a certain age", and he talked nonstop of his love for Barbra Streisand and Bette Midler. Now I admit, I love me some early Babs when she had the winged eyeliner and ratted beehive, but once she scrubbed her face and combed out her hair and went down Laura Nyro's Stoney End, I lost interest.

Bette Midler? Her 1971 self-titled album is amazing, but like the first season of Desperate Housewives, it was five years in the making, so it had damn well better had been good. Everything the divine Miss M has produced since has been medicore at best. Okay, a few songs from "The Rose" are pretty decent, too.

My vote for gay icon is Britney Spears - a real mess.

CHEMISTRY 101

Last night, my friend and I were discussing sexual chemistry between two people. I mean, it's something you can't create - it's either there or it isn't, right?

But what happens when that person you have chemistry with has it with other people, too.

Let me explain:

I have a crush on a chickenhead - someone way too young and way too cute. I know he likes me - we've been fuck buddies for months. But I know he's seeing other people. I mean, when he's with me, he can't take his eyes off me, and we can talk endlessly about anything for hours.

But the real question is, how do you take a fuck buddy out of the bedroom and into real life? I mean, it's hard to sex someone up for months on end and not have any feelings for that person.

I guess I'm afraid to make the first move.

I LOVE THIS!

My friend had this posted on her site, so yes, I stole it, but it's so damn funny.

A FOOL

If this isn't proof that men think with their dicks, I don't know what is.

What a fool - I mean, did he really think he was going to get away with it?

I guess it's true that power corrupts.

BACK TO SCHOOL

"This is where I first cut myself."

"This is where I found out I was pregnant."

"This is where I found out I had a brain tumor."

And my favorite - "This isn't a high school musical."

For the past few weeks, I have been mesmerized by these haunting commercials advertising WE network's new show "High School Confidential" - a documentary  4-years in the making featuring 12 girls from Kansas.  I mean, I drove my friends batty over the past few weeks with my constant "This is where I sucked my first dick  etc...." jokes about the show.

Well, this week I was lucky enough to meet the girls who were in Manhattan on a media blitz to promote the show.    Fresh from an appearance on "The Tyra Bank's Show", I primped the girls for a Newsweek article. 

Of course, I greeted each girl by her problem, which I have to admit made the Midwestern mothers a little weary of me.

The show starts this Monday on WE.

SEX ADDICT?

Am I a sex addict?

I don't think so, but a man I was kinda dating seemed to think so.

Let me explain:

We were out drinking cheap red wine when he asked me what kind of kinky sex I would like to experiment with.  Feeling slutty and slightly intoxicated, I told him I'd like to take him to a "dirty bookstore" and suck him off through a gloryhole.  

He looked kinda startled, but I didn't stop there.

I then proceeded to tell him I'd like to "fool around" in the back of a speeding taxi or maybe he could sneak into my apartment wearing a burglar mask.

He looked at me horrified and confessed his "kinky" fantasy was to "do it" in the kitchen.  

The kitchen?  I knew he was kinda vanilla, but I never thought he was that vanilla.  

Now I've always subscribed to the theory that a man likes a "saint in the sitting room and a whore in the bedroom."  I mean, my dead husband never had any complaints with my sexual creativity.

Of course, the next day I received an email from this man informing me that we were not compatible and that I was a sex addict.

SHE'S BACK

She did it!

Against all odds, Hillary took Texas and Ohio last night, which means she's back in the race.

It's not that I don't like Obama, I just don't think he's prepared to run the country.  I mean,  we only need to look at the current president to see what can happen when someone with very little experience moves into the white house.

FATTIES

You know, when my friends come to visit Manhattan, they are shocked at the lack of fat people.  Well, I tell them, a fat person could never survive in the concrete jungle.  For starters, most of the subways are two to three to four flights underground - and that is a lot of walking.  I mean, you might start out fat if you move to Manhattan, but you would get thin mighty quick.

In fact, I see a "fat to skinny" reality show - put two fatties in Manhattan for six weeks and see how much weight they lose.

