CHILD SOUP - HOLD THE SALT

I think the witch in Hansel and Gretel had the right idea.

I truly believe children - and especially screaming babies - do not belong in civil society. Breeders today think nothing of changing shitty diapers in public or hauling out their saggy ugly breasts to nurse. I’m sorry, but I don’t need to look at those things.

I think children should be taken to the Midwest and not allowed into malls, airports, movies or other public places until they are 16. You know, maybe put them in Kansas – I mean, who lives there anyways? Give them a good education and firm discipline – think of it like a 16-year boarding school.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

I worked on an editorial a few weeks back and I think this image turned out fabulous. Enjoy the holidays.

YOU GO GIRL - PART 2

Poor old hair challenged Donald Trump.

Today he’s all over the news attacking Rosie O’Donnell because of her views about him on The View. I mean, Mr. Trump is such a cad. After Rosie's many valid points, the Donald could only come up with rebuttals such as…”She’s ugly" or "She’s an evil slob" or "Rosie’s fat and unattractive.”

Grow up, Donald; if anyone’s evil, it’s you. Rosie has donated and raised millions of dollars for charities – what have you done? Oh, yeah, publicly cheated on both of your wives and bankrupted yourself many times over …somehow I agree with Rosie that you should not be the “moral compass” for Miss USA.

To see all the action, copy this URL to your browser to see the entire recap.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=bZui6qeN1ZQ

YOU GO GIRL

I love me some Rosie O’Donnell. With her “every woman” candid charm, she has put The View back on top. I mean, she says exactly what the majority of us are thinking. I mean, on today’s show she ranted about Donald Trump and the stupidity of the Miss USA pageant.

But what I like best about Rosie is that she isn’t beating anyone over the head with her sexuality. Yeah, she mentions it, but always in a subtle way, thus, showing the world that gay folks are pretty much the same as str8 folks.

Bravo Rosie.

WISH LIST

The holidays are almost upon us; and with so much sorrow in the world - not to mention the comments on my blog - I thought I would gift my faithful readers with my THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY list.

1) Nicole Richie. I just love her – and I don’t think she is too thin.

2) Whole-wheat donuts from the Cupcake Café in Manhattan. Forget Sex and the City’s tired Magnolia, this is the cupcake emporium that started it all. And, honey, these things are good – and good for you!

3) Liposuction. If you have a few extra pesky pounds that won’t respond to exercise, get some lipo. I swear, it’s the best procedure – besides botox – in the world.

4) New underwear, socks and t-shirts. I replace the whole lot every few months. I mean, it just feels divine putting fresh undergarments on.

5) Lip liner. How did we ever live without it? Girls, boys, trannies, it just does a mouth good.

6) Hot men at the gym. OK, most are unattainable or straight, but I can look, fantasize and drool, right?

7) Nachos from Round the Clock. I know my friend Terri says the place is full of college brats, but the nachos are homemade and loaded with good cheese and guacamole.

8) Andy Warhol. Yes, he’s dead, but they have a ton of cute Warholesque items at Urban Outfitters. Sadly, I think Factory Girl is gonna be a big bomb.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Well, it’s Christmas, so it’s the perfect time for my semi-annual THINGS I HATE list.

1) You know what really bugs me? Fat people eating junk food – chips, cookies, candy bars etc...I mean, don’t they have mirrors? It’s disgusting.

2) Fat people waiting for elevators when the stairs are in plain view. Honey, there is a reason you are fat – get off your ass and start moving. And while I’m on the subject, I despise people that ride the elevator for just one floor.

3) People who answer the cell phone no matter what. I mean, I’ve seen folks scrambling, sweating and panicking to find that ringing idiot box? God forbid you should lose a call. One would think it was the president or the pope calling. After all the whoopla, it’s usually…“Yes, honey, I will bring home a gallon of milk.”

4) People who walk slow. I’m not talking about old folks; I’m talking about young people – usually fat – taking their damn sweet time. Hate it.

5) Coach purses. Every gal in the Midwest seems to think that carrying a Coach purse is the ticket to class. Sorry, but in Manhattan anyone who's anyone knows only secretaries and suburban moms carry Coach bags. You want class? Try a Marc Jacobs bag.

6) Bad blonde highlights. If you can’t afford a trip to the salon, leave your hair alone. I mean, nothing is worse than seeing orange stripes or chunks of yellow on dark hair. Low rent, honey, very low rent. Furthermore, why do all the women in the Midwest sport lesbian-style short haircuts? No wonder every married man I know is cheating on his wife.

7) Talking in movies. With the price of a movie ticket hovering around $10, nothing makes me madder than talking in the cinema. I support carrying firearms on this matter.

8) Starbucks. Why are there always 40 people in line and four cash registers BUT only one person taking orders? Piss poor management.

9) Kohl’s Department Stores. I swear, I have never in my life been in a tackier department store.

10) Big SUV’s. With gas prices so high, why oh why do city folk need these gas-guzzlers? And have you noticed it’s always ugly men driving them? I bet these men suffer from small dick syndrome.

SHOPPING

Well, I am in Minneapolis for a few days and I'm planning a trip to the Mall of America. Let's hope I can find an article of clothing in small or medium in the land of jumbo and extra jumbo.

MEMORIES

The other day, over grapefruit martinis, my friends and I were swapping stories about attending catholic schools. As can be expected, the stories were filled with molestation. Although the priest at my parish was boy crazy, I was not molested; I guess that was the start of my insecurity.

I do have fond memories of Sister Mary Guisey: A butch lesbian with a crew cut and a fire hydrant figure. In retrospect, I'm amazed that the Catholic Church would allow such a blatantly gay woman in the classroom...…well, on second thought, maybe it's not that odd.

Sister Guisey was hired to teach math, but she would spend hours entertaining the class with stories of fending off switchblade wielding students at her former grade school in St. Paul. I loved her tales of pre-teen gang warfare, but now that I look back, this was the cornfield, not the south side of Chicago, and her stories were pure fiction. She was fired for putting Jim Charbeneux - the class clown - in a half nelson when he pulled a piece of Juicy Fruit from his pocket. Sister Guisey swore he was reaching for a switchblade.

Later, I heard Sister Guisey left the nunnery and was tending bar at a local gay bar.

PROGRESS?

I recently worked on a Sear’s Television commercial for the gay network LOGO. The location was the home of two super successful men in gay friendly Asbury Park. In the holiday themed commercial, the happy couple is shown entertaining a group of friends that included a pair of lipstick lesbians and a gay dad accessorized with a foreign baby.

Although I say “Bravo” to Sears for realizing that gay people in 2006 are just as boring as straight people, I do wonder if all this homo homogenization is a good thing.

I mean, I’m old enough to remember when the only gay people I knew were florists, actors, hairdressers and other assorted fabulous freaks that were loud and proud long before rainbow flags became the norm in corporate America. I remember when gay bars were elite underground establishments with secret side doors that housed the most interesting people on the planet. Sadly, it seems this fabulous and bright gay gene pool has now been watered down with gay lawyers, doctors and accountants.

Yes, I’m smart enough to realize that a Sear’s LOGO commercial is good for the progress of the gay community, but I ask you: Is progress always a good thing?

IS THAT YOU ALLY?

Last night after Desperate Housewives, which thankfully has it's mojo back after a disastrous second season, I watched ABC's new drama, Brothers and Sisters. I thought the show was just so-so, but it has potential. I mean, with a cast including Sally Field and Rachel Griffiths, how bad can it be, right?

Anyways, half way through the show, Calista Flockhart appeared on the screen. Although horribly miscast as an Ann Coulter-ish republican television personality, the real problem with Miss Mcbeal is her face. Pulled, stretched, frozen with Botox and filled to capacity with filler, she resembled a startled chipmunk. I mean, odd is the perfect word to describe her appearance.

Now I'm well aware that Hollyweird is constructed of smoke and mirrors; and celebrities have an army of "yes" people telling them they look amazing, but don't they themselves own mirrors?

POST IT

Ya gotta love the New York Post.

OK, we all know that the Post is nothing more than a bullshit republican propaganda rag, but as the above headline proves, sometimes they do get it right.

RAY OF HATE

Is it just me, or does anyone else hate Rachel Ray? I mean, I want to smack that perky and phoney smile right off her fat face.

And quite honestly, someone so short and squat shouldn't wear jeans.

BOB THE BAD HAIRCUT

I'm still in Minneapolis - the land that style forgot.

Why is it every woman in Minnesota has a "bob" haircut? I mean, I haven't seen this haircut in Manhattan in 15 years. And if a Minnesota woman doesn't have a "bob", it's a short lesbian-style haircut with bad blonde highlights.

I pity the str8 men in Minneapolis.

