Monday, August 29, 2011


How's this for Karma? Although Gays such as myself should NOT be shopping at Target, I have a prescription that is a controlled substance (!) and not easily transferred, so I was at the South Pasadena location today with Muffy Bolding. Well, she saw a cute pair of sandals she thought her daughter might like. Not wanting to be an "uncool mom" and buy anything that her daughter might possibly find unfashionable, she pulled out her cell phone to snap and send a quick photo.  Besides, the shoe came in a variety of sassy colors and, should it be deemed acceptable, there was still the question of "which hue would do?"

The moment poor Muffy raised her iPhone to take said photo, a Target empolyee -- standing nearby, ironically piling bananas onto a shelf -- went bananas and informed her that, "The taking of photos is NOT allowed!" I was getting my prescription at the time, but when Muffy approached me, not unlike a puppy that had been kicked, and told me what had just happened, I saw red -- and I am not just talking about the Target employees' signature crimson polo shirts!  I marched right past the banana boy towards those sandals and loudly announced, "Here is my cell phone, with a camera, and I am taking a photo of these shoes!" He didn't say a word. But I asked to have a word with the manager -- who, it turned out, looked like a kid right out of high school. Yep, about 5 feet tall with stupid spiky hair and when he said, "I'm the manager!" his chest puffed up like that of a tiny bird.  He was talking to a guy who looked like a 7 foot tall fat retarded rat and some rent-a-cop that resembled a young Erik Estrada. I explained the situation -- and my confusion with the NO PHOTOS rule -- and like any good corporate robot the tiny spiky manager/bird simply repeated the rule and pointed out that it was indeed a rule.

"Are you afraid that people are trying to steal your AMAZING Target shoe designs?" I asked, dripping with sarcasm. He repeated the rule. "Aren't there photos of every item available in this store on your website for anyone and everyone to see right now? I mean, are these shoes a SECRET!?" I asked, again leaving a puddle of sarcasm on the floor ("Clean up on aisle 3!"). Again, he repeated that it was store policy, blah blah blah. I said, "Well, that's fucking stupid!" Well, you'd have thought I'd spit on Jesus...

"It is also store policy that there be no cursing -- THIS IS A FAMILY STORE!" he chirped. "A family store, huh?" I asked, the mere mention of the sacred hetero family making me wild-eyed, as if I am anti-family or something. "Well, I am in the MANSON family!" I bellowed. Then he said that we had to leave and that they were calling the police. I pointed out that I was waiting for my prescription to be filled and that I would not be leaving without it. They followed about a foot behind us as we walked to the pharmacy and, at one point, I wheeled around and yelled, "Get a fucking life!"

"That's it, you are being escorted from the store or the police will be called" the Assistant Daytime Manager said in a quivery voice. This was his big moment. I paid for my prescription and we started to head towards the exit. Again, baby bird, retarded fat rat and Erik Estrada walked right behind us. And again, I turned and AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS said, "We are leaving, you assholes! You do NOT need to fucking follow us!" Then I decided to tell a bewildered lady standing nearby the entire story -- AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS -- while Muffy and I marched towards the front door.  The woman just said, "That's crazy!"

Muffy, later told me that she had resigned herself to the fact that she would be bailing me out of jail that night. But thank God that didn't happen. We piled into my 2002 Pontiac Grand Am and drove away, vowing NEVER again to darken the doorway of Target!

"This is a FAMILY store!"  Fuck you, loser -- you don't think I have a family? Yes, even middle-aged faggots and their Velma look-alike fag hags have families. So go get your butt-ugly girlfriend pregnant AGAIN and add yet another hideous little shit to YOUR family!


I really wish I wasn’t so shy... Sometimes I yearn to be one of those people who are not afraid to speak their mind, you know?  I wish I were more opinionated about how I feel -- as opposed to the quiet and reserved “shrinking violet” that I actually am.  Having said that -- under my breath, in a non-threatening and pleasant whisper, of course -- let me climb up onto this table and, at the top of my lungs, share with you a few things that are...


