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.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
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.
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.
I think not.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, April 17, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
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.
“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.
Friday, April 07, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
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?
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?
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
GLAMOUR?? PART 1
Everyone thinks my life is one big bowl of glamour. What with celebrities, models, travel and free lunches, sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn’t, and sometimes I wish I sat in a cubicle all day. As the old saying goes, the grass is always greener on the other side of the septic tank. Let me share with you a story that should put an end to all of you wishing for a life in the land of powder and paint.
Sit back, my darlings, and enjoy my misery.
I was booked for a two-day shoot in the Catskill Mountains at Kate – the B- 52’s - Pierson’s retro campy motor lodge. I have always been a huge fan of the B-52's, so I was overjoyed by the thought of doing the rock lobster with a punk legend. I was told there would be 10 models that would require “light” touch-ups. Ok, 10 models, not sounding so good, but ever the trooper, I thought it was a small price to pay for a chance to dance with Kate in the Catskills.
The next morning, I found 10 of the mangiest looking models I have ever seen. I mean, I have seen prettier faces coming out of the crystal meth clinic on Avenue A. Turns out, they were from a modeling school in Queens. And these kids were not only ugly, but covered in acne and cursed with heads of frizzed out mops resembling pubic hair - so much for "light" touch-ups! Truely, Helen Keller would have ran screaming from this bunch.
With my head in my hands contemplating my beauty fate, I was introduced to the producer of the job. As I looked up, the butchest dyke this side of Rosie O greeted me. Now, I’m sorry, but I just don’t like bulldog dykes. Try as I might to like my saphoric sisters, I just can’t comprehend why they run around sans concealer while mimicking Vin Diesel. Furthermore, why do they constantly have to prove that they are the alpha dogs - sister, you have a pussy, and penis trumps pussy any day of the week, so get over it.
Ok, back to the story at hand.
Bulldog ordered everyone onto the vans and off we went. After about an hour of driving, one of the girls asked to use a restroom. I could see a McDonald’s about a mile or so down the road, but no, Bulldog pulled her van to the side and motioned to the other van to form a V on the road. I had no idea what was going on – that is, until I heard Bulldog order the girls to squat behind one of the vans. Next, she ordered the boys to the other side of the van.
Was this really happening? Yes, it was – we were being forced to use the side of the road as our latrine. (Stay tuned for Part 2)
Sit back, my darlings, and enjoy my misery.
I was booked for a two-day shoot in the Catskill Mountains at Kate – the B- 52’s - Pierson’s retro campy motor lodge. I have always been a huge fan of the B-52's, so I was overjoyed by the thought of doing the rock lobster with a punk legend. I was told there would be 10 models that would require “light” touch-ups. Ok, 10 models, not sounding so good, but ever the trooper, I thought it was a small price to pay for a chance to dance with Kate in the Catskills.
The next morning, I found 10 of the mangiest looking models I have ever seen. I mean, I have seen prettier faces coming out of the crystal meth clinic on Avenue A. Turns out, they were from a modeling school in Queens. And these kids were not only ugly, but covered in acne and cursed with heads of frizzed out mops resembling pubic hair - so much for "light" touch-ups! Truely, Helen Keller would have ran screaming from this bunch.
With my head in my hands contemplating my beauty fate, I was introduced to the producer of the job. As I looked up, the butchest dyke this side of Rosie O greeted me. Now, I’m sorry, but I just don’t like bulldog dykes. Try as I might to like my saphoric sisters, I just can’t comprehend why they run around sans concealer while mimicking Vin Diesel. Furthermore, why do they constantly have to prove that they are the alpha dogs - sister, you have a pussy, and penis trumps pussy any day of the week, so get over it.
Ok, back to the story at hand.
Bulldog ordered everyone onto the vans and off we went. After about an hour of driving, one of the girls asked to use a restroom. I could see a McDonald’s about a mile or so down the road, but no, Bulldog pulled her van to the side and motioned to the other van to form a V on the road. I had no idea what was going on – that is, until I heard Bulldog order the girls to squat behind one of the vans. Next, she ordered the boys to the other side of the van.