The Biggest Loser - Manhattan Style.

THE OLD BLONDE MARE

Okay, she doesn't have a chance in hell to win, but let's give the lady her due.

I mean, she has more balls than 99 percent of the men in America, so no matter what happens, she will go down in history.

What really scares the fuck out of me is that in a recent poll old daddy MaCain is neck and neck with Obama.

Doesn't this country ever learn anything?  

I mean, does 50 percent of the nation really want 4 more years of Bush?

I HATE SUNDAYS IN MANHATTAN

You know, I hate Manhattan on Sundays.

All of the undesirables from New Jersey and Queens swarm the city with their tacky Coach handbags and boot cut jeans.

Tacky.

Sundays are for staying in my apartment.

A DATE

Why do str8 people think that just because you're gay, you lust after every other gay person?

Let me explain:

In my quest for love, I let my injection specialist set me up with her friend.

Big mistake.

I mean, I didn't want to go in the first place, but she insisted we were perfect for each other, so she cooked up this idea that we could meet in a bar on the pretense of returning my phone.

He wasn't my type.

He was one of those "power fags" with a short haircut and a designer suit - and he smelled of too much cologne and carried a man purse. I don't think I was his type either. I mean, with my rock-n-roll Farrah flip and East Village hipster style, he looked rather startled when he met me. During our brief time together, he barely glanced in my direction; and within minutes, he grabbed our friend and made a hasty exit.

Odd thing is, the next day my friend called and informed me he wanted the three of us to have dinner.

What?

Men.

I can't figure them out.

MISTER MAKEUP SPEAKS

My best buddy Mister Makeup is offering his Valentine's Day beauty advice at www.celebrityeverything.com

Take a look.

SETTLING? OR JUST REALISTIC

I was chatting with an old friend the other day, and she had some interesting opinions about love.

In her heyday, my friend, who is one of the most interesting and smartest people I have ever met, was a model that jetsetted around the globe with a worn Filofax that was filled with admirers. In other words, she had a penis in every port.

As she approached 40, she married a suburban Minnesotan and moved into his rambler style house that looked like a garage - you know the style - all garage door and driveway with very little house.

When I inquired about her happiness, she replied:

"Well, my husband is too fat, he drinks too much beer, watches sports constantly, and he farts at inappropriate times. He doesn't "get" me, but then again, whoever did? I know he's very common, but I guess he loves me.

" Am I happy? It's not the life that I dreamed for myself, but he loves me - did I say that already."

I had no idea how to respond to her.

I mean, was this her idea of love?

TOUGH WEEK

It's been a tough week in my search for love. I mean, it's almost Valentine's Day - the most co-dependent day of the year - and I'm alone.

I started out the week with a cute French man. I met him at a bar, and he said I was cute, so I let him kiss me. I wasn't that turned on by him, but you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince, right?

I didn't go home with him.

The next night, I walked by a restaurant and noticed a happy young gay couple having dinner. I could tell they were on a date. It made me sad. I mean, it's been like forever since I've had sex with someone I actually liked.

Maybe I'm going about this all wrong.

Maybe I'm putting the horse before the cart.

I guess my fairy tale isn't about to come true anytime soon.

MORE MARRIED MEN

Do I have "whore" written on my forehead?

I think I do.

I was riding the 6 train the other day when yet another married man tried to pick me up.

Let me explain:

I was returning home from a shoot with Project Runway's Tim Gunn when a very middle-aged man in a suit kept staring at me. Within moments, he was chatting me up. He told me he lived on Long Island and sold septic tanks for a living. Yes, my dream man had finally arrived on a downtown bound Manhattan train.

I noticed the wedding band on his finger. Oh, don't worry, he said, my wife doesn't need to know a thing.

He said he had a few hours to kill - and asked if he could come over.

I said no, I'm busy.

No more married men - especially ones that sell septic tanks.

SUPER TUESDAY

What a great time to be an American.

I mean, a woman and a black man running for president?

We're witnessing history, folks.

