La Plastic Stone...

Have you seen Sharon in Basic Instinct 2? I guess there’s nothing like a block-bomb to show off your newly designed tits! Heck, I don’t know if it’s because I’m envious but all that plastique – wow! She must have really wanted to get back at old Phil. Now the papers say she wants to be a rock star… or make that a stone star… maybe it’s just a stoner. Did you see her on Letterman recently… the once intelligent woman who took Hollywood by storm did nothing but giggle at the camera.

To shake off the imagery, I snuck into Failure to Launch. I’ve always liked Matthew McConaughey’s boyish charm. In this flick Matthew, who’ll be 37 this year, is pitted against Sarah Jessica Parker, 41, as his love interest. It’s clear these two have not indulged in any surgery and look all the more real for it. However, Zooey Deschanel was the scene stealer in this cute, predictable romantic comedy where thankfully Kathy Bates did not remove her clothes… instead leaving that to Terry Bradshaw, who for the record will turn 56 in September.

Okay, so sometimes we prefer our nudity to look pretty… go Shar!

The Path to Hell...

If you haven’t caught my drift before… is paved with good intentions.

Hence when the delightful Ms. D announced she was visiting from La-La-Land, I offered the notion of a trip to Saturday’s Farmers’ Market with a plan to cook for ‘the boys’, envisioning a fun, casual day with a gal pal and a night with my two favorite men.

Lovely plan.

Ms. D asked whether she could invite her gay brother, a worthy potential partner for either of the boys. I said, of course.” Now we were five and I don’t like odd numbers around my dinner table.

Mr. A said, “Dinner would be lovely. Have you thought about inviting the supreme Ms. S?”

No problem. Left Ms. S a voicemail. All the better, in fact. Ms. S is going to Paris. Ms. D used to live in Paris. I love Paris… French food for dinner. Menu settled.

This conversation occurred while I was with Marvelous Michael. Of course, he was invited to join us. Back to the odd number. Aaah… I’d been thinking that Ms. S might perchance like the divine Mr. D. No problem.

Quick phone call to Mr. D and he was on board. What a lovely thing to look forward to… a dinner party for eight chez moi.

Then Ms. S called to say that she was in fact leaving for Paris this Friday. Damn.

A quick call to Mr. D. “Invite Beastie (ugly name, beautiful woman) to join us.” Okay. Breathe again.

Marvelous Mike didn’t show for our supposed date. Darn.

Mr. D called to ask whether it would screw up the plan if he invited his brother Pat instead of Beastie, explaining that his bro, while technically not a refugee since he was already planning to leave New Orleans, was still in fact a refugee because he hadn’t packed his belongings when the hurricane hit... and besides, he owed him a phone call. What am I to say? “Of course, he can come.”

So, six men, two women… it’ll still work.

Except that, as of this minute, Marvelous Michael, soon to be know as the former MM still hasn't explained his alien abduction, so we’re five men and two women…

Anyone free for dinner Saturday night? I’m a great cook!

p.s. I noticed that I'm developing bags under my eyes throughout all this.. could that be why Marvelous Mike has chosen alien abduction over my great cooking? Inquiring minds want to know.

There's Sex in the City and then there's...

Sex in San Francisco.

Now, while I may think that of the four characters, Samantha, Carrie, Charlotte and Miranda, I most resemble Samantha, the fact is that I’m simply not her. Maybe if I lived in Manhattan where gorgeous men are in abundance, as the show pertains there to be, the fact is I live in San Francisco where things are well, different.

Witness the amount of single gorgeous gals and guys I know, and of whom I hear, that struggle in this city to get, not just laid, but make any kind of connection at all. So, it comes as a surprise when I hear of great ‘connections’ between people (men and men, women and women, women and men, what's the difference?) that never amount to anything beyond one date.

Is it because we’re all too afraid of settling? Or does having that one great date lead us to believe that it’s only a sign of better things to come… right around the corner… which leads us to forget that in fact that great date really was a great date and you’re a fool for letting it go?

