Lowdown @ Loehman's

So I went to the new Loehman's Men store at the Beverly Connection across from the Beverly Center last weekend. Saw a buncha great stuff and figured I should venture down to the Women's Loehmans down the block.
So I did.

Biiiiihg mistake.

Apparently, the fitting room there is just one big open space with mirrors. I walked in to try on my discount Dolce (& Gabanna)and was immediately confused. A few of the undressed women's eyes finally met mine. The few seconds felt like hours. Seriously. A high-pitched yelp and a rape-ish shriek followed. At that point, I was so disoreintated by the sight of overstuffed Spanx, that I said "Sorry" and hightailed it outta there. I had no clue that these type of dressing rooms existed. The Men's Loehman's had regular stalls.

I wedged myself in a corner and shimmied my way into a wrap dress that ended up being loose (it was an 8. suck it!). Even the DVF dress being too big didn't top this next moment.

As I was walking to the elevator two middle aged Russian ladies were gibber gabbering away and then one looked at me and said "Peeper."

That alone was worth the horrid price of admission.

Peeper.

The Witches of Breastwick #2

First let me say that I did not see the original, The Witches of Breastwick . This installment presents a twist on one of the oldest stories ever told (Newlyweds-meets-witches-in-hot-tubbed-ranchhouse-and-fucks-with-occult-overtones). Classic, indeed.
Let's start with the high points of the film.
For one, the town of Breastwick is known for it's mountainous beauty.
This beauty is never marred by violence either. This is a flick you can let your kids watch without worrying about them going all Columbine on their classmates. Not like Patton or anything. Also, the witch on the left is super smart 'cause she's got glasses.
Now for the negatives.

There were several sex scenes where the girls would suck on their fingers while being faux-pounded from behind. It didn't turn me on in particular. In one instance, the slurping female looked more like she was trying to get that elusive last bit of KFC bbq sauce out from under her nails. In the close-up, one lady had all 10 nails on her hands while "performing." In the wide shot, she only had 9 nails. Tsk, Tsk...D+ for continuity.
Now the art director of the films should be shot because the next scene showed the newlywed protagonists sleeping...on a no-sheet, bare mattress. The lead ingenue was also wearing heels to bed. The pack of wild trannies that raised her must not have told her to take her makeup/false lashes off before bed either. I suppose this is a choice she made for her character. She also chose to play it at a snaggletooth skank showing she wasn't prepared to stretch herself as an actress. Meisner weeps somewhere I'm sure.

Now here's the weird thing. As a Screen Actor's Guild member, I recieve many free films to watch during awards season. Hairspray, No Country for Old Men, & There Will be Blood among them. But did these nominated films provide the possibility of maybe seeing a fleeting glance of penis? NO! Did I chose to watch them?
Fuck no. I knew those movies wouldn't satisfy like my Witches of Breastwick 2.

I could've Chat(aeu)!

This weekend, my boyfriend's fam was in town. We did all the tourist-y stuff. Grauman's Chinese Theater, The Black Dahlia/Top Model season 7 house, Griffith Park. Along the way, I needed to pick up some lashes so we stopped into Miss Ellen's wig shop (I told them that Angela Bassett buys her weave there as to not take away from the sightseeing quotient).
But it was back at the Chateau Marmont that we had a wonderful celeb spotting. Brittany Murphy's lips got outta her Range Rover, followed by Brittany Murphy herself! I was seriously stoked that I got to show out-of-towners a real live celeb and a plastic surgery disaster all in one. Two birds, one stone (right in the kisser, evidentally-Bitch has a serious case of PDL
Yes...pooldrain-lips. I'd say DSL (let's just say the S stands for sucking) but I'm doubtful she could make a tight vaccuum seal and fully close her lips

Enterprisin'

So my Benz got bumped. Specifially, Someone rear-ended me and then my car hit someone else's. It's going to take at least a month to fix (hard-top convertible hence many truck mechanisms fucked up).
The first rental they gave me was a Porsche Boxster. It was like a jetski on land. My balls vibrated for 10 minutes after the engine was off. I got a new one after sufficiently showing it off and trashing it with Laffy Taffy remnants.