SUPERBOWL

You know, I just don't get organized sports...I just don't.

Why do grown men and women get all worked up over watching a bunch of spoiled, uneducated millionaires tossing a ball around?

I just don't get it.

I also don't get how these same grown men and women take to the streets chanting..."We won, we won!!"

What did they win? Are these people living such sad lives that they have to transfer all of their hopes and dreams onto a sports team?

As I said, I just don't get it.

LATE NIGHTS

I hooked up with an old fuck buddy the other night – a gorgeous 28 year old boy with wavy Hollywood hair and eyes so dark and hooded they could turn a hetro boy queer. His name is Scorpio (I swear it’s his real name) and when I met him a few years back, he was trying to make it as an actor/model – he now works on Wall Street.

He came over at 1am – drunk. His hair was messy and he smelled of stale beer and cigarettes – and he wasn’t wearing underwear.

Why did I let him in? I guess the three devils of Manhattan - bored, lonely and horny – got the best of me.

He said he had stopped calling me because I was ”standoffish” during our last hook up.

Hmmmm.

Maybe that’s my problem with men.

I mean, he wasn't the first to tell me I have an icy veneer. I guess I’ve always subscribed to the notion that you never show feelings or love for several months – but come to think of it, the person who gave me that advice is 46 and still single.

I didn’t have much time to ponder the question of my cold soul, because in a matter of seconds his body was pressed up against mine. I woke up the next morning smelling of stale beer and cigarettes.

Time to save my soul later.

THE ORAL REPORTER ENDORSEMENT

With the onslaught of celeb and politico endorsements, I'm casting my vote for Hillary Clinton.

I have to admit, I was swayed by Obama's way with words, but when it comes right down to it, he doesn't really have much to say.

I mean, what are his views on anything?

Do we really know?

I'm sorry, but flowery words of change don't really mean that much.

I want a president with some experience.

And those Clinton years were pretty damn good in retrospect.

BYE BYE

I never liked Rudy Giuliani as mayor of New York City - and I despise his gold digging wife.

I mean, he was a big bully who did horrific things to common citizens who tried to stand up to him - the New York Times last week printed an amazing article about his mean-spirited tactics as mayor. And can we talk about Bernie Kerik?

911? Yeah, he did a good job - but I think any mayor or elected official would have done equally as well.

I say good riddance.

PS - Let's see how long his wife stays with him now that he hasn't got a shot in hell to be president.

A NEW ATTITUDE

In my quest for love, a good friend and I went out for drinks to discuss my situation. Over much heartfelt talk, and a few tears on my part, she asked me a rather interesting question: Who am I?

And you know what, I couldn't answer the question.

After many years of freelance work, which constantly requires a new face and a new attitude for each job environment, my wants and needs are as easily applied and removed as the makeup I apply to a model's face. Happy, sad, sexy or queeny, I've played every role with gusto. I mean, Oscar, Tony, Emmy - even a fucking People's Choice Award - I've earned them all.

Yet, sitting with a happy hour Rasmopolitan in my hand, I came to the conclusion that I had no idea who I am.

You know, I think I better find out.

NO PITY

Oh boo-hoo.

I don't understand why anyone in their right mind would shed a single tear for some rich brat that overdoses...I mean, come on, he was lounging around in bed at 3 pm waiting for a massage - damn, I should have it so lucky. Here is someone who had been given all of life's charms, and he chose to flush them down the drain. Although, I do find the Mary kate Olsen connection interesting.

I don't feel any pity for him whatsoever.

CELEBRITY REHAB

Wow, I love this new show on VH1.

Dr. Drew of MTV fame hosts a bunch of D-list celebs including Chyna Doll, Brigitte Nielson, one of the Baldwin brothers, a porn star and an American Idol reject - but the real highlight is Taxi's Jeff Conaway. I mean, he is a fucking mess. He is stuck in a wheelchair and totally suicidal and shaking and crying coming off his drugs - it's amazing television.

Watch it.

LOVE PAINS

Well, I’m discovering that the road to true love isn’t paved with roses.