Not that I’m in danger of becoming Carrie either. Just asking a question. Can anybody answer?

On the Path to Hell with Good, Good, Good Vibrations

A tid-bit from GenArt Pulse got me thinking… that when it comes to a first date, you’re damned if you do. And… you’re damned if you don’t.

Therefore, to ensure a good time on that path to hell, let’s take control and keep a handy-dandy vibrating cock ring on, well, on hand.

Maybe I’ve been too up to my eyes in vibrations of another nature aka earthquakes, so I decided to do a little research and see what other goodies are out there to aid in our delight.

First on the list, the vibrating condom available at Vibrating Condom, which looks like a cock ring to me and since it says that it can be used with any condom, I assume you have to have a condom in addition to the gadget. At $7.95 a pop, its selling point is that “the female partner is completely satisfied without much effort from the man.” Okay.

There’s a better photo and explanation at Condom Mania. I guess the cleaner imagery justifies the $1 price increase… just so you know. Also on Condom Mania, a wide variety of vibrating rings with names like Berrylicious, Ring of Fire, Sinful Butterfly, Heart On, and not to be missed... Safari.

Into the bath where -- anyone who knows me knows, I spend hours at a time every chance I get -- it looks to me like every gal should own a waterproof personal massager disguised as a rubber duck in bondage aka “I Rub My Duckie Massager!” And, it looks like I’ll be spending a loooot more time in the bath.

Undercover Condoms features six vibrating condom rings… okay, so I get it now, it’s not the actual condom that vibrates… ranging from $4.95 to $9.95. Of note, they all seem to last 20 minutes with the exception of MeritJoy, the least expensive, which lasts up to 40 and is also adjustable for those lucky “above average size.”

Over at Good Vibrations, they offer similar products one of which has a, naturally, San Francisco twist, i.e. made of leather… I think I’ll stick with the rubber animals;-)

Well, that’s all for now folks… If my boss reads this he’ll wonder when exactly it was I had time to do all this research.

Et Voila...

Just like that with no change in settings, we're back in action.

Which makes up for being bummed last night... no, not because the dude didn't call... but because CBS in its wisdom has changed the Amazing Race to Wednesdays... mmh, I guess the Evidence must be giving them a run for their money. Oh well, it'll give me something to hurry home to after Italian class with the gals tonight.

I promise, now that this blogging bug-a-boo is fixed, I'll get back to more interesting story-telling... guess that means I better get my ass out there and create some!

Tedious Blogging...

Okay. It didn’t post. Now I’m sending it by email... Oh, a blogger’s work is never done.

Tedious blogging...

I was testing the possibility of posting this blog on my own web site, played with the ftp settings, decided it wasn't worth the hassle, and now I can't get back to normal publishing... boohoo:-(

I tested the ability to post via email. It works. That is if you don't mind your apostrophes being 1s and your elipses being a foreign oversized S. I do.

So, this is a test to see whether this will post.

I will say, whatever fun there is in being able to post instant messages to the world disappears when you have to spend this much time getting the damned thing to work:-0

Who needs a man when we have...

The Amazing Race! Woo hoo.

I completely forgot that it was on tonight... I hope the teams are continuing in Sicily... which I *love*.

And, there's a chance I might get to work on a doc about the 1908 earthquake in Sicily... fingers crossed XOXO

Another one bites the dust...

You just never know… a guy can seem like the most sincere person on the planet and even fool your friends, all the while making plans with you not just for the next date, but for months to come…. mmh! I guess that should have been the tip off. Nobody gets that enthusiastic on a first date and when they do… buyer beware. Oh well, it was a fun fantasy for a minute there… and it was a fun night!

I’m talking about the guy I went out with on Saturday... thought we had a date tonight, but here it is closing in on 6 o’clock and not a peep. Next!

V for Vendetta – see it at the iMax – it’s worth the extra five bucks. Frankie and I did after tea at Samovar and pre cocktails with Cockateilia at LJs… which led to hooking up with Mr. A at Deco for Amateur Strip night. No, no, Mr. A wasn’t stripping and he surely wouldn’t be an ‘amateur’. I’m talking about gay boys taking their clothes off and prancing around in their undies… hilarious fun.