The second and current rental is a two-door, soft top convertible red Mustang. Funny. Remember this post about Kate Walsh being especially sell-outie as one of the monologueing YUPpies in the Cadillac commercials.

Well I said the only people who drive red Cadillacs were San Fernando Valley real estate agents and sex workers? Well that tooootally doesn't apply to Mustangs

While driving, I feel like a Texan divorcee who's husband left her after she couldn't kick that amphetimine habit she picked up while cheerleading for the Cowboys. The backstory in my mind tells me that although she touches up her roots every 2 weeks and she chose a Dark Candy Apple Red instead of what thought was a more whorish Torch Red, she still feels like the trash she really is. You just know she wanted that torchy fire-engine red one.

Bless her heart.

Fuck me if I'm wrong...

but you should never bring weapons, props or anything illegal to an audition.

Well I had a callback for Heineken and brought my own personal bottle.

I ended up chipping a Betsey Johnson using a charm on the bracelet to open the cap. But I'm still hoping to get it. Director Todd Haynes seemed to like me and I was in the room with the dreadlocked homeless-looking dude who yells "Welcome to Hollywood" in the beginning of Pretty Woman and the whole "What's your dream?" in Point of No Return.

He let me know that he doesn't play covers.

Also, typically crackheadedly, the electric guitar he was toting didn't have strings.

Ah, Hollywood. I've actually decided to allow myself to be Todd new muse. Julianne Moore's been so busy lately. 'Tis tranny time for Todd.

Idle Idolatry

David Hernandez, an obviously gay, albeit str8-acting (I'm so sure) sang the Beatle's classic "I Saw Her Standing There."

Not shockingly, he didn't connect with it. COME the fuck OUT! Everyone knows you were a gogo boy or gay stripper and a bartender at a gay bar. You're not going to win this competition. Why not use your time on screen as someone who can be a role model?

Sing a fuckin Tiffany song. "Only in my Dreams" would so be cute with like a little she-boppy kick.

Fuckin asshole. That's all I see. A Clay Aiken that I'd actually fuck.

St. Bridget deliver us....

Reading Joe.my.God's blog, I saw that there were new mortal sins released by the Vatican

1. Taking drugs
2. Polluting the environment
3. Causing social injustice
4. Becoming obscenely wealthy
5. Causing poverty
6. Genetic modification
7. Carrying out experiments on humans

check, check, check, check, not on purpose, and 6 & 7 combined. One day, I will have violet eyes. Liz Taylor can eat my ass.St.

Animaniacs can suck it

Warner Brothers ain't got shit on this tower. Paramount is my favorite studio. Booked nip/tuck, Saved, Eve and a buncha other jobs there. That watertower is my good luck mark. That's partly the reason that when I got a call to do an episode of a 3 part webseries called removed because of confidentiality agreement, that I agreed. I didn't have to audition or even remember submitting. And it's not that I was so anxious to play another tranny hooker. It's just that I don't want any other drag queen in this town working (love you all for sure).
Anyway, I worked on Stage 32 which is sorta legendary. Chinatown was filmed there. Jessica Lange filmed 76's King Kong there too. Those are the only two I remember from the plaque outside because of the natural correlation that Miss Lange has become an Asain-sensation herself since that last eye lift.
By the way, I filmed without reading the script and all I knew was that there would be a greenscreened character in the shot. The cinematographer was fighting with the director trying to get more money in front of me too during the last shot. Ever the professional, I just stood on my mark. It's definitely not because I was high off a pot brownie and was just too lazy to tell them to hurry the fuck up because it was 1:30 at night. Jesus doesn't approve of transvestism on his Daddy's day off.

Vote 1st lady

I just ate what I thought was a single Fruity Pepple off my couch and it totally wasn't.

I'm all like, "oooh a Fruity Pebble. Fierce. Yumness. Wait..UGH!"

My veneers almost bit back at me.

On a side note, I'm voting Kucinich mainly cause his wife is major cuteness. I would want her to develop a Kim Basinger-like woozy stare and a drinking problem before she starts sleeping with her secret service.