The thing about finding love in Manhattan is that the majority of its residents are either jaded, opportunists or assholes - and let’s not forgets whores.

Why?

Normal and sane people don’t move to New York City.

I mean, it takes a certain bravado and self-centeredness to move to the island of lost souls – in other words, these people have more important things on their agendas than love.

OK, I admit I’m a jaded opportunist, too – and probably a whore – but I’m trying to change.

HEARTBREAK HOTEL

I have made 2008 my year to find true love again.

I don’t think of it as such an odd request, but my friends certainly do.

My girlfriend in Milwaukee practically jumped through the phone when I told her. I mean, she basically said I was nuts and I had better reserve my room at the heartbreak hotel pronto.

Another friend with perfect prose wrote in an email:

I always thought of you as more of a hardened jaded (distinguished) girl who has seen and done it all. Now I see the emotional vulnerability behind that fierce mask – smoke and mirrors.

I had to ask myself: Do I really come off as that jaded? Maybe I do. And for the record, I consider myself more of a dame than a girl.


Maybe I am nuts to search for love on the ultimate island of lost souls, but I’m going to give it a shot.

TAKE A PEEK

My buddy Mister Makeup is now writing a column for www.celebrityeverything.com - check his tips out by clicking on the "Winterize Your Skin" logo.

IT'S GOING TO BE A FIGHT

I don't like Hillary, but I'm glad she won.

Why?

Because now it's going to be a real fight to see who's capable for the job. I mean, we as the public are going to see Barack and Hill putting it out there for our vote - and that's a good thing.

A word of advice for Hill - no more crying. It worked once, but it won't work again.

DROP DEAD GOOD

I love this movie from 1999 - it satires life in Minnesota much more effectively than Fargo ever did.

The plot is simple: A bunch of girls compete for a beauty pageant in a mock documentary. The jokes are sick, twisted and very politically incorrect - but oh-so funny.

The movie is packed with talent - including: Kirstie Alley, Kirsten Dunst, Brittnay Murphy, Ellen Barken, Allison Janney (also in Minnesota based movie Juno), Denise Richards, Amy Adams, Nora Dunn and Mo Gaffney. Also, Joan Jett rocks out the Mary Tyler Moore theme song at the end.

Rent or buy it now.

HURRAH!!

I am overjoyed that Hillary did not win last night.

Why?

Because as much as I love her as my New York senator, a recent CBS poll said that 47% of Americans disliked her - my own father said he would vote for anyone who ran against her.

Well, if the Dems want the big house back this year, it better be someone who can win.

My vote is for Barack Obama.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Well, a new year is upon us.

Time to make a few resolutions and changes.

For starters, no more married men for me - nothing but trouble. Exciting, yes, but stable, no. I think this year I will stick to men who are single and openly gay.

Next, I'm going to try to make a new set of friends. The problem in Manhattan is that its population is very transient; and in 2007 I lost many friends to the West Coast and other worldly ports. Of course, "friends" are a dime a dozen on the island of lost souls, but I'm looking for a new "smart set" to hang out with.

I'm also going to attempt to date again. I mean, it's been five years since my partner died from bladder cancer, so I guess it's time, right? It's hard watching the love-of-your-life waste away in front of your eyes - and I don't think you ever get over it. Last week, while I was in recovery from a minor operation, I kept insisting to anyone who would listen that "Denny was coming to get me", so I guess it's something I live with even in my Ativaned subconscious.

Well, this year I'm going to try to let another man love me - and not just in the biblical sense.

Wish me luck.

SPORTS FANS

You know what I don't get?

Televised sports and the millions of dollars that are paid to the athletes.

Oh, I know what you're thinking: What do I know? I'm a big queen who would rather dance around my apartment to the soundtrack of "Dreamgirls" than watch sports.

Probably true.

However, I just don't understand what is so great about watching other men/women tossing a ball around. I mean, I could understand if you were actually playing the sport, but to sit and watch and cheer from a sofa?

I don't get it.