PLAYING IT SAFE

I arrived in Minneapolis the night six Arabs were escorted off a US AIR jet in handcuffs. Apparently, a passenger witnessed the men praying to Allah, as well as cursing America and it's involvement with Iraq; the men also sat in suspicious groups of two on the plane.

The men were questioned, searched and deemed safe. Of course, the men are now playing the victim card and talking lawsuits with several prominent lawyers.

I'm sorry, but If I saw a group of towelheads chanting, moaning and cursing America, I'd damn well alert airport security, too. I say "Bravo" to whomever turned these men in. I witnessed 9/11 firsthand, and I am fully aware what these people are capable of.

I mean, when is America going to wise up and understand that profiling is not a bad thing? If that plane would have exploded in mid-air amidst chants to Allah, everyone in America would have said..."Why didn't anyone say something?"

STUPIDITY

I hate stupid people.

Let me explain:

I was going through security at JFK when the line grounded to a halt due to the woman in front of me and her hidden bottle of Snapple. The “don’t mess with me” black security woman, who was featuring amazing neon blue eye shadow, tried to remove the bottle from the woman's fake Gucci handbag, but the woman resisted.

“Oh, no, I’m going to drink that.”

“Mame, there are signs everywhere stating that you can’t bring liquids beyond this point.”

“I will drink in now.”

And so, right there at the security kiosk, this stupid woman leisurely opened her Snapple as if she were at a bar or cocktail party. New Yorker that I am, I looked the stupid woman in the eye and informed her that she was holding up the line.

“How dare you talk to me like that,” she said as she casually sipped her Snapple.

“Listen lady, this is not cocktail hour and people have planes to catch.”

“He’s right,” the security woman agreed. “Give me that bottle or I’m calling for backup.”

As the line began to move again, the stupid woman looked at me and inquired: “What country are you from?”

OK, I wasn’t going to there, but since she brought it up…..

“I’m from America, the best country in the world you stupid Arab foreign fuck.”

The people behind me started applauding. I turned around and did a little curtsy.

Like I said, I hate stupid people.

PARTING GLANCES

I recently stumbled upon a friend’s personal ad on a gay hook-up site. I was shocked to discover that the pictures were both old and heavily retouched. When I questioned him about it, he just shrugged.

I’m sorry, but I think there is some serious sexual karma to pay when you post 12 year old pictures – especially images that were doctored or staged to begin with.

I like my strategy better – post mediocre photos, so your hook-up will be pleasantly surprised.

OH MARIO

Ok, I admit it, I'm hooked liked the rest of the country on "Dancing with the Stars". And part of the reason is sexy Mario Lopez. Without a doubt, he is the sexiest man in America. I mean, his dimples could turn a str8 man gay.

NOSEY

I was on the L train today and I noticed a decent looking man having a decent conversation with a decent looking woman. I also noticed that the man had a forest of hair growing out of his nose. I mean, his nose hairs were coiled and matted like dreadlocks - it was that disgusting. I kept wondering why this decent looking woman did not inform him that it just wasn't decent to be running around looking like this.

Virgo that I am, I came very close to telling him, but alas, my stop appeared and I left the train. Maybe next time.

UPSTAIRS DOWNSTAIRS

New York City can be a very odd place. It’s the only place I know where the rich and poor intermingle, that is, if they share one common denominator – fabulosity.

Let me explain:

A few weeks back, I was attending an arty party in Chelsea filled to the brim with free drinks, swag bags, Park Avenue princesses and B-list celebs. As I was slugging down my second Grey Goose martini, I bumped into my friend Corina – a former pop star who had a #2 hit in 1991 called “Temptation.” Unfortunately, she had signed away her publishing rights, and was now living in a decrepit squat on 14th street – albeit the only squat with a gold record on the wall. As the drinks flowed, we were introduced to Jade Barrymore – Drew’s estranged mother. Soon we were all laughing and sharing jokes and enjoying a Manhattan moment.

As we exited the party arm and arm like life-long friends, I decided to walk the 12 blocks home. Corina also chose to walk. Jade – clad in evening gown and heels – announced amidst the idling limos that she was going to catch a cab, but she didn’t seem to be getting into one.

Hmmm, I thought as I crossed the street and rounded the corner.

Once out of Jade’s eyesight, the inner Charlie’s Angel in me peeked around the bricks to see her running to catch the uptown bus. As the bus began to move, she caught her Marc Jacob’s purse in the closing doors. I watched with humor as she pulled and pulled, until finally, the bus had to stop and open the doors to release her designer treasure.

I giggled all the way home.

HAPPY DAYS

WE WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I loved watching Bush squirm today at his press conference.

ENGLISH?

You know what I hate? I hate when you call a company for customer care and you get someone who can barely speak the English language. I mean, why the hell would companies put people on the phone that you can't understand? And what about the elderly? My parents, who have a hard time hearing on the telephone to begin with, constantly complain that they can't understand these foreign fucks and eventually hang up and redial hoping to get an English speaking person. Now I'm not advocating that these people not be hired, but WHY put them on phones and customer service?

My solution:

When I get one of these "english is my third language" types, I ASAP demand to speak to the supervisor to file a complaint.

ZOLOFT

Is it just me, or does Laura Bush look medicated?

GOING TO THE CHAPEL

VOICES OF REPUBLICAN HYPOCRISY

James Bakker — Bakker left his PTL Ministries empire in 1987 after admitting an extramarital affair with Jessica Hahn, a former church secretary. He served five years in federal prison on fraud and conspiracy charges for illegally soliciting millions of dollars from followers.

Jimmy Swaggart — Resigned from the Assemblies of God in 1988 after a fellow preacher released photos of Swaggart with a prostitute. In 1991, he was stopped for a traffic violation while driving in a red-light district in California with a woman who said she was a prostitute.

The Rev. Henry J. Lyons — Lyons was forced out as leader of the National Baptist Convention USA after his then-wife set fire to a waterfront mansion he secretly owned with his mistress. He was convicted in 1999 of swindling millions of dollars from companies that wanted to do business with members of the denomination and was sentenced to five years in prison.

Archbishop Eugene Marino — The Roman Catholic prelate from Atlanta resigned in 1990 after a two-year affair with a woman half his age. The woman claimed Marino performed a marriage ceremony for them in which the two exchanged rings.

The Rev. Terry Hornbuckle — The founder of the Agape Christian Fellowship in Arlington, Texas, was sentenced in August to 15 years in prison for sexually assaulting two women churchgoers and a third woman. Two of the victims said the minister had drugged them.

The Rev. Ted Haggard — The founder of New Life Church in Colorado resigned as pastor and as president of the National Association of Evangelicals after a gay prostitute claimed the two had drug-fueled sex regularly over three years. Haggard admitted he bought methamphetamine from the man and received a massage from him but denied that he used the drug and that the two had sex.

KARMA

The world does spin on karma.

I had to laugh out loud when Ted Haggard, a staunch foe of gay marriage, occasional participant in White House conference calls and president of the National Association of Evangelicals, was busted not only for fornicating with a gay prostitute, but also for being a meth head. HA HA HA. And doesn't he look like a big fag, too?

This to me sums up the hypocrisy of not only the Republican Party, but also the bible banging hate preaching Christian fundamentalists.

VOTE DEMOCRAT ON TUESDAY.

STR8 CONFUSION

Yesterday was Halloween and I have two costume questions for the Str8 community:

Why is it every str8 guy wants to put on a dress for Halloween?

Why does every woman want to put on fishnets and a leather skirt and play prostitute for the evening?

Inquiring gay minds want to know.

TARGET NO MORE

Everyone is aware that major companies give tons of money to the political parties. No surprise that Wal-Mart gives the majority of it's money to republicans, but what did surprise me was that my beloved Target also licks the big elephants ass by giving 72% of it's political donations to republicans.

I mean, I love Target, but no more.

I wonder if Izaac MIzrahi knows this?

SCARY FRUIT

I've frightened yet another boy at the gym.

Let me explain.

At 8pm each day, I have been in the midst of an imaginary relationship with a sexy kick boxer. In my mind, we were enjoying a whirlwind courtship with steamy sex every morning and a fabulous weekend house in Asbury Park. Of course, this man and I have never spoken, but that isn't the point, is it?

With a touch of extra bronzer and concealer, I would hop on the treadmill and stare at him as he kicked the bag and performed handstands and other assorted athletic maneuvers. My gym buddies would chastise me for my obvious gawking. Now keep in mind, I have no idea what pole this man swings from, but I do know that as of last week, he has changed his gym time. I heard through the grapevine that I was too clinging of a fruit for his tastes. In other words, my imitation of Glenn Close must have scared him.

RAQUEL AND ME

OK - So many of you wanted a "me and Raquel" comparison - so here you go.