Hairy Scary

So my little fun side job involves booking entertainment for clubs. You can call them strippers but that would be wrong. Strippers take stuff off and have coke habits. These guys are gogo boys. They come out already in their underwear and have crystal meth habits.

That's an unfair generalization but most don't read I think I'll be in the clear.

Now what I have to talk about is this. One of my healthier boys (read: not cracked out) isn't quite as cut/ripped as some of his counterparts. He's hirstute and quite butch. He got the idea in his head that if he didn't have those washboard abs, he'd just give the impression that he has.

As you can see, the Illusionist he's not. Shaving your chest hair into an abdominal pattern probably took as long as it would've if he'd gotten his ass on the floor to do some crunches. I don't know what blind gay bar patron he thought he was fooling but I ain't buying tipping.

Visine ain't got shit for this...

Today I had an audition for a Heineken commercial that Todd Haynes (Far From Heaven, Oscar contender I'm Not There) is directing. It went well. I haven't auditioned for commercials in a while. The newest thing is assigning barcodes to actors so they don't have to fill out sizes, personal info & agent info each time they come in for a reading. Thankfully my earrings prevented them from tagging me before my escape back to West Hollywood. Totally fun though. I hope I get it.
Once I got home though...well see the below diagram.

It's like my face was saying "That's what you get for trying to wash off this beautiness that you just done created, bitch!"

Alligator clips are almost as dangerous as real alligtors. I thought I was blind for like 5 seconds but it turns out the clip once removed from my eye had taken out my contact. Then my vision went fuzzy again. I figured it would pass. I get Tranny Glaucoma all the time. That's what happens when you get eyelash glue in your eye and you can't see well.
Well when my vision turned red, I got scared. I had scratched the underside of my upper eyelid with the tip of the alligator clip when I was trying to put it in my hair. Apparently, my brain told my arm to shove it the fuck in my eye. Was not cute.

I better get this fuckin commercial.

Dear WeHo Sheriff

Regarding the below post...

There will be no more ghetto scraps, no hitting or biting.

I'm not going back to jail. It's all carbs in there.

(m)All or nothing.

George Carlin says that like a 100 billion people have lived on this earth. Do you ever pray to God? Think how many others do. I don't like to bother him. That's why I have a trick. I pray to dead relatives under the assumption that at least a few are in Heaven.

This came in handy while trying to squeeze my foot into a size 11 Gucci wedge this afternoon at the Beverly Center Gucci. Miss Niecy Nash herself (Clean House, Reno 911) came around the corner, gave me an up-down with her lashed eyes and did the "Aaoohkay" and gave a grin. I took that as her approval. She had a tatted up hunk-of-a-West-Philly brotha with her flowered head too. I hate when really dark skin dudes have lots of intricate tatts. I always want to get close so I can see but I don't wanna seem creepy. That might be too late since I may seem like a latent racist after that last paragraph.
After that I went to my favorite store Traffic. I was buying a bracelet for my boyfriend to apologize to me with. He's been playing texty-cathy with a 21 yr old fashion design student he met at a party. Texty-Cathy is a lot like being a Chatty-Cathy but this version includes mentions of ass sex, affairs, & passive-aggressive smiley faces ;)...I fuckin' hate those. The things in the few texts that I saw would make the type of man who has a riding lawn mower hurl. Baby Jesus wouldn't like them either but he can't read.
Anyway- while getting the bracelet, in walked Nathan Fields of the Janice Dickenson Modeling Company. He speaks like he gots a pool ball in the back of his throat; almost as if he's doing a constant bad Wayne's World imitation. Plus he was wearing sweats. People who wear sweatpants in public don't love themselves. Beverly Center skanks who wear a JLo tracksuits and Uggs think their Vuitton purse cancels out their bad attire choices. IT DOESN'T.
After this, I decided to take in the movie Welcome Home Roscoe Jenkins. And let me say this...The garlic-parmesan pretzel I ate before the previews were done had more intellectual content than this flick. Joy Bryant should have stuck to modeling.
So that was my day. I hope the pictures helped you.