It's 2011, can we make one thing perfectly clear: BEING GAY IS NOT A CHOICE. If it was, please tell me why anyone would have chosen it back when being so was the worst possible thing? Gays were killed in nazi concentration camps, the victims of hate crimes and lest we forget when AIDS first struck in the 1980's. If you were 16 and saw gay men all around you being beaten, killed or dying a slow agonizing death from a horrible disease -- and being Gay was a CHOICE -- why would you choose it? It makes absolutely NO sense, but fools like Tracy Morgan, Evangelical Christians and other idiots still nonchalantly claim, "It's a choice." You know what IS a choice? Religion is a choice. Warping, twisting and perverting what is natural in the name of a man-made God is a choice. It really is a matter of intelligence and there are simply a lot of really stupid people out there. You have every right to be stupid, all I ask is that please SHUT THE EFF UP. Thank you.

This is LOS ANGELES -- not a farm in Wisconsin, not Tijuana, not Mayberry RFD! There are cars EVERYWHERE. So pleeeease put your fricking dog on a freaking leash, you fracking piece of shit asshole.  I just watched as some woman who was walking two well-behaved dogs, ON LEASHES, was attacked by three not-so-well-trained dogs that just came running out of someone’s yard.  A few people ran out and helped break up the scuffle, ushering their pets back into the unfenced yard, but not before I saw one of the men swat the dog he had scooped up IN THE FACE.  Listen, do whatever it takes to separate the snarling dogs, but once it’s over there is no need to strike a dog -- especially in the face!  Of course these semi-retarded entitled cretins did not utter even ONE word to this woman -- no apology of any kind.  She just stood there, dazed and confused, while checking to see if either of her dogs were hurt.  And before you tell me that your dog is “well-trained”, let me just remind you that NO ONE can train a dog 100%... If the dog sees a cat, a child, another dog, a skunk, a raccoon, a squirrel, a chicken bone -- or one of thousands of other things -- OR THERE IS AN EARTHQUAKE OR A GUN SHOT -- they might dart into the street. Is your dog-training ego really worth seeing your dog unceremoniously crushed beneath the tires of an SUV? I say NO!

I have been OBSESSED with the recent Profiles in History auction of Debbie Reynolds’ amazing collection of Hollywood memorabilia.  First, I went with my equally bonkers ex-boyfriend and my slusband (straight lady husband), Muffy Bolding, to witness the unparalleled exhibit with my own two eyes.  I stood mere inches from Marilyn Monroe’s infamous white “subway” dress from The Seven Year Itch, Charlie Chaplin’s signature bowler hat, tons of horribly/wonderfully gaudy gold-leafed Egyptian crap from both Cleopatras, 1934 with Claudette Colbert and 1960 with Elizabeth Taylor (not to mention Eagle-Lion in 1945 featuring Vivien Leigh as Cleo!), the Santa Claus suit from A Miracle on 34th Street and hundreds of other iconic costumes and props from The Wizard of Oz, The Sound of Music, Ben Hur, My Fair Lady, Mutiny on the Bounty, Singing in the Rain, Apocalypse Now, A Streetcar Named Desire, How To Marry a Millionaire, Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte, Mildred Pierce, Planet of the Apes, Funny Girl and many more classic films!  My ex bid on (and actually won!) a set of five purple and green roller skating costumes from Funny Girl -- complete with tights, hats and skates.  He got them for an unbelievably low $2500. The costume Barbra Streisand wore in that scene sold for $65,000! But that is nothing compared to the $4.6 million Marilyn’s aforementioned “subway” dress raked in or the $3.7 million that the stunning black and white masterpiece with matching hat that Cecil Beaton designed for Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady.  My ex, who spent over fifteen hours at the actual auction waiting for those skating costumes to come up, texted me throughout the day.  He said that two Japanese men were bidding on almost everything and that a French man and woman (perhaps from Monaco?) were snatching up anything that had belonged to Grace Kelly.  It’s so sad that these treasures will be scattered all over the world -- many as far away as Japan.  The American Dream -- and specifically, its golden Hollywood chapter -- is now officially dead and pinned like a butterfly to acid-free velvet, behind shatterproof plexiglas in a climate-controlled environment.