RAQUEL WELSH

You know it's time to cut your hair when a trusted friend tells you over vodka martinis that your hair looks like a Raquel Welsh wig. Yes, my hair is similar to Miss Raquel's, but I thought I was featuring rock star chic, not Welsh the wig maker. Ok, time for a haircut and no more velcro rollers.

MULTI TASKET CASKET

Yes, truth is always stranger than fiction.

Taking multi-tasking one step too far, a company has come up with the crazy concept of furniture that later can be turned into fully functional caskets. Check out their website www.casketfurniture.com to see for yourselves. Below is actual copy from their website. For pet lovers, they also do pet bed/caskets.

Why buy a casket for just one day?

At CasketFurniture.com, our products can last you a lifetime, and still be the perfect vehicle to carry you to the great beyond. Whether it's a couch, shelf, or end table, our products are designed to blend effortlessly into most contemporary interior designs. Every product can also be transformed into a high-quality casket at your time of need. Shop our current product selection below, or contact us to find out about custom manufacturing to suit your individual needs.

FLAVOR FLAV

I swore I would never watch this show, but it's now my favorite guilty pleasure. Yes, I 'm talking about VH1's incredibly sexist and sexual reality show, "The Flavor of Love" starring the tic-toc clock catastrophe Flavor Flav.

This Bachlorette-esque show is so ballsy and bizarre I have to watch every episode twice. I mean, the show is so ghetto and gross, I’m surprised some uppity African American group hasn’t tried to get it thrown off the air. Trust me, if you loved Bobby and Whitney’s televised take on life, you will love this show, too.

EAST VILLAGE

I live in the East Village on the island of Manhattan. The East Village is one of the most expensive and desirable areas in the big apple - but it wasn’t always like that.

When I moved here 12 years ago, the neighborhood could best be described as dicey. Drug dealers and prostitutes were a common thread in the urban bohemia. Now, fortunately or unfortunately, fancy restaurants and stores litter the streets with spoiled Connecticut cunts Jimmy Chooing about with caramel lattes and Marc Jacob’s handbags.

I kinda miss the old days and all the crazy characters.

Pascal was a fearless old French lady who would walk her decrepit old poodle at four in the morning wearing sunglasses, a nightgown and armloads of rhinestone bracelets. She would regularly stop me to inquire about my sex life. In her opinion, sex was something a young person should have morning, noon and night – much like meals. She would entertain me with grand old tales of Paris in the 1950s; and all the sexual shenanigans that took place in the gender bending back rooms.

A few years back, her son put her in nursing home in Long Island, but before she left, she gave me her old black beret. Pull it over your eye, she winked at me, and imagine you’re in Paris dancing with a sweet boy.

I miss her.

One character I don’t miss is Bud – a legless wheelchair bound drug dealer who slept in the vestibule of my building. Often times, while he slept, he would shit his pants, and the smell, well, was rancid. Holding my nose, I would open the door and shove him out onto the street. I once pushed his chair a tad too hard and he rolled into the street and tipped over. I shut the door and didn’t look back.

I wish I could do the same to many of the new residents.

GIBSON GO HOME

Did anyone see Mel Gibson on Good Morning America? What a mess! He was sweating more than a menopausal woman. And I don’t believe any of his bullshit apologies one iota. I mean, it’s so obvious he’s scared shitless that his career is over. Well, his career should be over – he’s homophobic and anti–Semitic to the ninth degree.

I knew Mr. Mel was a bad seed when a few years back he defended his crazy old father and his opinion that the Holocaust never took place. Trust me, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Boycott his movies, people. Send him back down under.

BUNDY AND FRIENDS

Last week, over chicken Caesar salads, my friends and I were discussing serial killers. And yes, I was the only one to know an actual killer. In fact, I’ve known three killers. Well, four if you count an acquaintance, but who’s keeping score.

When I was a teenager, I fooled around with a guy named Tom who hammered a man to death. I remember him as sweet with a wonderful sense of humor. He only served a few years in jail. I always wanted to ask him why he did it, but peer pressure kept us apart when he was released; and I have no idea where he is now.

Mark was a young guy I met at a White Castle after a night of drinking. He had a sneer to his smile and a cold look in his cocoa brown eyes that scared me. He once stole my Gucci wallet after we had sex, which I later made my father retrieve - a story onto itself, but that's for another blog. His friends informed me that a few months before we had met, he had killed his mother’s boyfriend in a domestic dispute – very Lana Turner. Later I heard he joined a street gang and overdosed on heroin.

Finally, Michael Alig, the infamous club kid killer and inspiration for the movie Party Monster. We hung out in the early 90s, and one night after vast quanities of booze and pills, we kinda made out. I thought he was an amazing character in a weird Valley of the Dolls kinda way - that is, until I got to know him. He's up for parole sometime next year.

GHETTO TRASH

What’s wrong with African Americans?

As liberal as I am, I have to admit I'm prejudice. I'm not proud of it, but it seems wherever these people go, trouble follows. And it’s just not me. Every white person I know – if you REALLY ask them – are also prejudice- and can you blame them? In my hometown of Minneapolis, the north side has become a ghetto of gangs with shootings and killings on a daily basis. Here In NYC, all you need to do is ride the subways, read the newspapers or walk the streets and see who’s causing the trouble.

Oh, I know what you're thinking......blacks face prejudice and blah, blah blah. Fuck that. I don’t buy any of that “poor black man” shit. I’m a gay man, believe me, I know prejudice, but I don’t wallow in it, I get up every day and work a honest job. And I don’t want to hear any shit from liberals in their ivory towers, because most of them live in lily white neighborhoods and never have to deal with the problem. I'm smart enough to know that I'm not talking about the whole black race. In fact, it has nothing to do with race, but with a culture - a culture that celebrates ghetto fabulousness and thugness.

I think the problem will persist as long as the black community keeps championing assholes like 50 cent and other ghetto rappers. I mean, when you look up to drug dealers, gang members and women beaters, what do you expect?

THE NECK

The neck never lies.

On Oprah's sofa today sat a rather bizarre looking Lionel Richie. Shot up with more Botox and Restylane than Sharon Stone, Nicole's daddy looked like a wax dummy. OK, maybe his upper face appeared smooth and somewhat younger, but his neck revealed the truth - crepey and saggy and looking every inch his true age.

A word of advice to Mr. Richie: Always make sure the carpet matches the drapes before appearing on national television.

HOPE IN A BOTTLE

I think Mick Jagger sang it best…“You can’t always get what you want.”

Let me explain:

My best friend Peter has been in love with one man for 20 years. Unfortunately, this man treats Peter like a bunion that won't go away. Oh, they have had sex a handful of times over the years, but it usually ends with him telling Peter…”We’re not doing that again – ever!”

Peter continues to hold out hope, and thus, has put his love life on hold while playing the waiting game. Some might call this romantic, but I beg to differ.

This past week, after 10 years of chastity, Peter finally persuaded him to spread his cheeks. Unfortunately, the long awaited penetration didn’t go as planned. It seems with all the anticipation, little Peter would not rise to the occasion.

The moral of the story: You may not always get what you want, or even what you need, but always always carry Viagra.

FAME GAME

The new Scissor Sister’s CD is out today – grab it because it is fabulous. The single "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" is #1 in the UK.

I once had a close encounter with lead singer Jake Shears. About six years ago, when he was a go-go boy at a sleazy dive bar in the East Village, he jumped off the bar and kissed me. I was flattered, but I was standing there with my boyfriend. Later – clad only in a g-string - he chased me out onto Avenue A pleading with me to stay. My boyfriend rolled his eyes and muttered that he must be either high or drunk.

What a nice boyfriend, right?

Jake, I'm single now. Are you listening?

TOWELHEADS

Those towelheads are at it again.

OK, the pope said some shitty - albeit factual - statements about Islam.

And what do the towelheads do?

What they do best...take to the streets in angry mobs chanting death to America, death to the pope and promises to take over the world and kill all Christians.

I'm sorry, but it looks to me like the pope got it right.

FASHION HOUSE

Is anyone else obsessed with MyNetworkTV’s tacky telenovela Fashion House? I simply can’t get enough of surgerized stars Bo Derek and Morgan Fairchild.

Poor Bo can’t act whatsoever, but you can’t stop looking at that gorgeous face – and thanks to Botox, it doesn’t move. Bo plays a thin veiled imitation of Donatella Versace and appears to be channeling Heather Locklear’s style of Melrose Place acting: look mean and shout a lot.

Morgan does a better job in the acting department, but not by much. As for her surgery, she definitely is my new role model – I mean, this broad is pushing 60 and looks amazing.

The story: It seems Morgan’s character is hell bent on ruining Bo’s character, which leads to numerous cat fights and bitch slaps. Toss in murder, adultery and a fashion posse of sex-crazed back stabbing bitches and that about sums up the plot.