A Day at the Mall...

It’s looking like this blog has turned into a weekly endeavor, mostly because I’ve turned into a hermit… all work and no play. What can I say?

The week whizzes by and before I know it, it’s Friday… time to catch up with a couple of friends, sleep and what was that thing I used to do? Oh, yeah, exercise. So, Friday found me at an author’s event hosted by Tamim Ansary who heads up the longest running writers’ workshop in the city, held at the Meridian Gallery on Sutter Street every Tuesday night. Since I used to call myself a writer (yeah, those days are gone too) I like to support others in their endeavors. As it turned out, someone stepped on my purse and broke my spectacles in two; my fault, I suppose they should have been in a case.

Hence Saturday was spent at the mall first waiting to get an appointment to have my eyes tested, then killing more time while the lenses were cut, etc. All in all, more time than I’ve ever spent in a mall my entire life. As it turns out, Stonestown isn’t that bad a place… try on a few pairs of shoes, check out the lingerie at Nordstroms, discover that I’ve been wearing the wrong size bras my entire life, more shoes, sale at Banana Republic, then the Limited… ah, great bargains to be found there. So, the writers’ workshop only cost me $700, such a deal.

To compensate, I took myself out to dinner with Ms. R and Mr. A… the Slow Club, which on Saturday night was moving kinda’ slowly. A couple of cocktails waiting for a table, a glass of wine with dinner… chalk up another $100.

Ms. R has discipline and went home. Mr. A and I – not so much -- we took ourselves down to Aunt Charlie’s in the ‘Loin, to see some of our favorite Divas do their thing. We were in luck, Vicki Marlane was hostessing… gotta’ love a gal who’s still putting it out there when she’s, well, I shouldn’t divulge a lady’s age, but wow!

I called it quits after the show… after handing out dollar bills, I was more than done for the weekend.

And there you have it... back to earthquakes!

Bad Food = Good Service; Good Food = Bad Service... a San Francisco quandary

It’s been too long since I last wrote… something to do with working long days, busy nights and feeling vaguely disgruntled… Okay, so, St. Pattie’s day was a bust. Had a night out with the girls and had shitty cocktails served to us in Harry’s Bar on Fillmore Street followed by the worst food I’ve ever seen a restaurant serve at the Fillmore Grill. I spoke up in my usual no-nonsense way and the burger that I could have soled a shoe with was replaced with something edible along with an apology from the owner by way of a carafe of wine. It, however, did not help the other gals who ate their food while quietly grumbling. I have to say it’s the first time that the Fillmore Grill was not impeccable in every way… good food at realistic prices with courteous staff.

Saturday turned out no better… Rachael’s art reception was stunning… interesting people, good food and music, and I’m sorry that Mr. A and I left. But, we had a ressie at Limon, where I’d eaten once before and to which Mr. A was very excited to be going. Wrong. They offered us a seat by the door and since I’d requested one upstairs, we chose to wait another twenty minutes to be seated. It was another twenty-five before our waiter took our order. Need I say, another twenty before the appetizers appeared. The empanadas, ceviche and tuna tartare were delicious. However, by 10:30 when our entrees had not arrived and we’d waded our way through another pitcher of sangria, well… who was hungry? We asked to speak to the manager. The “substitute manager” arrived and was rude and unapologetic, pointing out that we had not ordered our meal until 9:15 pm. Duh! Mr. A intercepted, pointing out that the table of eight to our right had been seated, served and had since eaten and departed. The establishment’s compromise was to take the price of the pitcher of sangria we’d been drinking while waiting for our food to arrive (too much ice and fruit for my taste, by the way) off the bill. Needless to say, Limon is off my list.

