WATTYS LONG LIST. He's got three polyamorous, pole dancing moms and his world is the stuff of which teen boy fantasies are made. But when he falls for a feisty cancer patient who is about to die, he truly learns how to live.
This one's long, but the party's on, so time'll just fly by! And there's a big old fly in the ointment from here on--big changes in the offing for our boy. But, are they good ones?
The buzz is just indescribable.
You can feel the audience just freaking out. And people start trying to get as close to the stage and runway as possible.
The VIPs up top, leaning over the little wall up there start throwing stuff like it was Mardi Gras. They get hella drunk and disorderly.
Because they can, in Tucson. Nobody gives a shit about them or treats them like celebs. That's why so many of them have property here. They can go out without makeup and stuff and even if someone notices, nobody does much more than maybe smile.
If you're a participant in the thing, it's fun to watch all the "wranglers," Joie's queens and club staff, rushing around losing their friggin' minds even if we're all lined up nice and all the crises have been solved. Joie, of course, is loudest of all.
That night for the Grand Entry she out RuPaul'd RuPaul, who was there, of course. Hiding, though.
Joie looked like Santa's naughtiest elf in a skin tight, green sequined jumpsuit with damned near no back or front up top. And she had on one of Ginger's big red wigs—she wore one every year—a boa made out of what looked like a Christmas wreath, and red satiny looking stilettos that scared me to death just watching her walk in them.
And when the lights all went out and before the spotlight even hit her, she yelled out, "Merry Christmas, BITCHEEEEEEZ!"
And the crowd screamed like the room had caught fire.
Which was the cue for the lights to go up and the DJ to come with that Fergie song, "A Little Party Never Killed Nobody," from that stupid remake of Gatsby that even Leo DiCaprio couldn't save. Or maybe he's the one who killed it.
Anyway, the song bumps like mad and FYI the official video actually looks exactly like what was going on at Joie DiVivre that night. All the voguing and ball strutting and whatnot—art mirroring life or vice versa or whatever. Check it out sometime, and you'll feel me completely.
I just had a kind of tame Balmain ensemble for Entry. I mean, not tame, but sort of low key for Balmain. I liked it okay, though. And it doesn't matter all that much what I wear first because there are so many bloody people out there and you're moving so fast that the crowd only gets a quick glimpse.
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The idea, though, is to start "courting" the peeps in the seats closest to the stage and runway and the VIPs upstairs, too, as you walk. They sort of know who the "stars" are, and if you give them a few good glances, they'll cheer for you and be primed for the auction.
