DOUCHE OF HAZZARD

This post contains nothing but senseless party chatter! But it was a fun party!

I dj'ed at the chi chi Gaansevoort hotel tonight, in their Garden of Ono. A boiling night to don stage make-up, two, two, two wigs-in-one, a girdle and hose. But it was Paper magazine's beloved Mr. Mickey's birthday soiree, so downtown's glitterati (and me) piled on the paint and hit the town. I felt a little pointless spinning cuz the volume had to be kept low do to neighbor's noise complaints, but sometimes it's fun to play for a non-dancing event so you can pull out album cuts and non-hits that are interesting, but which would clear the floor at a dance-oriented event. In other words, you can leave the Beyonce, Michael Jackson and McDonna at home an pull out the Alicia Myers, Syleena Johnson, and Nina Hagen.

Mickey has always boldly emphasized his gut with crop tops, often in glitter. But he's much slimmer now and paired his vintage-y sequin top with a woman's sequin slide. Mickey has GOT to dress as Christina Ricci for Hallowe'en--they have very similar features and that's a huge compliment. Since I was an employee, I didn't receive an invite, but I believe the party's hosts were Jake Shears of the Scissor Sisters, looking summery in a preppyish look with acid colors, and Johnny Knoxville. So of course, thinking it might be a cute photo for the caption "Douche of Hazzard", I brought a douche in my pocketbook to brandish when I posed with him. When Paper shutterbug Carolyn Torem-Craig posed us together, I forgot the damn douche bottle. So in other words, not only am I retarded, I'm inefficient. I was warned that Johnny was not in the mood for photographs, but with me he seemed quite agreeable. (Perhaps he was scared! Jack-Ass meet Jack Rabbit!) We snapped a few and then I joked with him "Just what you wanted. right? Hugging a big, sweaty drag queen in this heat!" He didn't seem to mind--everyone was melting at that party.

Amanda LePore has really come out of her shell. SHELLFISH! Not only is she performing her cute tunes regularly, she is far more outgoing and vivacious/tipsy than ever! She was commanding my attention and ranting something which sounded like "I'm not a pig, I'm a pog!" I loved to see someone acting more retarded than I was, though I feel I held my own once my shift ended and I mingled about pretending to sip that neglected douche bottle and toasting everyone with it. Downtown's other sex change goddess Sophia Lamar was out as well, and I must say that I worship her, too. She had on some black lacquer necklace with hollow beads the size of baseballs. (One day I saw her with a punk button/badge with nothing written on it--just plain white. In other words, "My message is no message." This is one of my favorite fashion statements of all time. Sophia always manages to surf that wave between haute couture and ridiculous so perfectly. Sophia, the toast of Downtown, was a boat person from Cuba at one time. I asked her what her look was in Cuba and she said "Boy...with eyelatches." How I wish I could have seen that one!)

Isaac Mizrahi was bubbly, and insisted that I show him my footwear--I was behind the dj booth. Thankfully, I had selected a chic (if huge) polka dot patent leather mule in black and white to complement my nutty black, white, red and tan Lichtenstein-ish cartoon print long-sleeved mini with a matching tam. Simon Doonan wore a gorgeous print shirt and I finally met his boyfriend, Jonathon Adler, who makes the most exquisite home accessories I've seen. Though I'm not much of a decorator--my idea of spring cleaning is to throw away the dishes from Thanksgiving!-- Jonathon's distinctive rugs, pottery, and furniture are spectacular and have such cute names that I ooh and aah over each catalog. And I'm not really the home furnishings type. I can't even name another potter--well, except for Harry! I am too cheap to splurge on fancy furnishings, but maybe I won't have to. He said he had been looking for photos of me online to do a--you know what? I'm not going to scoop his idea--you'll just have to wait!

Also on the scene: Paper editors Kim Hastreiter and David Hershkovitz (with his adorable brats!), Ana Matronic, photographer Henny Garfinkel, designer Zaldy Goco, Tatum O'Neill, Boy George, Beige promoter Erich Conrad (berserk!), Patrick McDonald, bon vivant Brandon Olsen and the outrageous asian girl who sometimes dresses as me--sorry honey, but I don't know your name!, my Wigstock co-organizer/painter Scott Lifshutz, stylist Jerry Schwartz, retired drags Lurleen Wallace and Barbara Patterson Lloyd, the Heatherette crew, Drew Elliot, Michael Cavadias and Patricia McMullen.

That neighborhood is so deluxe now. Once known for it's cracked-out tranny-hookers (RuPaul, Lahoma and I used to live together right around the corner from Florent) and sex/fetish clubs, the area now features chic boites, clubs and boutiques. I remember hearing about a gang of pageant queens in Florida who would back a van into a Saks or Neiman's window, load up the gowns and drive off. This ritzy neighborhood is now a perfect target with all of those glass picture windows and designer duds.

I met a teenage latina hooker while walking home, who was squawking about "making some money". She lashed out at a car with her bag saying "Butch queens!", though the car moved by too quickly for her to even see who was in it. Then the police summoned me over and asked if I were a man or a woman, and asked to take a pic with their cellphone. They were both cuties and I would have preferred a police escort--ie: one in each end! I marched home and a horny middle eastern guy cornered me at my door and demanded fellatio. But the only head I was thinking about was my own--as in yanking that hot wig off of it--so for once I had to pass. You know how I love to foster better "relations" between the US and muslims!