OK, the story line is predictable and shallow, but so am I.

GRANDFATHER

You never know what you will find on the worldwide web.

Case in point:

I was googling my last name one lazy afternoon and I came upon my estranged cousin's website. That's cool, I thought, I'll bookmark it and show it to my parents when I visit Minneapolis. I should point out that my cousin is a very talented painter with a focus on realism

When I arrived in Minneapolis, I showed the website to my parents. As we scrolled down the page, we came upon a surprise. There staring back at us was a painting of my grandfather - my father's father. The painting had won awards and honorable mentions in numerous competitions. We arranged a visit and the photo above is of my father, mother, cousin and grandfather. My grandfather was a painter, too, and was an inspiration to my cousin.

By the way, my parents are 87 and 80 in the pic - I think they look pretty darn good.

HEALTH

OK, I do my best to eat green, so I'm always in and out of health food stores. The one thing I can't understand is this: why do the people who work at health food stores always look so unhealthy?

BEYONCE BEWARE

Is it just me, or does anyone else think that Beyonce is soooo overrated. I mean, I am sick of everyone saying what a good singer, actor, dancer she is....I just don't see it. And with mama Knowles cooking up her costumes, she looks like a tacky hooker. Why doesn't anyone champion real talents such as Pink or Christina Aguilera?

On a blast from a Beyonce in the past, I surfed onto Jody - "Looking For A New Love" - Watley's website. I was shocked to discover that this grammy award-winning singer is suggesting that fans buy her new CD wholesale from her and hold Tupperware-style parties to sell the CDs for profit. Jody goes on to say that she will perform for whomever sells the most CDs. I mean, this is a woman who has sold millions of records and now she is offering to perform in living rooms. Tragic.

Beyonce, honey, enjoy while it lasts.

A GOOD MAN

You know, Manhattan is often described as the ultimate island of lost souls. I mean, with all the wretched, superficial and vain “sex and the city” sorts Jimmy Chooing about, it’s hard to imagine any decent and kind people left amongst the concrete. But every now and then, a ray of hope comes beaming your way.

Let me explain.

I was on a “personal” shoot for a bodybuilder who had competed and placed 2nd at the Chicago gay games. Great, I thought, another egomaniac muscle Mary who thinks he’s all that and an extra large condom, too. You gay boys know what I mean - the insecure twister mister who’s really a sister, but acts all superior and butch and then goes home and slathers on Estee Lauder eye cream and sings along to Madonna. Nothing wrong with that one iota, but please, toss out the mister and accept the sister is all I’m saying.

Well, I was pleasantly surprised. Shaking my hand was a man with kind eyes and a quiet bashful smile. He wasn’t exactly featuring Brad Pitt cute, but more Russell Crowe rugged and manly.

He said he grew up a skinny kid with thick coke bottle glasses. I could tell he still kinda thought of himself that way, which made him even more adorable. He didn’t seem at all like the type to have photos taken of his muscles or even compete in a bodybuilding contest. As it turns out, his more outgoing partner was gifting him the pictures and had encouraged him to compete.

As the day wore on, this man seemed too good to be true. He said he waited a full month before consummating his current relationship; and he totally believed in monogamy. What’s more, he preferred men with a few more pounds than less. To top it off, he listened and laughed at all of my monologues and stupid stories.

Ok, I know he’s happily partnered with a great boyfriend and four dogs, and I ‘m not about to pull a Glenn Close, but it’s so damn good to know there are still guys like him walking amongst us.

911

Today is my 100th post, and it's also the 5-year anniversary of 911. I think it's kinda fucked up to call 911 an anniversary, since anniversaries are usually fun events. Believe me, as someone who witnessed 911 first hand, it was anything but fun.

Two things stand out in my mind from that horribe, horrible day.

Several hours after the towers fell, hundreds of people were crowded on Houston Street carrying pictures of their lost loved ones. Because the falling towers spared no one, and the hospitals were empty, these poor souls had nowhere to go, and thus, were desperately trying to get their photos on the television cameras. I will never forget the look in these grieving and sad eyes as they pushed their pictures at the cameramen. Never.

In the days after 911, every business, house and building in my Manhattan neighborhood had American flags flying. That is, every building but one - a Muslim mosque on my corner. Months before the attacks, my Israeli boyfriend would walk by the mosque and utter..."I wonder what those motherfuckers are in there planning."

I guess he was right.

MR. STRANGE

I was in Minneapolis cleaning my childhood room when I came upon my high school yearbooks. I laughed and laughed at the pictures and marveled how cute everyone looked. I especially got a kick out of the written salutations – and to think these people were my friends! Here is a sample:


“You are the weirdest person I have ever met, “ wrote Sherri.

‘If you went bald, what would you talk about? “ wrote Renee. “Your hair is your life.”

"Thanks for borrowing me your curling iron at lunch," wrote Rita.

“Strange is a good word to describe you,” wrote Susie.

“I will miss you coming up to me and asking: ‘Is my hair looking thick or thin?’, wrote Darlene.

“I respect that you never care what people think of you,” wrote Bob.

“I wonder what will ever happen to someone so strange,” wrote Teresa.

“Don’t drink so much,” wrote Linda.

“You are without a doubt the strangest person I have ever met, “ wrote Kari.

“You shouldn’t use so much hairspray,” wrote Brian.

"You shouldn't wear so much makeup," wrote Pooh.

Well, it's 2006, and I'm proud to report I'm still strange. Yes, I still worry if my hair looks thick or thin, I still wear too much makeup and I still love my hairspray. The more things change, the more things stay the same.

Amen, sister.

DELLS PICS

Since I just learned how to post pics, I thought I would share a few of my pics from the infamous and campy Wisconsin Dells. Once again, truth is stranger than fiction.

WISCONSIN

A life size plaster facsimile of the Greek Acropolis.

A 75 foot Trojan horse.

Broadway dinner theater.

A mansion-size house completely turned upside down and turned into a funhouse.

Groups of French, Russian and Italian speaking teenagers.

Where can you find all of these oddities?

In the middle of Wisconsin, that’s where.

Yes, nestled in a cavity surrounded by some of the most beautiful river ways in the nation - and unbeknownst outside of the Midwest - lies the Wisconsin Dells - a Vegas-style vacation mecca complete with palm trees and gaudy neon signs advertising strip motels, water parks, ferris wheels and boat excursions.

Every year thousands of farm folk, city slickers and small town hicks converge on the Dells for a two-week summer vacation. Amidst all of this pure Americana and flag waving are hundreds of voices speaking Russian, French and Italian.

What?

It seems the Dells hire college-age kids from all over the world to man the counters during the summer season. Most of the kids live in dorms in the woods surrounding the Dells. The kids I chatted with were not impressed with their first visit to America. I mean, if the Dells were all you had to judge America on, I wouldn’t be too enthused either.

But wouldn’t it make a great teenage “coming of age” story for Lifetime television. You know, foreign teenagers working in this midwestern madness along with the vacationers – kinda like a white trash “Dirty Dancing” with a foreign twist.

ON A STICK

Well, I broke down and went to the Minnesota State Fair – the 2nd largest fair in the United States. I mean, this thing is huge with over a million people passing through the gates.

Everything at the fair is centered around food served on a stick. Yes, food on a stick. The fair may be called the “Great Minnesota Get Together”, but it should be called the “Great Minnesota Obesity Convention”. In all my years, I have never witnessed so many obese people wobbling around shoving sticks of food into his or her mouths.

What exactly is served on a stick?

Let’s see, they have deep fried candy bars on a stick, deep fried cheese curds on a stick, deep fried Twinkies on a stick and the latest delicacy – hot dish on a stick, which consists of meatballs and tater tots rolled in batter and deep fried. Did I mention everything is deep fried?

I did consume some yummy frozen custard and a bag of Tom Thumb mini-donuts, but what I enjoyed most was ogling the hundreds of teenage country boys.

Hot boys on a stick sounds pretty good to me.

VACATION

I am in Minneapolis for my two-week summer vacation. The weather is spectacular and the air smells fresh and clean. The people are nice, smiling and make small talk at ease.

Of course, this is all fabulous if you have 2.5 kids and live in a track home in the urban sprawl of suburbia, but what is a gay boy of a certain age supposed to do?

I refuse to gain 40 pounds, wear plaid, drink Pabst Beer, sport a bad haircut and eat my dinner at 6pm. I mean, there is a reason people call this place Minni-hopeless.

There must be some mischief I can find….stay tuned.

THE B.L.H. BLUES

Bored, Lonely and Horny. When those three adjectives join forces in New York City, things can go from good to bad very quickly.

Let me explain.

I was sitting at home when the phone rang. It turned out to be a wrong number, but the man had such a sexy voice, we started talking. Over the next three hours, I thought I had met the man of my dreams. So much so, we made a date for the following evening.

