Yellow Man In Timbuktu

Oh what a glorious week it's been...full of trials and tribulations...this socialite's weave is tired! Let's summarize, shall we?

The most wretched holiday known to mankind had the mispleasure of dousing us with her downstairs secretions last Thursday...yes indeed, the horrendous day known as Valentine's Day. A day full of "I love you's" and women having anal sex for the first time. Did I sit on something? No, bitch, your boyfriend just fucked you in the ass...because "he loves you". My day was full of working my weave and that evening, I met my lovely peeps at Madison Square Garden for a full on time warp...honey, it's 1996 and I'm angst and edgy! That's right, we worked ourselves into a frenzy at the Alanis Morissette and Matchbox 20 show. My New Orleans homeslices opened the spectacle to much fanfare...the delightful lads of Mutemath. I sure do love that drumming. A quick hello backstage to the gents, then it was time for our favorite sister from up North to pay us a visit and tell us how Dave Coulier once fucked her (probably NOT in the ass because...well, you oughta know). Her vocals were heavenly and her weave was looking lovelier than mine. Someone got extensions...and not those nasty Ken Paves locks! Then Matchbox 20 took the stage and reminded us what Top 40 used to sound like. It was Miss Rob Thomas' birthday and we gave him a send off that any lady would enjoy. A quick swing by the after party and I zipped myself home. A big thanks to Ms. Lisa for hookin my weave up and being a fab Valentine's Day date!

Saturday, Miss Charlotte and I had a tasty dinner at Ono. I sure am obsessed with their spicy tuna because that situation is caliente. Shove some between your legs and you'll be dancing for days. Sunday, we had the pleasure of Ms. Jessica's presence, gracing us from the Bean. The ladies and I braved the wet weather and had a gorgeous dinner at Giorgione. Work those Blue Point oysters, my pet! Who knew something so juicy and slimy could be such a delight to swallow. MmmHMMM...say no more. A few cocktails at Soho House capped off the evening.

And today, we bid a lovely to tribute to presidents past. Thanks for allowing me to work somewhere other than a dry cleaner, I suppose. And then the big event was upon us. Miss Rebecca and I arrived at Madison Square Garden for potentially one of the gayest unions in history...the celebration, the return, the reunion of the Spice Girls. The crowd was quite unexpected. I presumed the Garden would be packed by middle aged mo's and their hags, but rather, teens and tweens galore from various Long Island and New Jersey neighborhoods farted all over. Weren't these adolescent mistakes approximately 5 years old when the Spice Girls first came out? How do they know their words? Were they all raised by gay men? It's really an unsolved mystery. Someone call Matlock.

The show was indeed a spectacle so gay that your asshole, and maybe even your neighbor's asshole, came out sore. Homosexual highlights included Posh's runway show to RuPaul's "Supermodel of the World", Ginger's rendition of "It's Raining Men" complete with shirtless dancers and spinning umbrellas, and Mel C's "I Turn To You" because she's a big lesbo. One dear moment was when the ladies brought their children on stage for a song and Posh's youngest started incessantly breakdancing. It was very "Justin from Ugly Betty" chic. It was quite funny how all the ladies had babies except for Homo Depot Mel C. She's that crazy lesbian aunt that runs around the house highkicking and talking about how's she building a house in the countryside...with her own bare hands! Regardless, the ladies sang all the hits, and even belted "Spice Up Your Life" twice. I've never noticed the obscenely racist lyrics (as noted in the headline) but we danced anyways.