A Cheerful Bird پرنده شادي

Yesterday was Friday. In that one day, I managed to have an entire weekend of fun!

First, yesterday was the deadline to turn in a fancy-pants printed copy of my thesis to the grad school, as well as an electronic copy. I’d turned in the electronic copy Thursday, but had waited to the last minute to do the thesis, of course. This wouldn’t have been a problem, but I wanted to go see Obama speak at 3.30!

So I basically ran around, getting tickets for the school’s Drag Show that would occur that evening, waiting on the effing printers (an incompetent bunch of people: I was promised my thesis would be finished by 12.30; when I went to chew them out at 1.45, it had been sitting there since 12.30 and they hadn’t seen it. Idiots! I didn’t even have any time to yell at them), rushing to get my professor’s and dean’s signature on it, and finally getting it into the grad school. So now I’m done, yeah? But I don’t feel any great relief or anything, so I feel kind of unfulfilled about it.

I didn’t have time to be relieved, anyway. Sweet Chinchilla and I had to go straight to Obama! We got there and all the seats had already been taken. Fuck! I’d have to stand. That doesn’t sit well for a lazy like me. We finagled a chair so that we could take turns standing on it to get a clear view of Obama. Ohhh, darlings, he was magical. If I were twenty years older, and he wasn’t married, I seriously would have thrown my underpants onstage. He’s a lean guy, and I like ‘em lean.

Anyway, there was major body odor (not ours, thank you!) going on by the end. Despite the fact that there was a crazy hot young man whose eyes I finally made contact with, S.C. and I tried to slip out early. We’d seen a man step outside the gate earlier, so we decided to do just like he did: slipped out of the gate, and walked through the nearest sunlight exit. We found bathrooms and a fenced-off area, so we went back inside. Where a big, escary security guard ordered us to stand still so we could wand us, while an uppity heiffer told us we couldn’t be in that area because it was for press only. (Note to self: figure out how to get a press pass). Nevermind the fact that we’d just gone through that area or anything. She told us to go right back out that door that we’d come in. So we did, but we were stopped by a buck-toothed son-of-a-bitch from the bomb squad who said we couldn’t leave through this door. Fuckity fuck! I thought we were headed to Guantanamo for sure!

Speaking of Guantanamo, Mr. Obama promised to shut it down, and I lost my shit. I jumped up and down, I screamed, I even threw a few “Allahu abkar!”s in there. I love you, Obama.

So by the time the escary security people let us go, everyone was exiting anyway, and I felt like a jackass. (shrug) But all was well; we made it to our car and went to our favorite burger place to have serious comfort food: burgers and fries. Then, pleasantly bloated, we went home. I napped and then got ready for the evening’s entertainment: the annual Drag Show!

Readers, there’s nothing I love more than men in dresses. Hypermasculine ones who look silly, femme ones who are prettier than me, I love it all. The evening’s M.C. was an especially enchanting lady: Poison Waters (shown here). She was witty, she was sassy, she was everything I’d ever dreamed a man in a dress should be. But I also just enjoy the fuck out of drag shows because I love seeing how fluid gender is. I mean, seriously, half of the drag kings look nicer as men than as women. And Funny Bunny, my date for the evening, had never been to a drag show, so I enjoyed watching her try to figure out who was what. We had a really lovely time, and since we both looked so terribly fetching, we decided to go to my favorite new restaurant: Strega.

It’s a fancy pancy tapas place that serves the. most. delicious lamb kabob. They call it lamb satay, but they are wrong. It’s rubbed with cumin and coriander, and it’s sooooooooo gooooood. I got the chocolate ganache, deliciously rich, topped with whipped cream, and served with three crumbly little cookies that surrender immediately to my tongue.

Readers, it couldn’t have been a better day unless Obama himself was dining with us. And then that hot piece from the rally showed up and fed me ganache.

Oh, naughty chickadee! You’ll have to forgive me: for some women, getting their periods makes them recoil from the very idea of men. But I think I’m made different: I’d run around slapping furry handcuffs on cute chaps and dragging them back to my lair if it wasn’t illegal.

Which reminds me of a joke Poison Waters shared with us, and I’ll share with you:

“Why did cavemen drag their women back to their caves by the hair?”

“Because if they’d dragged by the feet, the women would fill up with rocks!”

Oh, terrible! Just terrible!