Yes, everyone at Lucky Cheng’s last night, the lunatic in the hot pink/zebra dress was me. And, yes, I was giving a lap dance to a complete stranger on stage in front of a restaurant full of people at a transvestite cabaret. As you can see in the progression of events, I went from shy and afraid to wild and crazy in a matter of about ten seconds. What? I wanted to win the contest!
This past weekend, my girlfriends and I went out to Lucky Cheng’s to celebrate my 25th birthday. (I know, I know, I’m insanely old.) For those of you who are not familiar with this establishment, it is a restaurant/drag queen cabaret. Within five minutes of choosing between two drinks — the Pink Pussy and the Flaming Poon — we witnessed a lap dance that made even me blush.
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s seeing someone that looks unbelievably familiar to me and not knowing where I know them from. Lately it’s been happening to me more and more. I feel like everywhere I go I run into someone I know. I mean, I know I’m famous, but this is getting crazy.
The other night I sat at the bar at The Hard Rock Cafe with my best friend, Kerry.
“Kerry, I know that man,” I said, looking at the bartender.
“I think he just has one of those faces,” she replied.
“NO! I know him!”I insisted.
Okay, so here’s where I am going to try and explain exactly why my birthday is more important than yours. I know it must seem crazy to hear at first, but it is in fact true, so bear with me. I am in no way saying that my significance on this earth is greater than any one of yours (well, maybe just…just kidding), but the day I celebrate my birthday each year, July 8th, is. And here’s why…
I count down to my birthday the way children count down to Christmas. On January 8th, I wish myself a Happy Half-Birthday, and proceed to tell everyone that I am 6 months away from my birthday. I then spend the next 6 months looking forward to the attention, gifts, dinners, and partying – all on my behalf. I know that’s hard for some of you to grasp, because I’m usually not the self-centered, attention-hog type For six years I worked as an Arts & Crafts and Theater teacher and used to make the children make me a crown and a sash in Arts & Crafts and sing Happy Birthday to me in Theater class. Since I am no longer teaching, my mom makes sure to buy me a little pink and rhinestone crown for the occasion.
A few days before my birthday a few years ago, I explained to my boyfriend-at-the-time, David, just why this day is the most special day of the year, along with why I should have nothing but happiness and helpfulness and good thoughts sent my way, not the fighting that was going on with my friends over which club we went to that weekend. I proceeded to justify my response by describing how other people we know (my family and friends) feel on their birthdays.
I’m not what one would call the “mushy” type. I don’t really talk about feelings with the guys I date. I talk about them with my friends, and my mom, and my keyboard (JenAndMen — I don’t sit and chat with my wireless keyboard), but I get really shy and uncomfortable when it comes to saying this out loud to the guy I’m seeing.
Therefore, it’s always been easier to express how I feel (both good and bad) by writing things down. That’s why when people hate on texters, I feel their pain, because sometimes it’s not just done for convenience — it’s done for necessity.
Anyway, because I’ve always been this way, I love writing long and detailed cards to my boyfriends for their birthday, Valentine’s Day, and anniversaries. I think that it’s a really nice Continue reading
This has happened to all of us. It’s Christmas (or any other holiday you celebrate) or our birthday or anniversary, and you see it: The box. The box that is pre-wrapped by a salesperson – and judging by the size – is most likely jewelry. You look at your boyfriend with your eyes wide with anticipation, and rip open that little sucker like your 6-years-old tearing away at what you know is that awesome talking and peeing doll that you’ve been asking your parents for for weeks.
You lift open the top of the box, preparing to scream, “Oh my God!” and then…there it is. Less “Oh my God” and more “Myyy God :(”. In a style that perhaps your Great-Aunt Beatrice would wear, there lies your earrings, necklace, bracelet, ring. Tears start to form in your eyes and you don’t really know what to do. Thoughts race through your head like wildfire.
Don’t cry, he’ll feel terrible, and it’s Christmas. Wait, he just made me feel terrible, and it’s freaking Christmas. No, no, he didn’t mean to. Although, I did tell him exactly what I wanted…so what is this crap?! Do not fight on Christmas. I want to stab him in the jugular. Continue reading