Was this really happening? Yes, it was – we were being forced to use the side of the road as our latrine. (Stay tuned for Part 2)
Monday, April 03, 2006
GOOD DEED
The other day I read that a brother who gave his sister a much-needed kidney requested liposuction while he was under anesthesia. He thought since he was already knocked out; why not get a little “work” done. In fact, he was making his sister pay for it.
Am I crazy, or does that sound like a good idea? I mean, it’s kinda like a reward for a good deed.
Am I crazy, or does that sound like a good idea? I mean, it’s kinda like a reward for a good deed.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
POWER TITS
Why is it that straight men go plum crazy around big-breasted women? I mean, it's almost embarassing to watch as they pant, perspire and act just plain nutty. Toss in some blonde hair and that same straight man would push his mother in front of a bus to get a better look at those moving mammeries.
Furthermore, I just don't understand the straight man's fasination with strippers and strip clubs. I was once doing a shoot at Scores and I was shocked to see the straight men being reduced to blubbering idiots around all those mounds of flesh. Man after man gleefully pushed his children's college fund into the cleavages of the gyrating dancers.
I watched one man put at least $400 into the bra of a busty blonde with a face only a blind mother would love. I mean, for $400 he didn't even get to touch those tits.
Believe me, for that amount of money in a gay bar, you could touch a hell of a lot more than just the tits of the stripper.
Furthermore, I just don't understand the straight man's fasination with strippers and strip clubs. I was once doing a shoot at Scores and I was shocked to see the straight men being reduced to blubbering idiots around all those mounds of flesh. Man after man gleefully pushed his children's college fund into the cleavages of the gyrating dancers.
I watched one man put at least $400 into the bra of a busty blonde with a face only a blind mother would love. I mean, for $400 he didn't even get to touch those tits.
Believe me, for that amount of money in a gay bar, you could touch a hell of a lot more than just the tits of the stripper.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
CELEB CHAT
Star Jones. I mean, how does this lady keep her job? I have yet to find anyone who likes her. Her new book is such an ego driven gift to herself it should be called “I’m Star Jones And I Love Myself and You Should, Too.”
And Star, a word of advice from one queen to another: sleeveless is not a good look for you. Furthermore, can you imagine what she looks like naked after losing all that weight – yuk.
And come on, we all know she married a queen, who any day now is gonna pull a “Stella got her groove back” on her. I can’t wait until he does, because someone has to take this bitch out.
Nicole Richie is not too thin - I think she looks great. But what I do find odd is how she seems to have erased her original race. If you look at childhood pictures of her, she had nappy hair, dark skin and a wide nose. Who knew that with a little surgery and healthy dose of concealer, a 22-year old black girl could be transformed into a blonde 40-year old socialite?
Ok, now some real white girls.
I do love Brad and Angelina, but I feel sorry for Jennifer – it must be hard for a plain girl with good hair to lose your man to Miss Jolie. I mean, Angelina is so hot I’d fuck her. And what about Ashlee Simpson? It must be hell being the ugly sister to Jessica. I adored Ashlee’s first Cd, which doesn’t say much for my taste level, does it? But I sang along to my ipod and felt her teenage angst like any 14-year old pretend punk from Long Island.
And finally, I love Mary Kate Olsen. In fact, she’s my new role model. I mean, a billionaire who dresses like a Burberry bag lady and uses Starbucks as her main source of nutrition is my kinda NYC gal.
And Star, a word of advice from one queen to another: sleeveless is not a good look for you. Furthermore, can you imagine what she looks like naked after losing all that weight – yuk.
And come on, we all know she married a queen, who any day now is gonna pull a “Stella got her groove back” on her. I can’t wait until he does, because someone has to take this bitch out.
Nicole Richie is not too thin - I think she looks great. But what I do find odd is how she seems to have erased her original race. If you look at childhood pictures of her, she had nappy hair, dark skin and a wide nose. Who knew that with a little surgery and healthy dose of concealer, a 22-year old black girl could be transformed into a blonde 40-year old socialite?
