How is it almost April?

Oh what a lovely few days it's been!  Excuse my weave for being late in blogging but I've been running around town like a hooker with new lip gloss.

Last Thursday was the belated celebration of Mr. Jeremiah's big birthday.  I won't reveal his age because a lady never tells but Happy Birthday to you, boo!  A gaggle of us celebrated with some tasty Portuguese fare at Pao.  Wine, champagne, and shots later, we were properly sloshed yelling 1-800-LOVES-IT at anyone who would listen (PS: Do NOT call that number because it is 1-800-DISGUSTING).  We headed to Sway afterwards but after one drink, my weave turned to straw and I had to go home and rest it.

Friday night, I made a mistake.  A big mistake.  Something so earth shattering, so horrifying, so weave altering, it's hard to describe or comprehend.  I had the distinct mispleasure of watching...BLOND AMBITION...starring Ms. Jessica Simpson.  Holy shitballs, talk about a monumental waste of time.  How on God's green earth did they convince the likes of Owen Wilson and Penny Marshall to star in this disaster?  I would rather hump a porcupine than sit though that again.  Boo!

Saturday night, Ms. Simone threw an amazing dinner party at her lovely Midtown digs.  Well done, my pet!   A smashing apartment, a gorgeous menu...the way a dinner party should be.

Sunday was Easter.  Did everyone find eggs shoved between their legs?  Or perhaps some Peeps?  Gosh they are so damn sticky when you shove them up your... Wait.  Ms. Berna and I decided to have a delicious Easter celebratory dinner at Craft and it was simply amazing.  Loves it, recommends it...Hit it.

Monday was the Mariah and Hills party...see below post.

Tuesday was a belated celebration of Ms. Kelly's birthday at Nobu.  Nothing like dumping loads of seafood down your throat to end an evening.  It certainly was delectable going in, but the next morning my mouth tasted like a musty fat lady's vagina.  Grotesque.

The Hills

Ah yes, the big premiere is upon us!  Mr. Jeremiah, Ms. Berna and I sauntered to Gotham Hall last night for the premiere party and it was a total spectacle.  Let's just say that the audience looked like one big bowel movement of Wet Seal.  Explosive diarrhea of all sorts of bad Long Island and New Jersey fashions were speckled upon the young ones.  Tranny tranny hot mess hot mess tranny.  Therefore it seemed the only suitable solution was to down as many glasses of champagne as possible.  

Mariah's performance was delectable.  I don't know why she looks like such a beached whale on tele because she's totally fierce in person.  Her rendition of "We Belong Together" got the audience into a total frenzy and we were singing along with the best of them.  

Ms. Berna also chatted up Lauren Conrad and to no surprise, I made some lewd comment that sent her running.  No, I didn't call her Ms. Roast Beef Curtain...to her face.  We were also witness to the amazing powers of Ms. Audrina, potentially the stupidest person on earth.  Justin Bobby could be fucking her in the ass and all she would "think" is, "Did I buy milk today?".  

I was quite sad that there was a no show by the love of my joyous life, Ms. Lo.  Oh Lo.  We did spot the lame dumped hooker Jason Preston who couldn't seem to get into the party without showing his arm tattoo to "prove" who he was.  Um that's so sad.

Big ups to Ms. Courtney for hooking us up with the soiree!

And let's chat about the show itself...Could it have BEEN anymore boring?  What a snoozefest. Essentially nothing happened.  Lauren and Whitney go to Paris.  They flirt with some casted Frenchmen (see: http://www.myspace.com/thenameofthebandisrockandroll)  There's a "crisis" with a dress.  They go to a ball.  They go home.  The end.  Boo!  I wanted some drama!  Why was Ms. Roast Beef Curtain 2008 not getting hammered and discovering the wonders of foreskin?  Where were the awkward stares and eye widening moments?  There was some boring subplot of Heidi and Spencer in Crusty Butt...I mean Crested Butte but it was so contrived and lame that no one cared.  And exactly how much plastic surgery did Heidi have?  Those lips looked so wonky that they looked like the vaginal lips from some dead tranny plopped onto her face.  The only interesting bits were Stephane, the driver and Matthias, the French "rocker".  The next 7 episodes better pick up in juice otherwise my weave will be watching my other obsession, The Real Housewives of New York City.

American Idol

Yes, I've been a bit behind (girl, when am I not!) in my American Idol commentary on this season 7 but let's work this shit out now, shall we?

So we're down to the top 11 and honey, there are some hot tranny ass situations remaining.  Let's begin with the shit talking breakdown.

Ramiele Malubay:  This dumb ass Asian slutbag is about as talented as a happy ending given by a blind bus driver holding sandpaper.  Painful, sore, and not a good look.  Her vocal abilities are so weak that if she was even allow to sing karaoke in a seedy bar in Chinatown, too many liberties would be taken.  You know she's getting kicked off soon...hopefully tonight!

Kristy Lee Cook: Were her parents siblings because she is a hot deformed mess!  How did she even make it to the top 24/12/11?  She's probably a toothless slut who takes her grill out before working it as the town glory hole.  She is probably the least talented person on this show and her country renditions of various musical numbers make me want to bend over in front of a wrecking ball.

Chikezie: You have got to be kidding me.  Who let Wayne Brady on this show?  I mean, his freaking name is Chikezie?  Oh and my name is FreakEasy.  Isn't he so incredibly cheesy? Maybe he can get booked to perform in one of those awful music revues at a Midwestern amusement park.  Next!

Syesha: She's got the potential.  She's beautiful and has boobies for days, but I just don't think America will give a shit.  Not even a small dollop of diarrhea-hea-hea-hea.  Her voice is very mediocre and she has the presence of a blank slate.  Not a winner.  