Dearest Readers,

I am writing to you, once again, from the charming seaside resort village known as Provincetown, Massachusetts.  As I sit here, typing this column on my lap top computer near an open window, I can smell the salt air, the fried clams and the backed-up sewer system wafting in.  You may remember that just a few years ago I fled this “paradise” in the middle of the night without telling anyone.  I likened my situation to that of an abused woman who realizes, despite the fact that “he” keeps promising never to hit her again, nothing is ever going to change.  So I just left.  And I vowed I would NEVER return.  Well, as everyone’s favorite little faux lesbian Justin Beiber would say, “Never say never!”  Regular readers of this column know all too well that I am in need of a hip replacement.  Seeing how there is no Drag Queen Union, I don’t have medical insurance.  And that is why I am here in “P-Town” yet again -- dressing up like a nymphomaniacal clown and standing on the street like common gutter trash, begging people to come see my brilliant show.  I am in excruciating pain -- both physical and emotional -- but “the show must go on!”  I have decided to do my best to have a good attitude, and in order to do that I thought I should perhaps learn more about this quaint little place that I once heard described as “a sleepy little drinking town with a fishing problem.”  Here are some fun facts about where I am currently serving a two month sentence for various crimes against nature, specifically those regarding crumbling hip bones.  And as I wince in pain with every step I take, I cannot help but think, “I hope my mother enjoyed all those cocktails and cigarettes she guzzled and puffed while pregnant with me!”

1620: Pilgrims arrive on the Mayflower and make the first landing in the New World in Provincetown Harbor. The Pilgrims stay for only five weeks, then continue on to their ultimate destination of Plymouth. (See, even close to 400 years ago, no one could stomach this place for very long!)

1727: The first permanent settlement in Provincetown was established with fishing being the primary draw for settlers. (And “fishing” is still the primary draw for many of today’s visitors -- especially during “Womyn’s Week!”)

1800: Provincetown’s population swelled by the middle of the 19th century. (Not unlike the unfortunate “swelling” one may suffer after hooking up with one of the filthy, toothless locals!)

1898: The Portland Gale swept away half of the town’s wharfs and decimated the fishing industry. Provincetown embarked on a tourism campaign to fill the economic gap. Artists and bohemians were among the earliest visitors. (Rumor has it the first tourism slogan was “Provincetown, Just A Few Less Deadly Diseases Than Some Other Places!”)

1910: The Pilgrim Monument was dedicated by President Taft which commemorated the Pilgrims’ landing in Provincetown. (The museum proudly features the very first designs for flip-flops and the now infamous rainbow umbrella hat!)

1915: Eugene O’Neill, considered the father of modern American theater, mounted his first play on an East End Provincetown wharf, and thus established Provincetown as the birthplace of modern American theater.  (And now I can be seen in drag as a topless mermaid every Tuesday in “Peter Pansy” at The Crown & Anchor!)

1961: The U.S. Congress created the Cape Cod National Seashore. (Two years later some drunk guy named Larry creates the first whimsical frog made out of seashells with googly eyes glued onto them!)

2004: Gay marriage became legalized in Massachusetts. Shortly thereafter, Provincetown became the place to get married with over 1,400 marriage licenses issued to date. (And rumor has it that an impressive 16 of those marriages are still in tact!)

2011: Hell freezes over as world-famous drag superstar, Jackie Beat, makes her triumphant return to Provincetown!  She can be seen every Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday at 10 PM at The Art House.  For tickets or more info please visit

All joking aside, it really is beautiful and relaxing here, so please come see me.  Hey, you and your “life partner” can even hold hands in public!


By the time this column “hits the street” it will be old news (and I mean OLD!), but on July 24th I turned 48. The simple act of typing that number is quite terrifying. It’s almost as dangerous as typing the word “Scientology” -- ALMOST -- but I feel the need to not only be honest, but downright proud of that number. Let me explain...

As everyone on the planet knows, the supremely talented Amy Winehouse died on July 23rd -- the day before my birthday. Thankfully, I have never had to battle drug addiction (unless, of course, you count double bacon cheeseburgers as “drugs” and, frankly, you should!) so I cannot stand in judgment of Amy or anyone else. But I can realize that, in the grand scheme of things, there are far worse things than celebrating your 48th birthday while in a popular vacation destination, Provincetown, surrounded by beautiful and witty friends such as the uber-talented and oh-so-generous Ryan Landry, Scott Martino (aka Penny Champagne), Justin Vivian Bond and Nath-Ann, Olive A. Nother, Grady West (aka the ridiculously “special” Dina Martina) and one of the funniest people I have ever met, Mr. David Ilku (one half of The Dueling Bankheads, one third of Unitard and 100% she-larious!). And as if that wasn’t enough, I was also surrounded by cold sesame noodles with chicken and peanut butter, glazed pork chops, fresh green beans, jasmine rice with coconut, cupcakes and this reDONKulous cake batter ice cream that Justin brought that nearly resulted in the cancellation of my show that night.  Can you say “sugar coma?” But the show must go on -- and it did!  And that sums up my life at 48: The show goes on!