When he picked me up, he didn’t look like the description he gave. In fact, he was missing a tooth. I hesitated about getting into the car, but shallow as I am, the fact that he owned a car in Manhattan made the missing tooth less of an issue.

As we drove to Sweet Tart in Chinatown, he was strangely silent – not at all the chatterbox he was the night before. Well, maybe he’s a tad shy I thought as I pondered all the day trips we would be taking in his car.

Suddenly he pulled to the curb.

Excuse me, he said as he left the car to retrieve something from the trunk. I turned around and watched him put a lit glass pipe in his mouth.

At that moment, on the corner of Canal Street and Crazy, I realized I was on a date with a gap toothed crack head I had met as a wrong number.

Back in the car, he was once again the fun and gregarious person I had gabbed with the night before. We laughed all through dinner and I did have a marvelous time with his drug-induced personality, but I was not about to play Nancy to his Sid.

Fortunately, he had forgotten where I lived, so I had him drop me off three blocks from my apartment. I told him I would give him a call – remember, he didn’t have my number, so I was safe.

The moral of the story: When you find yourself, bored, lonely and horny in Manhattan, please don’t answer the phone.

CH-CH-CHANGES

As of today, mistermakeup will no longer accept anonymous comments on my wacky life in Manhattan’s fabulous East Village.

Due to nasty and unattractive Midwestern friends/enemies stuck in dead end jobs and unhappy lives – one is a housebound alcoholic and the other is a sad sexless soul in Chicago - who are so obviously jealous of mistermakeup's life in the greatest city on earth, he has been forced to make this change to keep the blog’s integrity.

MEN

Why is it the men who want us, are the ones we don't want?

And why is it the men we want, don't want us?

OFF THE MAP

I’m mad at Israel.

Why didn’t they finish the job and wipe Lebanon and Hezbollah off the map? On the news today massive crowds of towel heads in Iran, Syria and Lebanon cheered Hezbollah’s victory and chanted for the destruction of America and England.

I’m sick of being politically correct – these towel heads want us dead. What don't the pussy liberals understand? Given the opportunity, the towel heads would send a nuke stateside faster than you could say mushroom cloud.

I say we destroy them first before they destroy us.

CONCEALED DREAMS

The other day on a shoot, an older model looked at me with honest eyes and whispered ...."You know, I think my life would change if I could just find the right concealer."

I shook my head in agreement...."I know what you're saying. If I could just cover these pesky red spots under my eyes, I know my prince charming would come calling."

We both looked in the mirror and sighed.

TRANNY ALERT

Have you seen the new pictures of Janet Jackson? Is it just me or does she look like a tranny? I mean, with those sharp bones, arched brows and overly painted face, Miss Jackson could easily pass as a sex change.

It might be Miss Jackson if you're nasty, but it's Mr. Jackson if you look close.

ON THE DELTA

Maybe it’s the inner anorexic in me, but I get giddy everytime I see Delta Burke in her Intimate Portrait on Lifetime Televison - the channel for women and gay men.

Regarding her eating disorder she comments… “I passed out a lot, but I looked good.”

She would fit in mighty fine in Manhattan.

THE BOYS NEXT DOOR

In Manhattan, you don’t have to look far to find crazy. For most folks, it can be found in their own backyards – or in the case of Manhattanites, our apartment buildings.

Next door to me is an obese black man who claims to be straight, but loves to wear women’s high heels on the street. Now I’m not talking Rupaul realness here, I’m talking a fat black man dressed like your father in a pair of pumps – not pretty. Numerous friends have called me in hysterics about the odd black man in heels they have seen in my neighborhood.

“Yeah,” I say, “That’s my next door neighbor.”

Furthermore, he’s one of those dreaded “talkers”. You know the type –they go into 20-minute monologues about their life every time they see you. I swear, in the 12 years I have been in the building, he never once has asked me how I was doing. Needless to say, I avoid him like the plague.

On the other side of my door is a man I see about twice a year. He has lived in the building for 30 years, but appears ageless. Although he seldom leaves his apartment, when I do see him, he is usually in a jockstrap giggling with the door half open. I avoid this one, too.

Two flights up is a white former hippie who has lived in the building for 40 years. Last week, he told me tales about the 1960s when gun battles, robberies and staying indoors after dark were the norm in the east village. When I asked him why he would move to such a dangerous neighborhood in the first place, he replied that it was to help black people, and furthermore, he was embarrassed being white. He then got on his hippie high horse and began ranting how whites should be ridden with guilt about the way they treat blacks.

I rolled my eyes – I imagined faded Black Panther posters hanging from his apartment walls. I mean, there is nothing I hate more than aging hippies and their tired rhetoric. I told him I was a bigot, and as a gay person, I face prejudice everyday, so I don’t want to hear about any “white” guilt. He looked shocked and walked away. I guess, I will be avoiding him now, too.

On a final note, across the hall, beat poet and boy loving NAMBLA member Allen Ginsberg resided for 30 years.

Yes, crazy is alive and well in Manhattan’s East Village.

SUMMER VACATION

Today I watched on the news George Bush getting off the plane in Crawford, Texas ready to start his summer vacation. With the world at war and the economy in the toilet, I don't think Mr. Bush deserves a holiday. I mean, shouldn't he be in Washington trying to solve the problems he helped create?

BRADGELINA

OK, I think Angelina Jolie is a saint. I mean, she donates a third of her movie income to charities and also finds time to play ambassador for the United Nations.

But I read something today in Page Six that made me question Miss Jolie. The gossip column reported that Brad was spotted in a tony Beverly Hills shop purchasing matching Rolex watches for him and the misses.

Does anyone else find that odd? I mean, how can such a charity driven person feel comfortable sporting a watch worth thousands of dollars while preaching about starving people?

I just find it odd.

MUST SEE TV

HEAT

Darlings, it's too damn hot to write. In all my years on the island of Manhattan, I've never witnessed such heat and humidity. As Marilyn Monroe coos in the classic film "The Seven Year Itch"...."It's so hot, I'm keeping my panties in the icebox."

Sounds like a good idea.

WEATHER OR NOT

People always ask me what the weather is like in Manhattan. I always tell them it’s like Calcutta in summer and Siberia in the winter. In other words, hell on earth.

CARB CRAZY

I heard the craziest thing today.

My friend Dana, who just returned from a famine relief mission in Africa, laughingly informed me that one of her co-workers on the trip was anorexic.

Anorexic? I mean, how ironic – a girl helping starving people is she herself starving.

“How did you find this out, “ I asked.

“I was eating a protein bar and I offered her a bite – believe me, she looked like she needed it. She turned me down – she said it was too many carbs.”

Once again, my darlings, truth is always stranger than fiction.

MORE WAR

Listen, I don’t like war anymore than anyone else. But if anyone doubts that Hezbollah is a terrorist war machine aimed at wiping Israel off the map, just turn on the television. I mean, the creepy Nazi-like parades and demonstrations that Hezbollah holds in Lebanon are frightening. I'm sorry, but if a country hosts a terrorist group, it's citizens should expect...well, terror.

LIKE A VIRGIN

You know, Islamic extremists are under the delusion that if they kill infidels in suicide attacks, they will go to heaven and be greeted by 72 horny virgins.

Well, maybe they have it wrong - maybe a 72 year-old horny virgin is waiting for them.

NO SHIT

Over the last few days, I’ve found myself defending Israel’s intense response to Lebanon’s Hezbollah. What most people don’t understand is that Israel is surrounded by enemies, and thus, can never show any weakness whatsoever. In other words, Israel can’t take any shit.

It’s quite simple – Lebanon played host to a terrorist organization whose sole purpose was to destroy Israel. I mean, if terrorists were gathered on the Canadian borders armed with missiles, what do you think America would do?

As liberal as I am, I despise Islamic Arabs. The other day U.S.A. Today ran a picture of a towel-headed Lebanonese woman cheering Hezbollah and the capture of two Israeli soldiers. Her eyes were glazed over in sick joy while she waved two guns in the air.

I’m sorry, but that about sums up Islamic Arab culture to me.

As a New Yorker, I witnessed first hand what these animals can do. And I will never forget the images on CNN showing footage of Arabic people dancing in the streets in celebration of 9/11.

I have been to Israel and have witnessed first hand that democracy works. Believe me, when I crossed over into Jordon, the change was immediate. In most Muslim based countries, the rich dictators rule in splendor while the people live in squalor. I don’t understand why the people don’t revolt – it’s not Israel that’s holding them down, but their own millionaire dictators. It is common knowledge former Palestinian leader Arafat died a billionaire while he left his people to starve and live in poverty. I mean, he kept his wife and child in a five star Parisian hotel with all the money he received through foreign aid.