Ok, now some real white girls.
I do love Brad and Angelina, but I feel sorry for Jennifer – it must be hard for a plain girl with good hair to lose your man to Miss Jolie. I mean, Angelina is so hot I’d fuck her. And what about Ashlee Simpson? It must be hell being the ugly sister to Jessica. I adored Ashlee’s first Cd, which doesn’t say much for my taste level, does it? But I sang along to my ipod and felt her teenage angst like any 14-year old pretend punk from Long Island.
And finally, I love Mary Kate Olsen. In fact, she’s my new role model. I mean, a billionaire who dresses like a Burberry bag lady and uses Starbucks as her main source of nutrition is my kinda NYC gal.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
BIG LOVE
I was thinking today about the people I keep close to me. My nearest and dearest are a pre-op tranny who can’t get enough sex, a husky redhead who has not had sex in 10 years, and last but not least, a kooky artist who fantasies about serial killing to reach orgasm. What a bunch! I wonder what this says about me?
Monday, March 27, 2006
NOT SO SMART
Why do smart women make stupid choices when it comes to men?
My best gal pal from high school regularly trades in her 9 to 5 YSL skirts for black catsuits to stalk her married lover. Yes, she makes regular midnight runs to his house and slinks around his backyard peering into his windows. Why? She is convinced he is not only canoodling with his wife, but also the divorcee across the street. I accompanied her on one of these missions – yes, I too, apparently have no life. Outside of his house, I inquired about her knowledge of his philandering ways, she replied:
“See that big lawn sign over there.”
“You mean the “Say No to War in Iraq” sign.
“Yes, I was hiding behind it one night when I heard them going at it.”
I sat there wide-eyed. I didn’t know what was more shocking, a grown woman hiding behind a lawn sign in the middle of the night or a “No War” sign in a wealthy republican neighborhood.
Her stalking went on for several months until the police came knocking on her door. Apparently, someone had broken into the man’s house and cut the heart and crotch out of his designer suits. I asked her over morning lattes if she had indeed did the deed. She looked me dead in the eye and laughed sarcastically…”What do you think?” I couldn’t tell if that was a yes or a no.
Several months passed and she was still seeing him. I didn’t ask any questions. But when I stopped at her house, the answer was right there in plain sight – sitting in her laundry basket was a freshly laundered catsuit awaiting its next midnight mission.
My best gal pal from high school regularly trades in her 9 to 5 YSL skirts for black catsuits to stalk her married lover. Yes, she makes regular midnight runs to his house and slinks around his backyard peering into his windows. Why? She is convinced he is not only canoodling with his wife, but also the divorcee across the street. I accompanied her on one of these missions – yes, I too, apparently have no life. Outside of his house, I inquired about her knowledge of his philandering ways, she replied:
“See that big lawn sign over there.”
“You mean the “Say No to War in Iraq” sign.
“Yes, I was hiding behind it one night when I heard them going at it.”
I sat there wide-eyed. I didn’t know what was more shocking, a grown woman hiding behind a lawn sign in the middle of the night or a “No War” sign in a wealthy republican neighborhood.
Her stalking went on for several months until the police came knocking on her door. Apparently, someone had broken into the man’s house and cut the heart and crotch out of his designer suits. I asked her over morning lattes if she had indeed did the deed. She looked me dead in the eye and laughed sarcastically…”What do you think?” I couldn’t tell if that was a yes or a no.
Several months passed and she was still seeing him. I didn’t ask any questions. But when I stopped at her house, the answer was right there in plain sight – sitting in her laundry basket was a freshly laundered catsuit awaiting its next midnight mission.
Monday, March 20, 2006
HOLLYWEIRD
Why is America so afraid of strong gay men? It’s ok to win Oscars and awards if you’re feminine, a drag performer or a crazed murderer – or better yet, all three. But take a couple of macho gay men who actually have passionate sex on screen and what do you get: jokes, jokes and more jokes, and finally, the loss of the best picture at the Oscars.