I should also point out that most professional athletes are dumb as rocks, seldom vote, and if they do vote, it's Republican. Furthermore, when questioned as a group, very few even knew about global warming. I mean, how could they know about global warming when the majority of them drive Hummers. And I won't even go into all the sex scandals, rapes and drugs these athletes get involved in. Oh, did I mention they make millions of dollars a year?

As I said, I just don't get it.

SUPERSTAR

I love this great quote from Andy Warhol superstar Brigid Berlin.

"My mother wanted me to be a slim, respectable socialite. Instead I became an overweight troublemaker."

ONLY IN NYC

I found this little tidbit while I was cruising the men for men on Craigslist - I think it's hilarious.

i have an STD but wanna get blown anyway. (serious) - 27

Reply to: pers-515403676@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-12-20, 3:33PM EST


i know this is irresponsible of me but i don't care.
I have had a burning when i piss, a little bit of discharge, etc. It seems like a textbook case of the clap.
my doctor is on vacation until after christmas so i can't do anything about it until then.

the obvious, adult thing to do would be quit screwing around.

but i am one horny beast right now. jacking aint cutting it.

so if you wanna get with a 27 year old, 6'1" 170lbs athlete with good abs, tight ass, and thick cock. . . get in touch.
Of course i'll wear a condom.
and its syph. . its curable.

pics for trade

serious only. . . and don't preach to me. i could just keep my trap shut about all this but i'm being up front. so don't preach to me.

PARTIES

It's high season for parties in Manhattan - and I'm not missing a single one.

Last night, I attended the one-year anniversary of the Rapture Cafe - a decadent and divine coffee shop on Avenue A. Of course, all the hipsters and dragsters were out, but it was the stage show that was truly amazing. Many clubbers got up to talk and sing, but the highlight was most definitely the stripping rabbi with the eight-inch shlong and prosthetic tits.

Yes, only in New York City, kids.

SICKO

OK, we all know the health care system in America sucks, but I've never experienced it first hand - until now.

My mother - a senior citizen - had an operation this past week and was sent home within 2 hours of the procedure. I mean, she looked like death warmed over.

Once home, she moaned and groaned for three days.

My parents have excellent health insurance and this is the treatment they received.

God help the rest of us.

LOOKING FOR MR. GAYBAR

It's a colder than normal in Manhattan. I mean, it's mittens and scarf weather. I had just come from a painfully dull straight person party - all wrinkly faces and bad clothing choices. I couldn't wait to leave. Once home, with the cold winds blowing against my cheap rent stabilized windows, I began to feel lonely - and horny.

It was too cold to go out looking for love, so I turned to the Internet; and within minutes, I had found a trick.

The man that showed up at my door was beautiful, but when he opened his mouth, Fran "The Nanny" Dreiser came dancing out.

"I'm just a queen from Queens," he laughed in a nasal voice when I inquired his origins.

OK, I strategized as I looked at his muscles and cute dimples, let's get this over with as quick as possible and with little or no talking. With my mouth clamped over his, I led him into the bedroom. Once undressed, his Internet pictures did not lie - his body was rock hard with a bubbled ass and a dick that was both gargantuan and beautifully shaped.

Things were going as scheduled until he questioned the music in the background.

"Is that Dusty Springfield," he squeeled.

"Yes," I said running my hand over his lips trying to get him back into the moment.

"I have her greatest hits," he said. "But she isn't one of my big three - Cher, Elton and Whitney. Oh, I just love those three. I used to love Barbra Streisand, but she didn't answer the fan letter I wrote to her last year."

OK, the sex was over. I had now discovered the piece of the puzzle to this beautiful man's singlehood.

He then went on and on about his love of all things Bette, Celine and even Reba.

I couldn't get rid of him fast enough.

I mean, it's fine to be a big queen, but for the love of God, please butch it up a bit for an Internet hookup.

TOO MUCH

The thing about living in Manhattan is you never lack for things to do.

Let me explain:

Last night I attended Dirty Thoughts - an event that invited writers to share their thoughts on sex.