Movies: Where the Truth Lies… started off interesting. Kevin Bacon and Colin Firth in unusual and interesting roles, but, my, the story was all over the place and hard to follow. Still, I’d say watch it, if you've got time to kill. On the other hand, Head On, a German film, directed by Fatih Akin and starring Birol Unel and Sibel Kekilli (as if you'd know who they were; I didn't) as immigrant Germans who live and work in the port town of Hamburg, is brilliant. Dark, brooding, realistic, yet hopeful.

So, maybe that’s me these days… dark, brooding, too realistic… yet, strangely, hopeful!

The Big One...

Uh, what day is this? Is April over yet? Oh, course not… There’s just so much hoopla working up to the centennial of the Big One that I feel like I’ve already been there, done that. Well, here’s hoping, indeed, we all get through it without a re-enactment of. My Lord...

Though I subscribe to San Francisco Magazine, sometimes it simply doesn’t reach my mailbox, hence I missed James’ article last year about the horrors of a ‘quake the scale of 1906 hitting us today… not that I didn’t have the facts from when I helped him write the novel, but, fact is, I’m as guilty as the next person of complacency.

Yeah, yeah, yeah… I ‘used’ to have an earthquake kit. I still keep a few cans of food in my cupboard. I do still have a portable radio. Batteries? They’re around somewhere. Or, maybe not. Water in gallon containers… a few to be safe? Uh. Nope. Got the bottles, just haven’t made it down my three flights, out the front door to my super next door where I can refill for 35 cents a gallon. Kitty food? I'm sure there'll be lots of mice running around the ruins.

What I learned today from Harris Bostic, Director of the Bay Area Chapter of the Red Cross, is that the number one thing we should all have is an agreed-upon meeting place with our family and friends. As I told him, when I was first an ex-pat here with my geophysicist other half, we had a place we agreed to meet should the necessity arrive. But, since I’m other-half-less, haven’t thought about it…

In 1989, I was sitting in the St. Francis Hotel, having just finished a meeting with my macho architect colleague, a cool beer about to touch my lips, the ball game about to start, when the table began to shake. “No matter,” I thought, “a second from now it’ll all be over.” It wasn’t. As all the tourists rushed outdoors (silly people) he and I shared a look and I still maintain that he was under the table before I was. Back in our seats, it wasn’t until the TV went black that we realized, “uh, oh.”

The seriousness of the situation still didn’t hit us, even when we discovered block after city block without electricity. And so, on we went to what was supposed to be my friend Jim Heron’s big art debut at Limn Gallery. Got there to discover that the reception was cancelled. As we made our way gingerly through non-functioning traffic lights, it was then we saw the flames on the other side of the hill in the Marina i.e. the direction in which he and I both lived. When I made my way home to not-quite-the-Marina, but Cow Hollow, I discovered my apartment in tact. But from my third-floor view I could only stare in horror at the flames in the distance.

Let me tell you folks, 1989 was nothing to what we’re facing compared to a temblor the scale of 1906. So, read James’ article on San Francisco Magazine’s Web site, then do yourself a favor and pop over to the American Red Cross and get prepared.

This is not an if. It’s a when.

Rachael Stoppello Opening Reception...

For once I trucked all the way out to City College prepared for the starvation attack that usually hits me halfway through class only to have my teacher send us all home because she wasn’t feeling well… which is pretty much like having free time – woo hoo!

A chance to throw out the trash, pick up papers and discover that card I’ve been looking for about an opening reception this coming Saturday. Mr. A and I met these lovely ladies at Mecca (which I’m going to have to add to my list of restaurants on the sidebar ‘cos it looks like we’re going to be regulars), the sweet Holly Lynne and her artist girlfriend Rachael Stoppello. Rachel’s having a show at Muse Art Gallery, 615 Alabama @ 18th, at 5:00 onwards on March 18th… so stop on by to check out her ‘Cycles of Life’.

Now, where did I put that tax form?

The Weinsteins have done IT again... Bravo!

And the contenders for next year’s Oscars are already lining up… Johnny Depp and Samantha Morton set the stage on fire in The Libertine. Malkovich is equally brilliant, but that goes without saying. I saw him on stage in London back in the nineties in 'Burn This' and, though I was in the balcony, could feel the power of his raw charisma.

