Tuesday, December 1, 2009


It was almost 12:00 when I entered the darkly glamorous vortex of The Pyramid. I braced myself for the most important performance of the night, the Pyramid dressing room, where Lady Muskrat, Ru Paul, John Kelly, Jack Smith, Tabboo! and other genius queens bristled with competitive cruelty and bogus bon ami. The Green Room was a superbitch snakepit. Backstabbing sluts would rip your nuts off if you gave them half a chance. I was an idealistic Vassar girl from an Emily Post background. How could I, a young girl from a small town in Massachusetts, compete with a roomful of glittering cock crazed fashion maniacs? I had to learn fast: stab or be stabbed. They hated me, and loved me. Most obnoxious of all, they copied me.

No comments:

Post a Comment