A pre-op tranny spoke of her love for her fully functional tranny cock. At times, her penis prose became quite graphic, but since I was sitting in a slick downtown coffee shop that considered itself a vision of nowness, I couldn't wince. One of my best friends is a tranny, and although I think of her as a 100 percent female, we seldom talk sex. I mean, I'm a 100 percent man-loving gay boy, so the thought of a pecker in lace panties is non too appealing to me. In other words, some sex acts are better left behind closed doors.

A bearish looking man was up next. He told a moving tale of searching for love via unsafe sex in a world filled with HIV. He held the audience in the palm of his hands as he spoke of his journey to find the right man to give him the "gift". Once HIV positive, he found it wasn't all parties and pride marches as in the HIV medication advertisements. Not surprisingly, his story turned into a story of regret and sadness.

Finally, an older man of about 70 spoke about his sexual trysts with two brothers in catholic school. The timeline was the 1950s. He detailed hidden meetings and hidden signals that seemed so foreign and unbelievable to his young audience. In the end, both brothers became priests and were later involved with molesting alter boys and sharing them with the writer on the stage. He didn't seem to have any regret about molesting young boys. In fact, he had a sickly sweet smile on his face when he spoke of the alter boys.

As we left the coffee shop, my friend looked at me: "I don't know about you, but that was way too much information."

MARRIED MEN

The world is full of married men.

Let me explain:

A good friend - I'll call her Bess - told me over the weekend she is in love with a married man. Of course, she said, he is going to leave his wife.

As she told me of their steamy afternoon delights, I ordered another soy latte and bit my tongue.

Yes, I know better.

I've had experience - lots of experience - with married men. At first the passion is amazing and it all seems so refreshingly naughty - as if your dull life suddenly has a new sense of purpose. But then it gets messy. Feelings get involved, and eventually someone gets hurt. And yes, he never leaves his wife.

I didn't tell my friend any of this. Love is always on loan - never the nest egg we can depend on, so who was I to burst her heart shaped balloon.

I smiled and wished her well.

SCARY SHIT

As I watched the YouTube Republican debate last night, I was horrified by the hillbillies and rednecks that call this party home. I mean, these people - as well as the candidates - scared the shit out of me.

Why do these people champion the right to carry guns, but demonize abortion? The fact is the more guns a society has; the more those guns are used to kill people.

Why do these people, who claim to be God fearing Christian fundamentalists, back the death penalty 100%? I mean, last time I checked, Jesus did not preach about electric chairs and gas chambers. In fact, I think Jesus said to turn the other cheek.

Why do these people hate illegal aliens as much as Bin Laden? I mean, the Mexicans that are cleaning your houses and mowing your lawns are not the enemy. Granted, some enforcement in this area is needed, but to demonize these people in lynch rallies is wrong.

As for the candidates, John McCain looked one hundred years old – and can we talk about that turkey neck? He preached his love of the Iraq war, which made him appear terribly out of date. I’m sorry, but I don’t want some geriatric warmonger running the country.

Mitt Romney scares me the most. He refused to answer any of the questions in a straightforward way. I mean, with his slicked hair and greasy smile, he looked like a smarmy used cars salesman who would say anything to make the sale.

Only Rudy Giuliani came off as somewhat sane.

STUPID DEMS

How stupid can the democrats be?

I mean, for the first time in years the democrats have the American people in the palm of their hands - and what do they do? The fools choose to back a candidate with no chance in hell to win.

Yes, I'm talking about Hillary Clinton.

Recent polls report that she will lose to anyone tagged to the republican ticket. I'm sorry, but too many people hate Mrs. Clinton.

What the democrats need to do is nominate a candidate who can win - or it will be eight more years of shit.

SHIVER ME TIMBERS

It's getting colder in Manhattan - and I'm not complaining.

Why?

Because the freezing New York City winds not only keep my concealer matte, they keep me bone thin.

Let me explain:

I call it my shake and shiver diet - and here's how it works.