Mecca and Pink (to make the boys wink) ;-)

Our intentions were good. Aren’t they always? It was supposed to be a hair-do, art reception, a light bite and one cocktail then home to bed. Early. Yeah, well, that was before it was 8:30 and Mr. A was just finishing my hair… worth the 3-hour effort!

Change of plan led us to Mecca… and, no, we’re not changing our religion. I do mean Mecca on Market, which is under new ownership that has revitalized the atmosphere and where you can see Mr. A as he spins his own brand of dance this coming Sunday 4-8 pm. And if you don’t make it for the music, be reminded that they have happy hour from 5-7 pm with $1 oysters and all drinks are $6!

Thursday nights are Ladies’ Night… and the place was swimming with a gorgeous bevy of gals… not that that’s where my own interests lie. We quickly got a spot at the bar where our new favorite bartender Steve took excellent care of us… with a friendly help from Eddie. Our ‘light bite’ was grilled shrimp ceviche served with mango salsa and tuber chips; crawfish spring rolls served with a tomato corn tartare, which Mr. A described as, “crisp, fresh, perfectly cooked… stunning.” Me, I had my hands full of Mecca French Fries… hey, you can take the girl out of Scotland, but you can’t take Scotland out of the girl... I love my French fries and these are top notch. Maybe one day I’ll write up the top ten French fries in San Francisco. Not to be outdone by the Windsor Valley fois gras with Anjou pear, spiked pumpkin puree and porto gastrique. But, I’m just getting started.

Mr. A had a belini; I had a bloody belini… sheer frozen deliciousness. However, sticking to my one cocktail rule (surely, you don’t think red wine counts?) I then moved to wine. When I couldn’t decide between the Taz Pinot Noir, Santa Barbara County, 2003, and the Havens Merlot, Napa Valley, 2001, Mr. A suggested I have a half glass of each. Steve promptly obliged with, ahem, two ‘half’ glasses.

All, nicely followed up with a Rosenblum Late Harvest Viognier.

Sounds like a perfect night, no? But, it didn’t end there… moseyed on over to Amber to meet Mr. A’s new friend Gary, a fancy Maiden Lane ‘hair colorist’, who’ll soon be hosting Monday night bingo at Otis, a private club owned by my friend Damon. But, I digress… Amber was jumping, from what I could see through the smoke-friendly bar. Gary and I hit it off instantly, so much so that he wanted to find me a date and suggested we jump ship to Pink. Great! Strictly for a half-hour, of course.

Mr. A got behind the wheel of my Miata while Gary and I got to know each other even better on the passenger seat. Needless to say, we got rock star parking right out front. Pink used to be Liquid, where I used to dance my tush off with my good friend John Zane (wherever you are) during the heady dot-com days. It’s been glammed up and extended so that it’s less of a sweat box. Olivier the owner greeted us at the door and immediately provided shots of the house drink, which would have been rude to decline, then Gary pulled me onto a table to dance…

See what I mean about best intentions?

Red Carpet Style...

Well, Inside Edition over-ruled me and voted Keira Knightley as their Number 1 Best-Dressed… mmh. At least we both agree on worst dressed… probably isn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind but the woman herself… Helena Bonham Carter. What on earth was she thinking? Besides that the dress was too short, white shoes, and that hair do – your everyday drag queen is better put together! We can all take her misguided style as a guide on “how to add 10 years to your look.”

More later, the Divine Mr. D just got back from New Orleans and I do believe I’m first on his dance card… off to dinner at the cozy Blue Jay Café on Divis.

The Oscars Redux

So Brokeback didn’t sweep as I’d wished, but then I knew it wouldn’t. Everything else was as equally predictable…

John Stewart was witty, urbane and, who could fail to notice, HOT! Among my highlights was his joke on Scientology. Bodacious Ms. B, with whom I watched the show, thought that was the reason John Travolta looked positively peeved when he came on to present.

