LADEELEROY

2002-08-13

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I once won a drag show. Okay. I came in 2nd.
 
  Did I ever tell you guys about the time I won a drag show while I was dressed as a woman?

Well, 'win' isn't exactly right.

I came in second...

And scored a sweet $50 prize.

I called my Dad the next day and told him and he said, "Huh. Well, congrats, I guess."

Me makes Daddy prooooud.

I'm glad to say that, when dressed in a sequin covered gown, with 3 inch stalettos and a hat made of tin foil, I totally kick gay man ass when it comes to the drag. Well, most gay man ass.

Maybe I should clarify. It was the first musical I'd ever been in. Grease! Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Everyone likes Grease!

Not me.

I fucking hate it.

Especially after being in that production.

It's a dark secret of the theater community that people who do musicals are just annoying as hell.

If you do musicals and are not annoying, I'm not talking to you. I'm talking about those people that you know that I'm talking about. The ones who make a huge drama about everything. The ones that talk about the leads behind their backs who may or may not have cocain addictions and abortions that may or may not have taken place in the props closet after someone may or may not have had sex while standing in the hallway waiting to make an entrance.

Yes.

Those assholes.

I'm getting off topic. What did that have to do with anything? Anyway...

ahem.

Somehow, the cast party for this particular production was going to be at Oil Can Harry's. If you are familiar with the Austin area, you'll know that Oil Can Harry's is a club frequented by younger gay men. You'll also know that it's two doors down from The Boyz Cellar and one block south of Rainbow Cattle Company.. which has the best public kareoke.

Musicals. Gay clubs. I'm not being stereotypical, I'm just relating my true stereotypical musical gay experience.

Since the costume designer was of the homosexual persuasion, he was very adament that everyone attending said cast party at said club should wear the Grease! costume of their choice.

I chose to wear my Beauty School Drop out costume as it was, I felt, most appropriate for the occasion.

Entering the club, the doorman said, "Oh sweetheart! You just have to put yourself in this drag contest because you are an adorable doll!"

Not one to disagree when someone calls me adorable and doll-like, I took the sticker I was given and entered the club.

Little did I know that the sticker meant that I was part of the drag show. Only later, when one of my cast mates asked me why I had a contestant sticker, did I realize that I was competing with the Marolyn Manroe look-alike and a bearded Queen Victoria.

At the time, I wasn't worried. Certainly the judges would know that I was a gal.... I mean, look at these legs! And what man could have the figure I had! And what about these lips? These feminine lips??? (Yes, I did not mention the boobs as most of the men there did have a larger chest than yours truly, but mine were real, dammit. Real small.)

I distracted myself by getting my girl groove awn on the dance floor. I did the sprinkler, I did the shopping cart, I did the typewriter. I was picked up and thrown around by the gay male dancers who knew how to make anyone dance well if you just flung them in the right way. It was the first night that I felt no inhibition in dancing anyway I wanted too, because no one there was even remotely interested in picking me up. I felt free. I felt rythmic. I felt damn sexy.

Two sweaty hours later, they announce the winners of the drag contest. Apparently, there were secret judges roaming about observing each contestant, scoring them on dress, attitude, and appeal.

Well shit in my grits and call me Bruce, I came in second place.

I beat bearded Queen Victoria and came in a close second to Marilyn the Manroe.

That's when they handed me $50 bling bling. The judge whispered in my ear, "Girrrrl, you just got so much electrifying spirit running up and down them long legs!"

"Wow. Thanks!" I said as I giggled girlishly.

My cast mates couldn't believe it. Most of them cheered while others whispered that I had done coke off of a male stripper's dick I met in the bathroom.

But all were jealous. I could tell.

I mean, who WOULDN'T want to come in 2nd place at a drag show?

I take it as a compliment. I am just that fine. Straight men want me. Gay men want me. The ladies can't resist this shit.

Who's your daddy/mamma?

That's right.

I am.

 
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Copyright 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004 L.Leroy