When the temperatures turn frigid, I never wear a winter coat or a scarf, so I run wherever I go and my poor body is always fighting to stay warm - thus, the shake and shiver diet.

It works great.

DEBT

What is wrong with America?

I was at the post office today and some idiot was holding up the line because he was paying for his various packages using several credit cards. I mean, this poor fool was putting $5 on this card and $10 on this card and so on and so on.

That idiot was a snapshot of modern America.

I mean, most Americans are thousands of dollars in credit card debt, their houses are being foreclosed upon, and the newspapers talk of nothing but of an upcoming recession, but what do they do....they go shopping. According to the news, the stores were jammed to the gills on black Friday.

I personally know two friends of meager wages that owe over $40,000 on credit cards - and this is on top of their mortgages.
.
When is this going to end? Who's going to pay these bills?

FINGER LICKING GOOD

I needed a good night out.

Yes, I certainly did.

This weekend, I went out with a horribly pretentious bore that talked of nothing but money and work. In fact, this “friend” made me feel so bad about my career and finances, I cried all the way home. And for the record, my career and finances are just fine, but when you're boozing it up with someone who pushes their $300,000 a year paycheck in your face, well, it’s easy to feel like a loser. Thank God he bought the Vodka/Cokes, so at least I had a free drunk.

Yes, sometimes living in the richest city in the world can be depressing, but I digress.

I needed a good sleazy night out. Yes, Sperm night at the Cock bar was calling my name. Of course, I always go with the intention of meeting a new husband, but that never seems to happen.

Take last night, I was sitting at the bar watching the queens cha-cha when a foreign man sauntered by and smiled. He was a tad drunk, but cute enough for a Sunday night. He held my hand - how nice I thought. He brought my hand up to his mouth to kiss it - how romantic I thought. Then, without notice, he started sucking my fingers - very smooth and erotically. I mean, here I am sipping a Vodka/Coke with one hand and getting the other hand sucked. Yes, only at 3 am in NYC.

I must admit it felt rather good, but why do I always attract the freaks?

WHAT HAPPENED?

OK, I love my plastic surgery, but sometimes you have to look in the mirror and realize you have created a monster.

Take Meg Ryan, does she really think she looks better? I mean, doesn't her agent or BFF tell her she looks ridiculous?

Meg, lay off the injections.

ONE BALL IS NEVER ENOUGH

When work is slow, I tend to go out way too much and drink way too much. And sometimes, I get myself into situations that can only occur in Manhattan.

Let me explain:

Late the other night, after a few Black Bitches (vodka/coke), I went out cruising for a bruising. It was one of those Manhattan nights when the three deadly vices of singlehood rear their ugly heads. Yes, the terrible trio of horny, bored and lonely - a lethal combination on the ultimate island of lost souls.

At a dim bar on the Lower East Side, a sexy foreigner was giving me the eye. Greek? Italian? Arab? Israeli? Spanish? Didn’t matter, foreign men love me. Soon we were in a dark corner making out. When we came up for air to order yet another cocktail, he said to me…”You don’t remember me, do you?”

“No,” I said, my mind racing to place the face.

“It’s been about 10 years,” he said. “I look different, but you oddly look the same.”

I smiled at his charm and remembered to send a thank-you note to my injection specialist.

“Maybe this will remind you,” he said as he put my hand down his Diesel low-rise jeans.

Shamelessly, I groped the goods.

Suddenly, I knew who he was.. His name was Marcello and he was a one-balled actor from Barcelona with a never-ending sex drive, but oddly, with all that testosterone, he was remarkably bad in bed. I broke it off with him not only because of his poor sexual skills, but because his libido woke me up in the middle of the night so often I was beginning to look my real age.

“I remember you,” I smiled.

We adjusted ourselves and went back into the main club. Two girls ran up to him and asked for autographs.

“I have a show on the CW network and I’ve done a few movies,” he said.

Hmmm….this was looking better.

We went back to his very upscale condo on the West Side Highway in the West Village.