The ladies were seriously lacking in bling, except for Keira Knightley, way over-decked for her age. The look overall was neutral and natural… the winners being Uma, Reece and Ziyi Zhang… in my humble opinion. I hate to admit that the dress I coveted was worn by Jennifer Anniston, who’s not my favorite.

The most memorable part of the evening? Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin… clearly professionals at their art.

Oh, and let’s not forget the indomitable Dolly Parton… even though she’s had a bazillion surgeries… she looked fabulous. Less fabulous? What’s up with Hilary Swank? Poor girl… you could see her ribs!

Faux pas of the night surely was the failure to let Robert Moresco say his thank you’s… boo!

So I lost $25 in our pool, because I voted for Paul Giamatti to upset George Clooney… but kudos to George… have always been a fan of the man! He’s right up there in my new list… Stewart, Ferguson and Clooney…

'Quake Country...

Is it Friday, already?

Okay… since I’ve started working with James Dalessandro on the production of “The Damndest, Finest Ruins,” a feature-length documentary on the 1906 earthquake and fire, I’ve barely had a minute to think of anything other than, well… earthquakes and disaster! Speaking of…

We’ve had a couple of minor rumbles in the past week and last night there was one particular burst of thunder that sent my kitty running for cover. When he wouldn’t come out from beneath the Afghani rug in my hallway, I was paranoid about going to sleep, lest there be a major quake in the night… You know, that thing about animals having paranormal senses. Not to worry, I was soothed to sleep by the dulcet tones of my favorite Scotsman and awoke this morning to find everything in tact. Phew!

Wanted to mention Bruce Willis’ appearance on Letterman earlier this week… gotta’ love the guy for his sense of humor and lack of vanity. If you didn’t see it, he came out looking like the left side of his face had been splattered with buckshot, which brings me to this particular little tidbit sent to me by the delightful Katie D… for all your Johnny Cash fans this one’s for you!

The Amazing Race

Don’t you just love the Amazing Race?

I know I do.

I wanted to be on the show since the first season when CT sent me an email announcing that they were holding auditions in San Francisco (she being insightful enough to recognize it was right up my alley!). I promptly downloaded the application and was halfway through completing the application when I discovered that it was only open to people with U.S. passports… boo! I have a European passport that allows me entrance to numerous countries and has just as much – dare I say, more? – pull. But, I understand the producers’ point of view, and imagine it’s a legal affair.

The one question I’ve entertained throughout the seasons is who would be my perfect running mate. Recently, it came down to deciding between Mr. A and Frankie. I discovered a couple of weeks ago that Frankie has had the same fascination… and the same question.

We were in Mr. A and Frankie’s kitchen when the subject came up. We deliberated over each other’s talents and foibles. Mr. A is undoubtedly charming and intelligent and able to cut to the chase, but we questioned his affection for what we call, “shiny objects,” be they actual shiny objects in store windows or passing pretty people. To answer the question Frankie posed the question: “given the choice to hike down a ravine or bungee jump over a bridge, what would you do?”

Mr. A was all over the hike, while Frankie and I had no doubts about bungee jumping, and I said that knowing my innate fear of heights. That pretty much settled the debate.

Not that there have not been instances in past seasons when the ability to shop has been an advantage. Do you remember when the teams were in South Africa and had to purchase a list of items in a local market, which were then delivered to a local orphanage? Mr. A would have been the man for the job, but, seriously, when time is an issue…. ?

Being both born under the sign of Leo, Frankie and I have been known to butt heads on occasion, but we’re also proven collaborators… as is Frankie and Mr. A, and me and Mr. A… TMI for this post. However, I have been in several ‘crises’ with Frankie, who has come through as the ‘man who saved the day’, the epitome of grace under pressure.

Our pluses: Frankie is fluent in Spanish, the third most spoken language on Earth. He’s a seasoned traveler and familiar with airports, quick-change travel plans and, let’s not discount, red carpet concierge services. He’s a designer by trade with a quick eye and equally fast mind.