Israel needs to do what it needs to do to ensure the safety of her people.

CRUISE CONTROL

My friend was on that cruise ship off the coast of Florida - you know, the one that almost tipped over. She said she fell out of bed and spilled her Cosmo when the ship tipped. She struggled to the door - when she opened it, a wall of water was racing towards her.

Ironic as it sounds, she said the movie scheduled that night in the theater was Titanic.

As I have always said, truth is stranger than fiction.

NEW LOW

Why is George Bush such an imbecile? I mean, we all know he can barely speak the English language, and that he is nothing more than a puppet for the big oil companies, but this thing about vetoing stem cell research is a new low even for him.

Stem cell research is supported by over 70% of Americans. I don’t understand how he thinks experimenting on an embryo is murder. I mean, does he think that an embryo in a Petri dish is going to grow legs and vote republican?

Please America; vote the republicans out of office in November.

SAINT OPRAH

Does anyone else find it odd that the richest woman in the world is hosting a series of shows attempting to help people get out of debt? I mean, Oprah sits there all smug in her Jimmy Choo's and diamond earrings and lectures people about the financial evils of cable television and take-out pizza.

Enlightened Oprah goes on to preach that material things will not make you happy.

Excuse me, but how many Oprah shows have been devoted to her many houses, her rose gardens, her favorite clothes, her personal chefs and fitness experts…the list goes on and on.

I guess in the land of double standards, Oprah isn't all that happy, either.

TRIM THE BUSH

You know, a day doesn't go by that I don't ponder the perils of Bush and his not-so Christian supporters. I mean, with the world at war, gas prices going threw the roof, and the republican mishap that is Katrina, Bush and his Christian cronies seem only to be worried about gay marriage.

I ask you: Aren’t there more important things in the world to worry about than two people professing their love for one another?

BIGOTS

You know, I don’t get all this fuss about gay marriage. Conservative Christian freaks always condemn gays for their promiscuous lifestyles; yet don’t want them to get married or to legalize their relationships.

I mean, every straight marriage I know is completely neutered, so one would think that if Christian freaks wanted to nullify gay sex, they would allow them to marry? Right?

In my own twisted way, I’m helping the cause – I've been cutting out anti-gay marriage editorials and putting them in envelopes for future use. Like equal rights for African Americans, gay marriage is going to happen sooner or later, and in say 10 or 20 years, I plan on sending these nasty hate filled articles to the author's grandchildren to show them what big time bigots grandpa and grandma were.

A little petty? I certainly hope so.

LOVE?

Love doesn't live here anymore – and certainly not in New York City.

From blondes to brunettes, pretty people in Gotham are on a constant search for everlasting love, but somewhere along the Jitney journey to South Hampton, they seem to be content with a pit stop at a sex club.

Why is that I ask?

On my monthly trips to Minneapolis, I am always stunned - no, alarmed - by the numerous happy gay and straight couples and the lack of promiscuous sex. Granted, I find it all boring as hell, but maybe that’s the jaded New Yorker in me. Perhaps, I need to try on a pair of rose-colored glasses and see life in a slightly different hue.

In other words, what is it about big cities that reduces love and intimacy to nothing more than mutual hand jobs in the back of a speeding taxi?

RANDY CANDY

With mouthwatering candy on every Manhattan corner, it can be difficult to find that perfect and oh-so satisfying piece.

What am I talking about?

Lust and love, my darlings, that’s what.

As a single man living on the ultimate island of lost souls - aka NYC - navigating Gotham’s sexual candy counter can give you a cavity, or at the very least, an STD.

First off, I just don’t get cheaters. I mean, I can understand an occasional tasty blowjob on a business trip, but why get involved with that person while still maintaining a lover at home?

Let me explain.

I recently met this cute little guy at Mr. Blacks. He had brown eyes and a furry chest; and while the DJ played vintage Miss Ross, we grinded into each other like two wild cats in heat. We kissed like mad teenagers until our lips were sore. Maybe it was the two vodka & cokes percolating in my brain, but it sure felt like love to me.

As the night wore on, I lost him in the smoke and mirrored crowd. I looked for him, but he was nowhere to be found. For the next week, my thoughts dwelled on him 24/7. As fate would have it, I ran into him on Avenue A; and he inquired about a return engagement with my hips and lips.

Yes, Mr. Fate had paid Mr. Makeup a visit. I had our house planned, the china picked out, the garden etc…and then the bomb dropped: he told me he had a partner and was in an open relationship.

Oh, yes, the open relationship. Fuck that. I hate these men – they want their cake, they want to bake it, and they want to eat it, too. I say, let them gorge on the fucking frosting until their teeth rot.

Thank God I never revealed my real age or motives.

Candy might be dandy, but not when he’s randy.

THEY SHOOT STARS, DON'T THEY?

It’s official and it's the talk of Manhattan – Star Jones is leaving The View.

Yes, Barbara Walters has doused the the wicked black witch of the east with water. It’s no secret that Barbara Walters hated Star and wanted her removed from the daily chat fest. The solution: Hire Rosie O, who has been quoted in numerous magazines questioning Star’s suspicious weight loss and her “on the down low” gay husband.

I mean, did anyone really think Star had the balls to go up against Rosie O? I think not.

Personally, I would have loved to see Rosie beat the shit out of Star on a daily basis, but alas, it’s not to be.

And if anyone missed the fabulous catfight between Sandra Bernhard, Star and that stupid blonde republican on The View, go to www.youtube.com and type The View into the search engine and watch the entire 7-minute segment. Trust me, it's a hoot and a half.

HIPS DON'T LIE

Shakira, Skakira…Damn, I love that song. And honey, my hips don’t lie either.

BUTT OUT

Yes, it's true, you can have too much money and too much time on your hands.

Let me explain.

Last week, I was having a Cobb salad with a pal from Beverly Hills who was in town for a little “work". Now I'm always up for a good nip and tuck tale, but her surgery story not only took the cake, but baked it, too.

Believe it or not, my gal pal was in Manhattan to get her ass lips bleached. Yes, you read that right. Apparently, the skin around her anal area was too dark for her liking. For $1500, a doctor was going to apply a cream to her bothersome dark area and in 20 minutes her hole’s hue would be that of a teenager. I was stunned: I needed answers.

Why are you having this done?

My new boyfriend doesn't like the look of my hole.

Well, how does he see it? I mean, it's kind of a hard area to view, right?

He likes to play gynecologist.

I had heard enough. With all the drama and craziness in the world, this is what my pal is worried about.

I now felt like an asshole asking the asshole about her asshole.

NOT SO EASY RIDER

I have a new Manhattan pet peeve - motorcycles and the fat, ugly, and obnoxious men that ride them.

I ask you: Is it wrong of me to want to take a gun and shoot these obese, balding and small-dicked bastards as they roar down the street waking everyone up? I don’t think so. And shouldn't there be a law against motorcycles and their maddening mufflers?

I mean, if Bush can write discrimination into the constitution, surely there can be a law outlawing these noisy contraptions.

SHOP YOUR BOOTY

Ok, I’ve said it – I hate shopping. Quick, confiscate my queer eye card cause I don’t want it anymore.

First off, they never have my size. I need a small or medium and those sizes are always sold out; and the only sizes left are XL or XXL. Now common sense should tell store executives that since the smalls and mediums sell out immediately, they should order more to begin with – but no, the stores end up with racks of clearance XLs and XXLs marked down to 59 cents.

This is just another example of corporate America gone amuck. Stores lose major dollars ordering all those discounted XLs that they are forced to jack the prices up for everything else to make a profit. I’m sorry, but it’s basic economics, fat people don’t buy fashionable clothes – thin people do, so order more smalls and medium clothes for thin people.

And another thing, why do stores have 10 checkout lanes, but only 2 people working? What the hell is that all about?

Finally, I just don’t get Whole Foods – who in their right mind would pay $4 for lettuce and $12 for chicken. Absurd.

HELP

Today, Paul McCartney turns 64, and boy does he look strange. I mean, he looks like a corpse. Doesn’t he realize men his age don’t have solid one-color black hair?

He looks crazy.

And if you’re gonna have some work done, fine and dandy, but at least get the whole face pulled – Mr. McCartney seems to only have had his eyebrows pulled, thus giving him a rather startled expression with a saggy lower prune face.

Paul, let it be.

EVE'S APPLE

I think it’s time I get a Dell. I was a die-hard Apple computer person, but no more. My constant problems with Apple products have forced me to look into what the majority has known all along – PC’s rule.

For starters, I am sick of not being able to surf the Internet. Apple’s browser Safari is full of bugs and constantly refuses to open pages and Internet Explorer does not support Apple systems, so what is an Internet whore left with? Nothing.