Despite needing TWO new hips, I limp to the Art House Theater every night, apply my world-famous, award-winning makeup, “bark” on the street for an hour and then sing my sagging ass off for an hour in my solo show. People, if I end up in a wheelchair, I have news for you: I will bejewel the motherfucker and add a fully-choreographed rendition of “Proud Mary” to my act! “Rollin’, rollin’ rollin’ on the river!” And no, I will NOT do it dressed as a mermaid -- because I am fully aware of the fact that Bette Midler did the mermaid in the wheelchair routine and to do it again would not only be a blatant rip-off, but downright disrespectful! The irony here is that anyone who would stoop that low will probably live to be 99, while a true artist like Winehouse doesn’t even get to blow out 28 candles.  That’s right, she was only 27.

Amy joins many other amazingly talented, but doomed performers who died at that same young age -- legends such as Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison and Brian Jones. Look at that list. I am convinced that these people were not of this Earth. They were truly beyond anything I can comprehend. I know many people who matter-of-factly say, “They were stupid drug addicts,” but I still listen to Janis or Jimi and feel fortunate that we were blessed with those brief 27 years. They were like comets that had to burn out. I am thankful to be a performer, but damn glad that I am not as a rare a gem as these misunderstood and tortured souls. It ain’t worth it. And when people say, “They are so lucky to have died while they were still young and beautiful” I simply have to respond that I would much rather get old and hideous and have to be pushed into my coffin screaming and scratching and fighting to the bitter end. All the physical pain and indignity of growing old, especially in this country and in this profession, are worth just one more laugh with a dear friend or one more kiss on the tender black lips of one of my precious dogs.

I AM 48 YEARS OLD! And avoiding that truth or lying and saying a lower number is no different than denying I am Gay. Same closet, different shelf. This is what 48 looks, sounds and feels like. As Cher says, “I don’t mind getting older when you consider the alternative.”

And now, if you will excuse me, I have to prepare for my show tonight. And after that show, I am going to paint a black star over one of my eyes and go sing a Kiss song with the band Space Pussy -- and I am going to rock it better and harder than bitches half my age! Happy birthday to me!


I love Facebook! And my very favorite thing is when one of those stupid questionnaires goes around. You know the ones, where you can sit down at your computer and focus on YOURSELF for a good thirty minutes or so? As a Leo, a drag queen AND the baby of my family, I hit the trifecta when it comes to self-centeredness! So, get ready to learn...


1. What time did you get up this morning?
10:45 AM. I am currently performing in Provincetown, Massachusetts and staying in a house that was built in the 1740’s. Surprisingly, I haven’t sensed any ghosts yet, but I still stay up pretty late every night. I eat dinner around midnight while watching reruns of “Mad Men” on Netflix. 

2. How do you like your steak?
Medium Well. And I know it’s tacky, but I also like it with lots of A-1 steak sauce!

3. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
Right where I am -- in my beautiful house in Highland Park CA with my precious girls.

4. What did you have for breakfast?
2 cups of coffee.  If I eat breakfast then I cannot really enjoy lunch -- and going out to lunch with my friends is one of my favorite things to do!

5. What foods do you dislike?
Raspberries and liver. Disgusting!

6. Favorite Place to Eat?
It's Thai in Silver Lake, Auntie Em's in Eagle Rock, The Mayflower in Provincetown, Gray's Papaya in NYC, and between the ass cheeks of a hot Puerto Rican. Sorry, I had to.

8. Favorite dressing?
Good old-fashioned Hidden Valley Buttermilk Ranch. It makes everything better! Hell, I would eat vagina if you put ranch on it. Sorry, I had to.

9. What kind of vehicle do you drive?
2002 Pontiac Grand Am.  It’s paid off. And I still want to have the “AM” removed, sawed in half and put back on as “MA” so I am driving around in a PONTIAC GRAND MA!

