I miss you like I miss my period! It's been waaay too long since I've been in the blogesphere. Never to worry love, mummy is here now and you can re- fill her IV bag with Makers Mark for she has stories to tell.
I am currently in the land of mild sauce. That's right, I am welcoming spring in the City of Big Shoulders, Chicago. The air is crisp, the lake is glistening and naturally the natives are restless. These mf's like to shoot when the thermometer hits 65degrees. But bullets don't stop this hustle.
My whirlwind trip began with a fahhhhbulous gala with the Lookingglass Theatre company Saturday at the very sexy Hotel Intercontinental on Michigan Avenue. The event was hosted by Joey Slotnick and yours truly. I tell ya, you can never go wrong with hiring a black and a jew to entertain a room filled with people. But before I get to the gala portion, let me back track to the stellar performance by the company of Tony Hernandez's Hephaestus. A cirque du fab production, if I may say so myself. Do yourself a favor and get thee to the theatre to see this magnificent feat! It features some of the best circus performers in the world. The play is based on the Greek myth about Hephaestus a god, tossed off mount Olympia buy his punk ass mama Hera, because she thought the baby was ugly. (While it's true all babies are ugly at first, you can't just go tossing them off mountain sides...ugh Greek Goddess Mothers are so stupid). Anyway she tosses the poor thing, and he falls for days and nights and well....why don't you just Google the goddamn story for yourself. Better yet, go to the Goodman!
So in the lobby of the Goodman before the show, I'm checking myself to make sure I look good. You know praying that everything I tapped down before leaving the hotel room, will stay in place. You know how it is-- hoping your false eyelashes don't make you look like Liza Minnelli, the slicked down baby hairs don't look too ghetto, and you're still wincing from the paper cut on your neck because you couldn't afford a new bottle of Chanel perfume, so you snatched the sniff ad from Vogue and rubbed it on your neck.
Just as I was asking my friend Alex Sieffert to make sure my Spanx smoothed out my ass dimples, her eyes grew big and started to twinkle. I thought she was enamored by my ass, and at that moment I started to sing praises to the makers of Spanx. But she wasn't looking at me. She was looking across the crowded lobby at Ben Vereen. That's right kid. Ben Vereen came to a Lookingglass Theatre event. Before I could yell "OH SHIT CHICKEN GEORGE IS IN THIS MOTHAFUCKA??" Jenny Biennerman my colleague shoved me over to his majesty and introduced me.
If you know me, you know that one of my favorite films of all times---I mean of all time---for serious---without a doubt---ALL THAT JAZZ. My mentor Bob Fosse at his finest! The film is almost pornographic, it's so juicy! I know almost every word of dialog, especially Ben Vareens part. I want to sing and dance with him right there in the lobby...but with all them white people there---well you know. It would have been "expected."
I'm happy to report he's a really nice man. Very personable, and taller than you might think. He saw the show and even joined us at the gala. We chatted and he even asked me for my number (not like that you dirty fucker). Man it was an honor to meet him....
The dinner and auction was a load of fun. We had our usual suspects: David Schwimmer, Billy Dec and a few other noted Chicago celebs. Joey and I had fun hosting. Everyone looked really nice (I kept it chic and simple. I was clad in a black dress with a pretty yellow orchid for my hair and hooker red lips). Adeoye and I danced our asses off to a live Middle Eastern band. We danced so hard that I kicked off my shoes and ripped off my eyelashes to twirl. It was one of those nights where the champagne and h'dourves flowed freely and I floated like a black WASPy chick making the rounds. "Hellohoware?" "Oh yes, the chitterlings were quite good." "Umm yes...bully!"
It was a wild night and I drank myself under a table. Then I found out that Dixie Carter died, and I drank some more. The next day I awakened with a narly hangover and had written all "Suzanne Sugarbaker lives forever!" in red lipstick on the mirror. Oh Dixie. I hope Bea Authur is there to welcome you with open arms...
After a shit, shower and shave I had a brunch at Nomi. I stumbled downstairs to the restaurant for brunch with some of the Lookingglass Board chairs (Oh yah, a bitch had a suite facing the lake Michigan at the Park Hyatt-FACE!) and swore off all alcohol. It was Sunday morning and I had spent all night doing the devils work. No siree---I was staying on the wagon. No more booze. Then this woman greets me with a tray of champagne. I swear the glass was frosted and the bubbles were huge! I was like Pookie in New Jack City. I tear formed in my eye.
I was torn. I had sworn my sobriety and now the devil was there to challenge it.
I looked up and saw the God Dionysus. He nodded and told me to drank in the name of theatre.
I rebuked the devil and took my champagne flute...and I guzzled. In the name of God.
Theatre. Theatre. Theatre.....
ciao for now fuckers!
x
NEXT BLOG: WHY BABIES KICK IN THE WOMB? STARTLING EVIDENCE OF FETAL VIOLENCE AGAINST THEIR OWN MOTHERS.
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"Scotty help me, I'm gonna die"
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