And then there is the ipod issue. My friend who works at an Apple store says they keep hundreds of ipods behind the counter to give out like candy to the throngs of people returning their defected ipods. He tells me “no questions asked” because the ipods are made to be disposable, so new ones are handed out without question.

I’m sorry, but if I pay $300 for something, I don’t expect it to be disposable.

That is why I tell everyone who buys an Apple product to purchase the extended warranty tout de suite, because it’s not "if" there will be problems, it’s when.

My own laptop broke down after 24 months to the tune of a $1200 repair. My friend’s imac broke down after 11 months to the tune of $1300 – thank goodness we both bought the extended warranty.

Sure, Apple products look nice, but like Eve with her tempting apple, only disaster can happen when you buy one.

BLONDE VS. BLONDE

Although I despise the right-wing politics of the New York Post, it does have the best gossip columns in town.

Recently in Liz Smith’s column, she reported an exchange between Jessica Simpson and Pamela Anderson.

Jessica was chatting about her role in the new feature film Baywatch with Baywatch alum Pamela Anderson. It was all very normal until Jessica asked, “How were you able to move so slowly in those shots where you were running along the beach bouncing up and down?”

Miss Anderson, a smart cookie if not a rocket scientist, reportedly replied - after a significant, sympathetic pause – “Oh, honey, it was slow-motion camera work.”

MISTER, SISTER, TWISTER

Gay men can be divided into three groups - mister, sister and the dreaded twister.

Misters are rare in the gay universe – these naturally manly men enjoy sports, Wrangler jeans and drinking beer. Generally, these men are tops; and are basically oblivious to the shallowness of gay culture. As I said, these men are rare, and thus, are highly coveted in the gay world. When in doubt about your mister’s authenticity, check his medicine chest for any sisterly signs such as a jar of Lancôme eye cream.

Sisters form the bulk of the gay community – loud queens who love to dance, prance and romance every designer by name. Trust me, sisters are not hard to miss – white belts, cropped pants and flip-flops are dead giveaways.

The dreaded twister is really a sister trying to pass himself off as a mister. Many a queen who has thought to have bagged a true mister is only to be disappointed to find floral chintz shower curtains and a jar of Crème le Mar lurking the in the bathroom. Worse yet, after a few beers, your mister opens his mouth to speak and a purse falls out.

A twister is not a bad man, but things can get nasty when a twister takes himself too seriously. We all know who these twisters are - they strut around the gym with tattoos, muscles and buzz cuts pretending to be misterly while casting disapproving eyes at the sisters.

But watch closely: It might be a hand gesture, a pursed lip or a slightly swishy walk, but inside that twister is a sister just busting to come out and try on a pair of Jimmy Choos.

So my dear queens, keep these notes in mind the next time you are cruising 8th avenue. And if you are lucky, you just might bag the rare mister – because every now and then, every gay man deserves a mister moment.

ANNIE - LET'S GET A GUN

Is it just me, or does anyone else think that republican mouthpiece Ann Coulter should be shoved in front of a moving bus?

FEAR OF FLYING

You know what is really fucked up? Airport security. I travel several times a month and it never ceases to amaze me what a mess it is.

How many more times am I going to be searched because I purchased a one-way ticket? I fly the same airline routinely, so I have asked the powers-that-be numerous times:

“Don’t you think if I was a terrorist, I would have figured out the one-way thing by now.”

“It’s the rules, sir.”

Well, that’s the problem with airport security in America – rules! I can’t began to tell you how many times I have witnessed either a 90 year old woman being wanded and made to stand at attention or a 75-year old handicapped man being interrogated – all the while Arabs in turbans and other shady characters breeze right by.

I’m sorry, but things need to change.

I flew to Israel a few years back and was amazed and impressed with their security. Why? Because Israel has the common sense to profile terrorist looking people – and I want to point out that Israel has NEVER had a terrorist attack on their airlines, so obvious this system works.

America needs to get with the program.

MADONNA MADNESS

My friend from Montreal called me in a giddy rush. He told me - between bouts of happy hysteria - that he was paying $450 (face value) for a seat to see Madonna in concert. He was overjoyed.

I think he is nuts.

Another friend bought 4th row seats for her Madison Square Garden performance from a scalper for $1200. He, too, was overjoyed.

Is it just me, or are these people insane?

SECOND ACT

As a gay man, I’m supposed to love Madonna, but I don’t. I mean, she was cool in the 80s when she was a rebel, but her current act has grown stale and embarrassing.

Her new video for the dance ditty “Sorry” is her latest in career jokes. In the clip, 48-year-old Madge tries to pass herself off as a teenage roller disco queen. Does she really think she is fooling anyone? In 7 years, she will be a card-carrying member of the AARP!

Now I’m not saying she should cash in her cred and sing standards ala Rod Stewart, but there is a fine line between playing a fool and being a fool.

I mean, just because you can afford multiple injections of botox and a good lighting crew, it doesn’t make you 17 again.

You know what would be really groundbreaking? If Madonna would strip herself of the hair color, botox, fillers and corsets and let the world embrace a real 48 year old woman – now that would be a great second act.

B-LIST MOMENT

The thing about living in Manhattan is you never know who or what is waiting for you around the corner. The other day I was riding my bicycle in the West Village - that's Greenwich Village for out-of-towners - when I came upon a movie shoot with mobs of paparazzi and screaming fans.

Of course, I stopped to look...and there - all five feet of her - was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Yes, Sarah Michelle Geller in the flesh - all done up like a tarty secretary in mile high Jimmy Choos and a vinyl Prada jacket.

I don't know about you, but I always get Scooby Do Geller confused with Horse Whisperer Jennifer Love Hewitt - who I once saw at a party and was so thin she made my idol Nicole Richie look chubby.

That's the thing about living in NYC; you never know what B or C list star you will run into. Personally, I'm waiting for my moment with D lister Kathy Griffin.

ENDLESS LOVE

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 fiancé or the exhausting lovemaking, but whatever it was, enough was enough – sleep comes first.

BRITS & THUGS

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.

BEAR HUNT

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.

SEX?

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?

OPRAH AGAIN

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.

LEAN LOVE

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.

PEE PROBLEM

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.

NYC MOMENTS

YES, EVEN MORE THINGS THAT PISS ME OFF.

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.

MODEL BEHAVIOR

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.

TRUE LOVE?

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?

OVERDRIVE

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.

MISSED MOMENT

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.

FLIGHT 93

I saw the movie Flight 93 yesterday. I didn’t want to see it, but since I had done the red carpet makeup for Jody McClintock – one of the stars of the movie – I went. I am glad I did; and I recommend it to everyone.

I will never forget that clear sunny day that was September 11. The year 2001 was not a good year – my boyfriend was diagnosed with a fatal cancer and I was misdiagnosed with an illness that turned out to be nothing – gotta love those quack doctors! Needless to say, I walked around much of the year in a fog.

On September 11, the ringing phone awakened me – it was my boyfriend calling from Israel. I remember looking out the window and seeing the beautiful blue sky. Too lazy to reach for the phone, I heard him pleading over the answering machine about my whereabouts. I thought it was strange that he called so early – I tried calling back, but the phones were dead.

I heard people in my hallway screaming that we were under attack. I turned on the television to find the World Trade Centers burning. I live on 12th street in the east village – just 2 miles from the towers. I ran outside and I could see the smoking buildings. My cell phone rang and it was my agent. I had totally forgotten that I had an afternoon shoot. He asked if I was up to going - he had received word that the rest of the crew would be showing up.

Yes, even with the world at war, fashion comes first.

I didn’t know what to do - sit home and drive myself crazy or go to work. I decided to go to the shoot. With my makeup in a backpack, I rode my bike the mile or so to the studio. The streets were devoid of cars and strangely quiet. The only movement were the people covered in white dust making their way uptown.

I don’t remember much of the shoot because everyone was glued to the television. Afterwards, I rode my bike down the west side highway towards the cloud of smoke. As I turned onto Houston Street I came upon a scene that will never leave my memory. The television cameras were set up and behind them were hundreds of people carrying pictures of their loved ones – each trying to get their images on the cameras. No news had come out yet, but everyone knew that the emergency rooms were empty – no survivors.

The camaraderie on the streets was overwhelming, and even though I didn’t know anyone who died, I felt I knew each one of the victims. Over the next few days every business, church and storefront were flying American flags – every building except the mosque around my corner. I can’t tell you how many times my boyfriend would walk by it and mutter…”I wonder what those motherfuckers are in there planning.” I would smile politely and pooh pooh him….I guess he was right after all.

Later in the week, a friend and I walked to what was left of the World Trade Center. Standing amidst the twisted pieces of steel and concrete, I felt an eerie sense of dead souls surrounding me. And the smell - the workers were spraying formaldehyde onto the burning pile to preserve the bodies. It all seemed so unreal.