10. What are your favorite clothes?
I adore vintage clothing. I love ties and cufflinks and I may even start wearing men’s sock garters again!  The idea of spending money on something that is hanging on a rack with a dozen just like it makes absolutely no sense to me. And new clothes with huge logos on them? I would rather die, thank you.

11. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
It's the same thing, no?

12. Did you notice that #7 on this list is missing?
No. Does that mean I am a bad person!?

13. Where were you born?
In West Covina CA -- at Queen of the Valley Hospital. No jokes, please.

14. What is your favorite sport to watch?
Anything with men in very little clothing -- diving, swimming, wrestling, gymnastics.

15. Bird watcher?
Of course! I don't have my own binoculars or anything, but I think birds are beautiful.

16. Are you a morning person or a night person?
Life is too short to choose one. And the older I get, the more I enjoy both.

17. Do you have any pets?
Oh yes! My dogs, Baby and Lil Sister, are my life.

18. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
I am still alive!

19.  What did you want to be when you were little?

20. What is your best childhood memory?
Feeling the coldness of my dad's car A/C still on his suit when he came home from work as I hugged his legs. That, mixed with the smell of his cologne was so nice!

21. Are you a cat or dog person?
Dog. When someone tells me, “I’m not really a dog person” all I hear is, “I’m not really a person.”

22. Are you married?
No, and I shall die a bachelor.

23. Any pet peeves?
Adults eating foods with a spoon that I think should be eaten with a fork, adults bending down to sip out of a straw without picking up their beverage, and the ultimate... "alot."

24. Favorite Pizza Toppings?
Bacon, pineapple and ham. And I love to pile salad on my pizza!

25. Favorite Flower?
Gardenia or Magnolia. They are similar in that they are big and beautiful and smell wonderful. One sniff and I suddenly have a Southern accent like Blanche Devereaux on “The Golden Girls!”

26. Favorite ice cream?
Pistachio, although the Salty Chocolate at Scoops in LA is pretty amazing!

27. From whom did you get your last no?
I try to forget all the "no's."

28. Like your job?
Ultimately yes, but a big part of my job to bitch about my job.

29. Broccoli?
Oh God, yes. The best I’ve ever had was at The Gorbals in downtown LA.

30. What was your favorite vacation?
Driving to Washington (state) from Arizona with my brother and sister when I was a little kid.  I had saved up my allowance and kept it in one of those purple Crown Royal bags with the gold rope drawstring. We stopped at roadside stands for fresh cherries, date shakes and candy and I kept dipping into that bag. The cherries made my sister, Vicki, really gassy.  She would stick her butt out the car window and scream, “Cherry bomb!” and let ‘em rip!

31. Last person you went out to dinner with?
Miss Dina Martina. It was more of a late lunch and it was actually with her alter ego, but that doesn’t sound quite as interesting, does it?

32. What is your favorite color?

33. How many tattoos do you have?
A dirty dozen.  And I love the fact that a few people even have tattoos of me!


Day 1 - PRIDE.  Seven great things about yourself.

1) I am a naturally nice person. I make eye contact with, and smile at, strangers -- whether they be passing me on the street or taking my order at Starbucks, etc. Life is too short to ignore, or feel superior to, another human being standing two feet away from you.

2) I am a born entertainer. And I can put on a "show" while seated at the kitchen table just as easily as on stage.

3) I can soak things up like a sponge. This is how I "learned" how to sing, act and write! I notice details and meter and style and specifics, then put my own twist on it all and serve it up as my own.

4) I am a word FREAK. It's all about words. Writing is my favorite thing. I like the idea of making people say MY ideas, but in their own voice -- it's almost like brainwashing. And writing is musical and mathematic and magical. One single word can make it or break it.

5) I am not cruel. I honestly don't understand the thrill people get from jumping out and scaring their friends or loved ones. "Ha ha, for a split second you thought there was a stranger in the house who was going to kill you!" Really?

6) I love beauty. I surround myself with it. Physical and otherwise. I love color and sparkle and luxury and design. And I can find it it the most surprising places. I can make $5 look like $50.

7) I feel my strongest connection on this planet with dogs. I love their innocence, honesty and loyalty. I have said it before and I will say it again: When I hear someone say, "I'm not a dog person" all I hear is, "I'm not a person!"