Wednesday, May 23, 2007


The journey begins.

I firmly believe that my trek has already begun. Though I have not yet hit the tarmak, my odessy to the east has already started.

This summer, as short as it has been thus far, has all been leading up to the Asian adventure. All has been part of the journey.

I went from Alaska to Flordia, and spent a few days there, basking in the glow of the sunshine state.
Then came the road trip north, landing me in Chattanooga, Tennesse.
Now I have headed south, to Atlanta, Georgia where, in a matter of hours I will board a plane to the Orient.

I could bore you with another tale of anticipation. But instead I will tantilze with my evenings adventure.

Upon arriving in Atlanta I met up with some friend's (or family members) of friends.
Due to the extreme early-ness of my flight we decided to forgo actually sleeping in favor of hitting the bars with full force.

The first bar was exacty what you would think of as a typical town watering hole, with everything from frat boys to dart boards. Average as apple pis in a diner.

The second (and final) bar was much more interesting. We hit the Atlanta gay scene and attended a rainbow bar on Karoke night.

And let me tell you, the sights were amusing, entertaining, and a little scary.

The first thing I saw upon my entrance was a man, a man like no other.
I am usually good with the required pronouns. "He" becomes a "She" when wearing the appropriate clothing, but sometimes it is not possible to actually make the pronoun switch. This man was that "sometimes."

Think of Family Guy*. Peter Griffin was at the bar tonight. He wore a black dress, far too tight and far too form fitting. A blonde wig brushed his shoulders and a string of Betty Rubble pearls circled his neck in an almost mocking fashion. If that were not enough, the bracelets adorning each thick wrist made the outfit an utter success.
It made me stare.
It made me gag.
It made me wish longingly to have the stones to walk up and take a picture.

I tried so hard to avert my eyes. I searched the scene for something to take my rapt attention from the atrociety before me.
My wish was graned.

Standing mere meters from me was the most pictureque image.

A "drag queen." (the quotations are due to the extreme-ness of his outfit.) Think Marline Manson meets Boy George.
The red corset.
The fishnet tights.
The sparkely over reaching make-up.
The fact that he was wearing little else.

It was beautiful.

Now we are back at a friend's apartment, waiting one more hour before hitting the airport bound road to a journey that has already begun as one hell of a ride.

*If you don't know the show, find it and watch it. It makes me giggle.

What you witnessed were skag hags. Men dressed like drag queens but not quite good enough to pass as a women even in darkly lit rooms. I just want to hug them and teach them how to apply eyeliner and shave. None the less, I love them too... When you get back from getting mutaba in Asia and becoming a homeless hippie for the summer you should come back and we could start a drag queen charm school. Teach the etiquette of dressing up like fake women. Call it Ms. Sassy's charm school and etiquette... haven for fake women.

(BTW , I am jealous of you Hippie, just thought you should know. Go hug a tree for me)
How about we name it Draggy Mc Drag Queen's School of Charm and Mustache Waxing.

I am a hippie, and damn proud of it. There are so many trees out there, just longing for a hug.
And a pinch.
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