Now don’t get me wrong, I loved Crash, but did it deserve the coveted best picture prize? No. As much as I loved the movie and it’s message, it seemed like something I would see on Lifetime. Plain and simple, Brokeback Mountain was the groundbreaking movie of the year.
In a town such as Hollywood, with its hypercritical liberal views on gays and openly gay stars, perhaps the saga of two married men carrying on a 20 year romance was a little too close to home – are you listening Mr. Cruise and Mr. Travolta?
Now don’t get me wrong, I loved Crash, but did it deserve the coveted best picture prize? No. As much as I loved the movie and it’s message, it seemed like something I would see on Lifetime. Plain and simple, Brokeback Mountain was the groundbreaking movie of the year.
In a town such as Hollywood, with its hypercritical liberal views on gays and openly gay stars, perhaps the saga of two married men carrying on a 20 year romance was a little too close to home – are you listening Mr. Cruise and Mr. Travolta?
Saturday, March 18, 2006
SMOKERS
I hate smokers. What a digusting and filthy habit. I want to kill those assholes who think they have the right to walk down the street and puff their cancerous smoke into my face. How would they like it if I whipped out my dick and started pissing on them as I strolled down the street? I bet all hell would break loose and I would probably be arrested, but if the truth be told, piss is a lot healthier than smoke.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
HOUSE BOUND
It’s been said that the longer you live in New York City, the less you leave your apartment. I got to thinking about it, and there is a lot of truth to that statement. What with the Internet, HBO and a Lindsey Wagner endorsed Sleep Number mattress, there’s little reason to venture outside into the big bad world ever again.
I can call the corner deli and have a bagel, cappuccino and a Post delivered in 10 minutes. For lunch, the Chinese restaurant brings by egg drop soup and dumplings. If I need groceries, I log onto freshdirect.com.
For entertainment, digital cable offers over 200 channels of non-stop entertainment – and yes, channel 35 still has porn, porn and more free porn. And I don’t care what anyone says; I can watch reruns of the Golden Girls all day long.
And I love my Sleep Number bed so much sometimes I need bionic strength to just get out of it. I purposely keep the phone and television in the living room just for that reason.
Now don’t get me wrong, I get out of the house plenty, but I alway love coming home.
I can call the corner deli and have a bagel, cappuccino and a Post delivered in 10 minutes. For lunch, the Chinese restaurant brings by egg drop soup and dumplings. If I need groceries, I log onto freshdirect.com.
For entertainment, digital cable offers over 200 channels of non-stop entertainment – and yes, channel 35 still has porn, porn and more free porn. And I don’t care what anyone says; I can watch reruns of the Golden Girls all day long.
And I love my Sleep Number bed so much sometimes I need bionic strength to just get out of it. I purposely keep the phone and television in the living room just for that reason.
Now don’t get me wrong, I get out of the house plenty, but I alway love coming home.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
MIDNIGHT COWBOY
My friend Donald works as a leather S&M escort – or prostitute if you will. He makes a good living at it - $175 an hour.
He has turned his bedroom into a dungeon complete with a leather bed, sling, St. Andrews cross and, of course, dim lighting. (Not to get off subject, but I’ve always wondered how he explains this room to the super – oh, I forgot, this is NYC – who cares.) Anyways, I’ve always been fascinated by ladies or men of the evening. Getting paid for sex has always seemed so glamorous.
One day Donald called and asked if I’d be interested in a three-way with a client – an older gent who wanted to be dominated by two guys. The pay: $350 for two hours. Now Donald is the horniest person I have ever met. I mean, the man has no boundaries or limitations. I have seen him make out with a cute young twink only later to see him swashing tongues with a senior citizen. Lord only knows how he does this, but I admire him for it.
Well, I didn’t need much convincing – my inner “belle de jour” got the best of me and like Brenda from “Six Feet Under”, off I went. It wasn’t as hard as I thought. With the help of a little blue pill and lots of macho acting and fantasying, I was able to pull it off – or get it off. The “client” wasn’t all that bad looking and honestly I didn’t really have to do much other than sit there – if you get my meaning.
