“Come on, let’s go downtown, Trixie and the Monkey are performing at the Slipper Room.”

“No, no… I’m drunk, I don’t have a notebook with me, I don’t have my camera—“

“Let’s just go see the show!”

“Ok, fine, but I’m not working!”

Famous last words. Hear me, O children, as I say verily unto you, once one has started down the path of wickedness, there is, truly, no turning back. And truly, once one has committed oneself to the recording of said wickedness, merely being wicked will never again suffice. Which is a long-winded way of saying, I went to the Slipper Room and totally blew my cover. It had been so long… I was just so HAPPY to be back in a burlesque venue, and the show was so show-stoppingly amusing, and I so show-stoppingly inebriated, that I just couldn’t HELP myself from talking to the performers and generally making a total ass of myself.

HIGHLIGHTS: 1. I totally and completely embarrassed myself upon meeting Trixie Little and the Evil Hate Monkey for the first time. I mean, what an ass. I think I confessed to being drunk at least six times. God bless the Baltimoreans for being too kind to kick me in the groin. The good news of my little humiliation? Trixie and the Monkey are currently working on circus skills up in Vermont, and when it’s all over they will be MOVING TO THE BIG APPLE! WHOOHOO! Finally we’ll have them as locals.

2. Getting to see Trixie and the Monkey perform solo. Monkey did some high-stepping just in time for Mardi Gras, pulling off his green uniform and tossing the baton, and Trixie made us all squirm when her flea circus got under her skin. Tasty. AND we got to see their “Total Eclipse of the Heart” routine, which I could stand to see 20 or 30 more times. Goddamn hilarious. And I still say, if you haven’t seen Trixie lift the Monkey in kitten heels, you have no room to bitch about how much your heels are killing you after a walk down the subway steps.

3. I have a new favorite, and her name is Gal Friday. I always thought she was hot, coz, like, I’m not fucking blind, but me and my gay boyfriend got seats practically on stage, and I have NEVER had such a view of Friday’s full-nominal ass before. WOW. I know I was drunk but I wasn’t that drunk. This girl has got it all. After the first act I introduced myself and felt like a giddy schoolgirl (“OMG! She totally knows who I am!”), and told her that I thought she was like the sequel to Jo Boobs—with realies. “Oh,” she said, “I love that. Jo is my mom.” I think she meant it figuratively, not literally, but either way you take it, it’s just hot. I always had a thing for redheads and especially when they have a sense of humor. Friday caught me and my gay boyfriend both texting while she was go-go-ing, and, understandably, took offense. (Seriously, JD? With all the shit on iPhones you dole out? WTF?) She grabbed our phones and go-goed and chatted, and we giggled. Not for nothing, Friday brought down the house with her second act encore, a Muz-inspired wiggle to an old blues song about constipation. How she manages to make a constipated face hot, is, well… um, just take my word for it before I force a bad pun. (Just let it go JD). But you gotta see her pull a brown glove between her thighs—backwards, natch.

4. Gigi. I just never see her anymore, and it’s all scheduling. She invites me to shows, I’m busy or in another borough. And I miss her. I do. She’s kind, inviting, friendly, and has a body that will. Not. Stop. So we got to see her spanking routine to the Gorillaz again. How many times have I seen that act? Not fucking enough, I’ll tell you what. When I’ve seen it enough I’ll let you know. If you still haven’t seen it, you’re an idiot, and you don’t get out enough. When the gay guy you came with tells you that it’s hot, you KNOW it’s hot. Spend more time at the Slipper Room. And remind me to do the same.

5. Tigger in drag, in a wheelchair, doing a grandma stripper act. WITH depends. That kid’s a genius. And I was drunk enough to dance with him a little during his gogo session. Damn, what was I drinking that night?

6. Having my photographer drop in, just in time to see the Monkey, and SHE DOESN’T HAVE A CAMERA WITH HER EITHER. What the fucking fuck. See if I take her to Vegas with me in June.

7. And how could I forget… the demented Doctor Donut. Donut on head, éclair hanging between legs. So disturbing. Voice that mimics Smiegel a little too well. Though I did enjoy his lambasting of the slutty little minx sitting on some guy’s lap in the front row—she kept heckling Donut and Donut cut her down to size. I was sitting a little too close and just tried to make myself invisible. That Donut is scary. Super scary. First donut I ever didn’t wanna eat. For swears. Sorry for the quick missive and the total lack of pix. But sweet Friday, the pix in my head will never be erased. I will watch you gogo anytime, anyplace.

Kiss kiss,