In the morning, after an all night love fest, I was exhausted. Yes, in the past decade his sexual skills had improved, but he still wanted it every 15 minutes. He looked at me sans concealer in the harsh light of day and commented that I looked tired.

I gave him my cell number, but I doubted I would answer his calls. I love the fame game, but I also like my sleep.

FREEBIES

In Manhattan, there is a party every night. In fact, there's probably hundreds of parties every night.

I like the afterwork cocktail parties held in honor of openings/celebrations of new stores or products the best. Not only do you get free food and drink, you get a bag full of goodies that you can sell on ebay.

When I first moved to Manhattan and pennies were sparse, I would angle for invites from anyone to get the free food and drink. I mean, where else can you get food, drink and products for free?

Only in Manhattan.

A SJP WEEK

This must be my Sarah Jessica Parker Week.

Monday night I sat two tables away from her at the oh-so trendy Box; and tonight I walked past her on Avenue A as she filmed a scene for the Sex and the City movie. In was raining and she looked kinda miserable. No sign of the other girls, but perhaps they were in their honeywagons, which were parked on Tompkin's Square.

Yes, In Manhattan you never know who you will bump into.

YOU NEVER KNOW

The thing about living in Manhattan is that you never know how your day in going to evolve. In other words, the sky is the limit.
I mean, when I lived in the Midwest, my days were well scripted and about as spontaneous as a daily bowel movement.

Not so living in the city that never sleeps.

Yesterday I woke up to a ho-hum day, but an afternoon phone call changed all that. On the other end was a friend with free tickets to a dress rehearsal of the Rockette's Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall.

Cheesy? Hell yes, but fabulously campy, too. The show was filled with more special effects and 3D images than a Star Wars movie. Of course, the high point was the limber legged Rockette's kicking up their heels, but I also adored the dancing bears and dancing midgets, too.

And thank goodness I'm not Jewish, Muslim or Mormon, because the show is totally a Christian feast for the eyes. In fact, I'm surprised some do-gooder liberal hasn't shut the place down.

A chubby lady from Long Island who was sitting behind me said it best... "I thought I had died and gone to heaven at the Celine Dion show in Vegas, but this show takes the cake."

Afterwards, we went to the Box on the Lower East Side for drinks where Miss Sarah Jessica Parker sat two tables over sipping a white wine.

I love New York.

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

Well, it's about time.

President Bush presented Harper Lee with The Presidential Medal of Freedom - America's highest civilian honour - for her outstanding contribution to literature. Lee's only novel, To Kill a Mockingbird, is one of my favorite books. I mean, I fell in love with the book when I was a young sprite of nine and have reread it many times.

I didn't know it, but I must have sensed a kindred gay spirit in Lee's words. It was years later that I discovered that she was lifelong friends with gay-as-a-goose Truman Capote - both Catherine Keener and Sandra Bullock played Miss Lee in the Capote films and both were wonderful.

The book, which is basically a simple story about racial tolerance and doing the right thing, also won the Pulitzer Prize in 1961.

Lee never wrote another book. When Oprah Winfrey asked her why? She simply stated that she had said all she had to say.

Bravo.

THE CRYING GAME

I don't blame Miss Oprah for shedding a few tears.

Her school in Africa is her dream; and she bankrolled it with her own money. As much as I love to hate Oprah, I do think she is a good person. I mean, she might have an ego the size of Canada, but she has a staff of hundreds and no one has ever come forth with a tell-all book etc...and that says a lot.

The disturbing thing is that the abusing matron probably thought she could get away with her kinky fun Scott free.

Why?

Because in Africa young girls don't really matter. Sad, but true. That is, until Super Oprah took to the skies.

But I do have one question:

Oprah claims to have given each of the girls a personal cell phone to call her on...does anyone really believe this?

THE LOWER FACE

As Tom Cruise shows in this picture, the lower face never lies.

After years of looking a perpetual 29, Mr. Cruise is now looking all of his 40 plus years.

Bookmark this page, because I'm sure after he sees this picture, he will run to the surgeon.