No, I didn’t start a new career with this – it was strictly a one-time affair. But it was nice to know I could pull it off – or get it off – if need be.
He has turned his bedroom into a dungeon complete with a leather bed, sling, St. Andrews cross and, of course, dim lighting. (Not to get off subject, but I’ve always wondered how he explains this room to the super – oh, I forgot, this is NYC – who cares.) Anyways, I’ve always been fascinated by ladies or men of the evening. Getting paid for sex has always seemed so glamorous.
One day Donald called and asked if I’d be interested in a three-way with a client – an older gent who wanted to be dominated by two guys. The pay: $350 for two hours. Now Donald is the horniest person I have ever met. I mean, the man has no boundaries or limitations. I have seen him make out with a cute young twink only later to see him swashing tongues with a senior citizen. Lord only knows how he does this, but I admire him for it.
Well, I didn’t need much convincing – my inner “belle de jour” got the best of me and like Brenda from “Six Feet Under”, off I went. It wasn’t as hard as I thought. With the help of a little blue pill and lots of macho acting and fantasying, I was able to pull it off – or get it off. The “client” wasn’t all that bad looking and honestly I didn’t really have to do much other than sit there – if you get my meaning.
No, I didn’t start a new career with this – it was strictly a one-time affair. But it was nice to know I could pull it off – or get it off – if need be.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
MARRY ME BILL
Are there any good-looking gay men in NYC that want to tie the knot? I think not. When I scan the Sunday Style of the Times for the gay wedding pictures, I have yet to see an attractive couple.
I mean, this might sound mean, but my first thoughts are…”Who else would have them.” Bald, fat, old and a lack of a chin seem to be the requirements for a wedding band and a picture in the Times.
Just once I’d like to see a hot couple smiling back at me from the inked pages. Or maybe hot guys don’t want to get married – too busy playing the field. After all, this is NYC – the hardest city in the world to stay faithful in. What with candy on every corner just waiting to be sucked on, why pledge your love and lust to just one man?
I mean, this might sound mean, but my first thoughts are…”Who else would have them.” Bald, fat, old and a lack of a chin seem to be the requirements for a wedding band and a picture in the Times.
Just once I’d like to see a hot couple smiling back at me from the inked pages. Or maybe hot guys don’t want to get married – too busy playing the field. After all, this is NYC – the hardest city in the world to stay faithful in. What with candy on every corner just waiting to be sucked on, why pledge your love and lust to just one man?
Sunday, March 12, 2006
TOP MODEL?
Why is it nowadays anyone and everyone thinks they can model? I blame it on that tubby Tyra and her cast of mangy model wannabees. Think about it, what have any of the winners of "Top Model" accomplished? Cover of Vogue? No. Face of Estee Lauder? No. Oh, yeah, one married a middle-aged Brady. Whoopee!
Believe me, just because your mom or dad or the guy who wants to bang your box said you could model, doesn’t mean it’s true.
As a makeup artist, I am constantly harassed by overly groomed average looking people begging for advice on modeling. How many times have I wanted to say…”Honey, get a mirror and clean your contacts, cause it ain’t happening in this lifetime.” But no, I always smile and wish them luck and suggest “commercial print” or “lifestyle” modeling.
Listen, if you want to model, you have to be a genetic freak with features and a body so fierce that they would turn Gandi into a sex maniac. If not, keep sending your pics to Tyra and hope that your fifteen minutes are just around the corner – but don’t hold your breath.
Believe me, just because your mom or dad or the guy who wants to bang your box said you could model, doesn’t mean it’s true.
As a makeup artist, I am constantly harassed by overly groomed average looking people begging for advice on modeling. How many times have I wanted to say…”Honey, get a mirror and clean your contacts, cause it ain’t happening in this lifetime.” But no, I always smile and wish them luck and suggest “commercial print” or “lifestyle” modeling.
Listen, if you want to model, you have to be a genetic freak with features and a body so fierce that they would turn Gandi into a sex maniac. If not, keep sending your pics to Tyra and hope that your fifteen minutes are just around the corner – but don’t hold your breath.
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