As I watched the movie with tears in my eyes, my 9/11 memories came flooding back to me. I can only imagine what those poor souls felt on those planes, but they should never be forgotten.

The most ironic scene in the movie is hearing the Arabs praying to Allah and the passengers praying to Jesus.

See the movie.

MANHATTAN DREAMS

Living in New York City, one meets a lot of people with big career dreams. And most of these people work as waiters, bartenders and dog walkers to make those dreams come true. But lately I’ve been asking myself when is it time to pack up and close the show – dream over.

I got to thinking of this dilemma the other day on a shoot. The model was an older woman who had moved to NYC in her youth to be an actress. Yes, she’s had some minor success, but at age 58 she was struggling to pay her rent and afford health insurance. In her long hair, fanny pack, and mom jeans, her obvious lack of money was obvious. She looked rather sad when she talked of friends retiring with huge pensions and the many planned vacations. I noticed she ate extra food at the lunch table.

As I watched her gobbling down - and not caring one iota about my carefully constructed lip line - yet another plate of free food, I started thinking of my life and the many friends who are struggling to make it big in NYC. One friend is nearing 40 and still trying to make it as a pop music sensation and another in the same age range is still making the rounds as an actor. Of course, both of these would-be stars work part-time jobs spritzing perfume and waiting tables – both live hand to mouth without a cent in the bank.

I moved to NYC with the dream to be the next Kevyn Acoin, but he died and so did my dream of a Vogue cover. I still love makeup, but I’m much more aware of the need to make money and save for the future, which good Virgo that I am, do on a regular basis.

Dreams might sustain your life, but not a NYC lifestyle.

CELL MADNESS

I am getting so sick of all these people constantly talking and texting on their cellphones and blackberrys. I ask you: Is it really all that necessary to call your girlfriend from Whole Foods to discuss the can peas?

I think not.

OPRAH OOPS

Oprah has really pissed me off. I mean, she’s been riding her opinionated high horse and singing her own bloated charms for some time, but now she’s crossed the line. On Friday’s episode, she made the idiotic and arrogant statement that LUCK plays no part in a person’s success.

Oprah claims that success occurs when an educated and skilled person meets an opportunity.

Sounds good on paper, but in reality, it’s a pile of bullshit.

I know numerous talented and educated men and women with tons of ambition that can barely pay the rent because opportunity has not presented itself. And I know numerous untalented and uneducated men and women who have achieved great success via opportunites presented by lady LUCK.

Believe me, it takes LUCK to meet that opportunity.

And for the record, I wonder what category Oprah would put her best friend Gayle in – I mean, Gayle is a millionaire because of her LUCK of befriending Oprah.

Oprah, step down from your black tower and get a reality check.

HMMMMM....

Things that make me go hmmmm or things that rattle my cage.

Why do some Jewish women – I think Hasidic – shave their heads, yet wear hideous wigs in public? I mean, if you’re gonna shave your head for some religious reason, fine and dandy, but then why wear fake hair? I don’t get it.

Why does milk taste so good with chocolate chip cookies?

Why are there so many fat kids?

Why do overweight Puerto Rican women with bad orangey highlights wear so much cheap perfume? The other day I was caught in a lift with one of these monsters and I almost passed out.

Why do mothers today have baby carriages the size of small cars? I mean, these things resemble covered wagons and take up half the sidewalk. I ask you: What the hell is in these things?

When did Trader Joes on 14th Street turn into a nightclub? The lines at the door are so long that a snotty doorman has been hired to choose who gets in and who doesn’t. I guess the ghosts of the Paladium nightclub - the former residents - are still around.

Why is it we can have 10,000 songs on our ipod and still have nothing to listen to?

Why do older gay men love Barbra Streisand, Liza Minnelli and Bette Midler? For a group that loves beauty, these three would make Helen Keller thankful she was blind.

PANTY RAID

I was on the bus the other day and I heard two girls having a most interesting conversation – it went like this:

“Girl, you know it was a good night when you come home with your panties in your purse.”

“I think it’s a better night when you come home without your panties.”

“You left your underwear at the club?”

“I think so.”

“How did that happen?”

“I have no idea…I think I took ‘em off while I was dancing, but later when I went outside to have a smoke, the bouncer had my panties in his front pocket.”

Only in NYC, kids, only in NYC.

GLAMOUR??PART 2

Ok, dear readers, here is the final chapter of Glamour?? (If you are new to the site, scroll down to read Glamour?? Part 1 before reading this installment.)

We arrived at Kate’s Lazy Meadow Motel (www.lazymeadow.com) at around 3 pm and immediately started working. Bulldog shoved me into a tiny room and instructed me to start “touching up” the models. For the next three hours, I covered zit after zit and flat ironed one frizzy mop after the next until I was ready to drop. All the while, Bulldog kept screaming at me to hurry up. When I asked if we were going to be given something to eat, Bulldog growled, “You will be fed later.” When I asked for a beverage, she told me to drink from the hose next to the cabins. I can laugh now, but as famed author Jackie Collins says, truth is stranger than fiction.

My spirits picked up when Kate arrived in a cute yellow Volkswagen bug. I ran from the makeup room wielding my camera screaming, Kate, Kate, Kate – I love you, Kate. She looked at me like I was a stalker – and in all the pics of us together, her blue eyes look very frightened.

When a photographer asked Kate if she wanted pictures from the motel shoot, she glanced at our “ma and pa kettle” love shack photo shoot and shook her head no. After 30 minutes, Kate got back in her bug and never returned.

We kept shooting and shooting until 8 pm and still no food or drink. Finally, Bulldog and her cohorts set up a huge Mexican buffet on the picnic tables.

“You can eat in two hours,” Bulldog yelled as flies and other various insects descended on the food.

When we finally wrapped for the night at 12:30 am – that’s almost 15 hours of work - Bulldog instructed me I was to bunk in the makeup room. I looked at the filthy room littered with trash from 10 models and exploded at Bulldog.

“I am not sleeping in this room!”

Bulldog gave me an evil look, but relented –a dyke is no match for an angry queen.

We drove to a rather fancy hotel and I was given a gorgeous duplex suite with a hot tub – too bad I couldn’t enjoy it.

At 8:45 am I staggered into the hotel’s restaurant and joined the other models for breakfast. As the waiters were bringing our bacon and eggs, Bulldog came storming into the restaurant and ordered everyone onto the vans.

“I don’t care if you people have not eaten. I told all of you to be ready at 9 am.”

Some of the younger models started to cry. I refused to move and bellowed in a loud dramatic voice:

“I’m not leaving until I finish my breakfast.”

Bulldog hustled the starving models onto the vans and drove off. In 10 minutes she was back - and I could tell she was mad.

“I don’t like your attitude.”

“Well,” I said as I fixed my lip liner. “I don’t like looking at your face.”

We drove back to Kate’s in silence.

At 12 noon, Bulldog announced that lunch was served. As I walked to the lunch cabin, I joked to the models that Bulldog was going to serve us the Mexican leftovers from the previous night. We laughed, but sure enough, sitting on the tables were the soggy insect ridden leftovers.

I went outside to find Bulldog. I found her in the van with her cohorts eating freshly bought hamburgers, salads and fries! I called her every politically incorrect name in the book. She sat there stone-faced and handed me a hamburger.

Yes, I’m not proud of myself, but I took the hamburger as I watched the models eating the soggy bean burritos. What can I say? I was so hungry I would have taken a fresh falafah from Bin Laden.

The rest of the shoot was a blur – all I remember is getting back into the city at 12 midnight. I was so exhausted and starved I could barely get out of the van.

As my feet touched 23rd street, I fell to my knees and kissed the Manhattan pavement.

So you see, my dear readers, life isn’t always pretty in the land of powder and paint.

TV WHORE

Ok, I admit it, I'm a TV whore. My boob tube is glowing every waking moment that I am awake. Now I might not always be watching it, but it keeps my poor soul company. Here are some of my favorite shows:

NoTORIous (Sunday nites on VH1) - I love this campy reality/sictom starring Miss Tori Spelling. I mean, you have to watch it just to see Loni Anderson playing Tori's mom - a classic freak show.

DYNASTY (weekdays on the Soap Network) - The clothes, the hairstyles, the catfights - OMG this show is a masterpiece! And for the record, I've worked with Joan Collins and she wasn't acting - she is Alexis Morell Carington Colby Dexter Rowen.

OPRAH (weekdays) - OK, she can be a bit smug, but for me, it's like going to church. Yes, she gets preachy, and talks way too much about how fabulous she is, but I still love me some Oprah.

CELEBRITY FIT CLUB (Sunday nites on VH1) - Watching chubby D-list celebs struggle to lose weight is just way too much fun for words. Who had any idea Chasity Bono was really a 300 pound man?