For Your Reconsideration...

When JR and I went out last night, we were in full "gutter punk" tragedy mode.

Mike had invited us to a party in Hollywood, to celebrate the release of the film: The Devil Wears Prada, which actually looks quite good. I love Meryl... Anyway, JR and I fully expecting Meryl to be there. She was not. We quickly realized it was one of those parties that gay boys throw on a Wednesday night to celebrate whatever might be happening in their universe. Madonna released a new album, come celebrate! Dolly Parton has a new wig, come celebrate! Dick Cheney shot somebody, come celebrate! The invitation stated: "Polish your stilettos and express yourself to the runway of success with fellow Fashionistas. Attitude required." Easy enough.

At one point, a camera crew was following around a good looking guy. Was he a celebrity? I don't know. He was dancing with some girl whose skirt was hiked up around her neck, then he was making out with a mohawked boy up against a wall. We positioned ourselves in the background of the shot and snickered. Well, the "on camera" talent noticed us and suddenly there are lights in our faces. We were on television... Mohawk says: "Why are you laughing at us?"

"We are not laughing at you, darling. We are laughing with you!" Was my reply. "Where can I buy the video?" Then he asked if I wanted to fight. I said no. The pretty boy wandered away and the cameras followed. "I guess we know who the star of this show is..." I told JR. Someone asked us to sign releases, which we did. I think it was for the LOGO network, but really, I was so wasted it could have been Access Hollywood for all I know.

Years pass before Mike finally arrives and when he does, we are very happy to see him. We go out to the front patio, for some "air" and I lay eyes on what I consider to be the sexiest creature I have ever seen. He wore a cute little hat like the Beastie Boys and leaned against the wall as if he were part of an art installation. I ask if he is straight, because usually it's the straight boys who do it for me, and he refuses to answer! He told me his name was John.

"Of course, it is darling," I purred. An attractive young actress named Kelsea was there, also quite interested in John. She told me that his presence in a gay bar did imply something. I was smitten and I promised to make them both stars. I was serious, but I think I came across at little too drunk for them to put any actual value into what I said. As we left, I spotted John at the bar and took his hand. "Oh, what could have been, but was never meant to be." When did I become such a stalker?

We followed Mike down to another club where we met Patrick, his roommate. At this point, I am completely wasted and have a hard time conjuring up anything intelligible to say. Patrick is another one of those "Greek God" types, who leave you with no other option than to write an epic poem about them. All too soon, the night was over and we made our way up the street. My Dr. Jekyll/Courtney Love transformation had begun and JR offered to drive me home. I suppose we made it, because here I am. I woke up exactly where he left me, still dressed, contacts glued to my eyeballs and big black boogers from the eyeliner smeared across my face.

I had decided that the new "in" thing was Tragedy, it was the look, the attitude and the accessory of the season. JR gleefully agreed with me and we have worked that angle for some time. At some point last night, JR asked me what I was thinking.

"I'm reconsidering," I said.

"Coming out tonight?" He asked.

"No, I am reconsidering my entire life, every thing that has led to this moment right now." Maybe it's time that I put tragedy to bed, the way JR helped me into mine last night. It was hard to let him go. No one wants to be tragic alone.

Wake up, darling... It's mourning.