I sell myself professionally as a creative problem solver who is resourceful and intuitive. It doesn’t hurt that I speak a smattering of several languages, have traveled the globe and can turn my charm on for a dime. I was also trained, at the outset of my career, in the offices of BP Pet Dev, Aberdeen, Scotland, by former SAS agents to CYA. I know how to read instructions, read them again, and make sure I understand the drill. It’s what makes me the ‘gal with the eagle eye’, an absolute necessity in following the directions in the Amazing Race.

In tonight’s race, Frankie and I would have been way ahead of the curve. We would have immediately chosen “rotor over motor.” With Frankie’s discerning eye for graphics, he would have immediately identified the heliport to land on; I would have been all over the logistics. I am, perhaps more than anything, an efficiency expert.

So, I guess I had better get onto that U.S. Citizen application that I was planning to submit a couple of years back… after all it’s only a mere four-hundred bucks and a slam-dunk test that separates me from being able to vote in the next presidential election… but, moreover, being the winner of the next Amazing Race!

Mummies in Tutus... Oh My!

I would say, "only in San Francisco," but there is in fact a royal court in every major city in America…

Last Saturday night the San Francisco Imperial Council crowned a new emperor and empress at its 41st coronation ceremony at the San Francisco Gift Center. It was a gay affair, with the theme “Hot Egyptian Nights,” featuring a 30-foot tall Egyptian temple center stage where the reigning royalty held court.

For those not in the know (myself included until Saturday), the Imperial Court was founded in 1965 by Jose Sarria, the Absolute Empress I and Widow Norton, who began his drag performance career in the 1930s and became the first gay man to have a street named after him. But since, I assume, you're not here for a history lesson click here if you want to learn more... which I recommend.

The evening began with me trying, at the last minute, to create an Egyptian themed outfit out of nothing... "Just wear lots of gold," Frankie advised. Yes, well, that would be easy if I had 'lots of gold'. I settled on jeans in high heels and fabulous accessories, which, turned out, was more than adequate since my hairdo stole the show. Yes, even among all those fabulous wigs!

The reason for our attendance was to see our fabulous friend Empress XXXI Cockatielia’s performance to celebrate her 10 year anniversary as Empress... if you can't already tell, it was a 'fabulous' evening all round.

From the minute we walked in the door, there was so much bling we practically needed sunglasses. And, as Mr. A pointed it, "that's not dime-store crap those bitches are wearing. Those crowns and tiaras cost thousands of dollars."

Then there were the gowns... Academy Award's red carpet, who needs it? Donna Sachet was in her perennial red looking simply, well, fabulous... and if I'd been prepared with a notebook, I would be able to recount all the other sumptuous gowns and their wearers... not to mention the costumes custom-made to fit the night's theme. It was all I could do to keep my jaw from hanging agape.

Empress Cockatielia entered stage left -- or is it right? -- flanked by her courtiers of drum beating boys while a stream of exotic girls entered from the other direction to arrive on stage in a whirl of layered silk. Cockatielia sang a song specially written for her for the night. She sang it with powerful emotion and the crowd lapped up every minute, bursting into cheers when she danced, Madonna-style, in rhythm with her entourage. Her standing ovation was the crowning moment of a spectacular evening... which brings me to the title of this piece. (For a close-up of Cokatielia click here and choose "Hula"; she's image 4238.)

The final performance of the evening featured mummies, aka people wrapped in bandages, and sporting a rainbow of tutus... which was when Mr. A uttered, "Mummies in tutus... oh my!"

We then made our way to the Deco Lounge on Larkin in the Tenderloin for the after party. Mr. Houston at the piano announced to the audience as I entered, "we have a movie star in our presence!" Looking around, I then realized it was me he was talking about... not that I look like Jennifer Anniston even on a good day, but it sure was flattering for about a heart beat... like I said, it was the hair.

Cockatielia was now dressed as a statuesque blonde in a simply, fabulous gown... I swear, I'm coming back as a drag queen in my next life... or maybe I was one in my previous, which is why I just adore these men who, despite their lack of natural attributes (my boobs are always applauded, by the way), know what true glamor is and know how to work it.

It may have been my first coronation, but I doubt it will be my last.