Cherry on top, or bottom.

I just got a plum little role.
Cherry, actually.
Cherry is "her" name.....and let me just say this...
All those gay rights groups and tranny activists who came down on me before when I was a "national trans embarrassment*," you're gonna HATE me now.
I can't give away too much but it's got the 4 major tv foor groups: Sex, Liquor, Cursing and Violence.
Nip/Tuck, kids. Guest Star.
Baby Girl gonna get an Emmy. Then I can roll with Betty White and shit.


*Re: the commercial
I got nasty emails from lots of people over the commercial ( http://www.commercialcloset.org/cgi-bin/iowa/portrayals.html?record=1252 ) regarding my negative portrayal of the trans character I was playing. I also made 5 figures offa it so that sorta helped take the sting away from those tersely worded messages.

my Confession

When I was 10, my father explained to me about NAMBLA (the north american man/boy love association). I was so excited.
I was always so jealous of all the little boys I heard about getting molested on the 5 o'clock news and stuff. It was wasted on them. I wanted it yet couldn't find anyone to "molest" me. Finally when I was like 12, I figured out that waterparks are a good place to find perverts. I squeezed mustard all over my Looney Tunes shirt and then went to the lockeroom and stood at a sink to scrub it out. Mind you, I budgeted about 45 minutes to do so. All while "scrubbing," I was looking into the mirror above the sink for perverts to molest me. Finally I locked eyes with one and he turned and went into a stall right after motioning with his head for me to join him. So I went in and had a great time with him.
After that, my sexual appetite grew. But unfortunately, I missed out on my greatest oppourtunity to be "molested." That's right. I turned down being an altar boy.....and you want to know why I told my mom I wouldn't do it?
Because I didn't want to wear that ugly ass dress they made the boys wear.
And now I can't get work unless I put on a dress. Karma's a bitch, huh.

Suicidal much?

So I've come to the conclusion that the only reason I shouldn't kill myself is because I know the funeral director would make me look like shit.
He'd probably want to blow dry my hair with a diffuser (he'd have to wash the hair because i'd use a gun to the temple) and then I'd look like a fuckin lion with a perm.
Then he wouldn't know to contour my nose so it's looks more masculine and less cute as a button.
And I'm sure he wouldn't know to put my mix some bronzer and moisturizer and lay it on my collarbone so I look all Kate Bosworth a la Blue Crush.
So that alone should give me reason to go on. I've allowed myself to be in a complete California Pizza Kitchen eating frumpy housedress haze for 48 hours. Times up. Back to life.
Now where's my bronzer?

shopping with the homeless

So I was in Silverlake tonight and paid a homeless woman/possible hooker $20 for a scarf. She didn't seem to want to go for the deal but then I offered up a pack of gum (that new peach trident). That really made her go for it. She had the most awful stretch marks on her midsection. They were so bad it looked like a pink zebra. Peach on pink stripes with a belly button.
But back to the scarf. It's like all safari-meets-gay Aladdin with fringe.
It'll totally add authenticity to my vagabong-vanguard look.
(and possibly scabies)

I've decided to contact the FDA about the labels on the side of their food.
There should be different labels for when you're depressed.
Serving size: Just eat the whole thing. I know it's been a bad day (42 oz. potato salad)
Fat: Who cares? No one wants to cast you anyway (21 g)
Calories: Just get fat. Maybe then you could at least be character (310)
Sodium: No. You can't o.d. on that no matter how bad your career is (18 g)

I don't even have the wherewithall to purge.

this could be the start of something....SHITTY

I spoke too soon last week. The last seven days have been on par with uhm...ASS!
First, I get a copy of the pilot Related and my character was cut. Second, a movie role I really wanted went to a name actor. Third, the gay game show I tested for 9 times cut me.
The last one really hurt. At this point, I was competing for a spot on this show for over 5 months. I tested in drag 6 times and then the fucks @ the Game Show Network decided a drag queen was too edgy. So the producers brought me back as a guy. (I really got to like the producers and production team and really felt like I was in a warm, creativity-inspiring enviorment where it was safe to experiment with my comedy.) I went back in today for the last time a guy where one of the network execs decided I wasn't what they wanted with the producers.
At least I wasn't in heels when they pulled the rug from underneath me.

let's take bets on how soon i'll be bald with all the shit i put my hair through. 

Something big....(spit on it first)

big doings. that's all I'm saying. It could happen tomorrow

MY SHOPPING LIST
1. twizzlers
2. aerosol hairspray (cheap and sticky, like me)
3. talent
4. green makeup (Wicked Premier Party this saturday)
5. Gratitude (4 yaz, meg, zac, david, adam, josh, alanna, bruce, madison, cameron k...people who made my week good without benefiting personally)
6. bobby pins (for use in hair, then subsequently for picking teeth)
7. a mop to clean up the HOT MESS that i am!

My Penance

Regarding my criminal antics in my last post, let me just say this.
I'm not proud of my kleptomania.
But if God help me, I get sent up the river Shawshank-style, at least it would be worth it.
I'd be damn popular in jail.

Is it wrong that I'm proud of this?

I SHOPLIFTED AT CHRISTIAN DIOR!!!
I used to think of myself as like a faggoty Robin Hood....robbing from the rich (Rodeo Dr.) to give to the poor(ly dressed). I got caught stealing diet pills from Rite-Aid when I was 11. I cried and told the manager I thought they were candy and threw up on cue (who says bulimia isn't a bargaining tool?). The day I got my license, I got caught @ Blockbuster trying to shop-lift Too Wong Foo. Again, I went with the crying defense and when I asked the mananger who was yelling at me for a tissue, I hauled ass out of there and lost a flip flop in the process. I hid in a dumpster for 20 minutes and then called my girlfriend who brought me a cute pair of "Candies" to wear.
So back to Dior. I bought a pair of sunglasses in Vegas @ the Dior shop there last weekend. Five minutes after I bought them, I went into Prada and found a cuter pair. The Dior customer service people (read: CUNTS) would not let me return them. So naturally, I go to the Bev Hills store and exchange it for a something else. In trying to decide what to do get, I tried on 3 pairs of pumps. There were these cute little Dior dog tags hanging off one pair of these fuck-me-fashionista shoes that I thought would be much more complimentary on the me than the Asian tourist who was probably going to purchase them.
So I took it...I was slick about it. Very Rupert Everret-does-James Bond (read: I shoved it in my asshole). I ended up getting Humongo Dior Snow boots which I will wear as soon as it's appropriate (August 1st for me).
And it was Gay Pride. Stealing high end designer wear on Gay Pride Day is like not paying for your beer on St. Patrick's Day.

One Whoa-man show

I'm going to write myself a show. I miss entertaining. I miss people coming up to me and gushing effusively about what a great job did. The last time I heard "Good Job," I had cum in my hair so it sorta took away from the moment. Back to the topic. When people come up to recognize me, I try to find out what they saw me in. If they say Ricki Lake, I look at them blankly and tell them they must have me confused with some other kicky tranny. If they say American Wedding, I immediately re-enact me gagging on Seann William Scott's stiffie. If they say Hedwig, I thank them for noticing me even though I only had 4 lines after the director hatcheted my part.
So the show is going to be called "Betsy Ross: Flag My Ass." It will tell how ol' Bets got the job by giving handjobs to the Continental Congress in the alley behind 4th and Chestnut. It will tell of her making Victorian knicker and corset get-ups for John Hancock to play dress up in when he was playing slap-and-tickle with his stable boy....and finally for a hot Jane Russell-roll-in-the-hay scene, she will take it National Treasure-style over the liberty bell at the after party for when the flag was done.
Maybe I can get Christopher Lowell to do the sets. I smell a Tony.