Now let's talk about some people with talent!

Amanda Overmyer:  Tranny.  Tranny.  Hot Mess.  Tranny.  Hot Mess.  Yes indeed, her appearance reminds us of what drag queens shudder to think they may look like, but that voice is fabulous.  It's rich and soulful and she can belt out those tunes with some masculine grace. She won't win, but I think she's got a talent.

Brooke White:  Oh isn't she just so damn sweet?  You could shove a chainsaw in her ass and she'd cock her head to left, smile, and tell you how appreciative she is that you thought to pleasure her rectum.  Yes, I suppose she's annoyingly nice but she had me since her audition when she gorgeously sang the Corinne Bailey Rae's Like a Star".  I'm a fan, although I'm not so sure if she's going to win.  She's got some serious crow's feet that my friend La Mer would say "Oh HELL no!" to.    

Carly Smithson: I do indeed like this Irish export, even more so than foreskin!  She's got a fabulously rich voice and lovely range but there's something about her that makes me think she won't win.  She's so Kimberly Locke circa 7 years ago, ya feelin my shit?  

David Cooke: Hey Chris Daughtry!  I think I found your butt plug and his name is David Cooke! He's such a cornball wannabe rocker, but there's something endearing about Ms. Cookies.  I will say that his weave is some wack ass shit and he needs to re-coif that bitch.  Again, not sure if he has any potential to win but I do indeed like his sound.

David Archuleta: Girls gone wild?  No!  Mormons gone gay!  MoMo has an amazing voice and is commonly known to be the front runner of this competition.  I just wonder if America is ready for another fanatic closet case.  Let's bring our attention to the Gayken.  Another flaming Bible beating lad who likes lads and his ass came in second place to Ruben Studdard.  Sorry 2004 but the mo's just might not take the top prize.  As least Ms. Ryan blows them as consolation.  That ain't hair gel in his hair, honey!  Girl, it's so damn stiff!

Jason Castro: Shakira's not the only hot export from Colombia!  Jason Castro is a hot tranny mess and I love it.  Adam Duritz called and he wants his weave back.  I actually think he has a modest and genuine character that outshines Brooke's.  I love his guitar playing and I'm sure loads of ladies and mo's go to bed with two fingers up just thinking about his sweet sweet...voice.

Michael Johns: Thunder from Down Under!  Bring it, bitch!  I love me some Michael Johns. The judges continue to give him mediocre reviews but I think he has a major talent and could work that Adult Contemporary audience into a panty creaming frenzy.

Duffy

Ahh St. Patrick's Day has come and gone and I deepthroated about 11 leprechauns in celebration.  Luck of the Irish?  Lucky Charms?  Um, that did not taste like any sort of lucky charm.  I'll show you what's at the end of my rainbow.  OK, I need to stop.  ANYWAYS, last night, I met a big gaggle of peeps at Pop Burger for some pregame dining and drinking before we moseyed to the Hiro Ballroom for Ms. Duffy's US proper showcase debut. And she was heaven! She's essentially the new hot Amy Winehouse minus the drug addictions.  Who knows though...maybe she'll be blowing X Factor contestants and hittin the crack before we call her Muffy, but for the time being, she's a cute mess.  She sort of looks like Taryn Manning with a bigger weave, doesn't she?  A big shout out to Ms. Erika and Ms. Christine for hooking my trannyness up!

Check it: www.IAmDuffy.com

London

Ahh yes my pets, my weave is back stateside after a jaunt to London for the weekend...and clearly I am jetlagged and lookin a hot fuckin tranny mess. But what a trip it was!

I arrived Thursday morning, just in time to meet Ms. Sara at the church (only makes sense for you foreskin lovers in London). After some freshening up and some weave maintenance, we bounced to meet Ms. Lucy, Ms. Arwen, and Mr. Scott for some lunch at one of the rivaling Pizza Express restaurants at the Barbican. Holla at my lovely Fiorentina where they dump a tasty poached egg on the pizza. It's much like serrogate pregnancy I suppose...where they dump a tasty poached egg on your...well, uterus. What's up fallopian tubes! That evening, I met Ms. Samantha in Soho for dinner where we slammed loads of Thai food and a bottle of Rose down before meandering into the streets. We had about a dozen drinks at Alphabet and Maya before the evening's end and my weave was lookin all sorts of horse hair crazy.

Friday was full of lovely shopping and moseying in Central London, but I eventually had to go back to Sara's to prepare for the evening. We zipped to the Tate Modern for some pregame beverages. Minor celeb sighting of Mr. Keith Murray of We Are Scientists near "the crack" in the lobby. Thanks to the hook up by the lovely Ms. Arwen, we had access to the Members Only 6th floor where we managed to polish off 5 bottles of Sancerre, while relaxing on the (wet) outdoor patio and enjoying the scenery. Hey River. Then off to the main event in Bishopsgate where a gaggle of us met at Pizza Pomodoro for some foolishness and fabulousness. Pizza Pomodoro is truly an odd experience. Built in a former Turkish bath, it redefines tacky kitsch in a whole new way. If you looked up "hot tranny mess" in Wikipedia, there would be a picture of us dancing in the restaurant. It's essentially raunchy Italian food but the main attraction are cover singers who sing songs from the 80's and 90's. Yes, that's right...I'll have some cheese bread with jalapenos while listening to a cover of "Your Love Is My Love". Hot tranny mess? Check. It was indeed a very fun night where we drank to our heart's content and danced with some chicken heads at a neighboring party. And how did the evening end? Typically...with a dance party til the wee hours in the church. An evening is never complete until you've heard our rendition of "Please Don't Stop the Music" while dressed in packing supplies.

Saturday, Ms. Sara and I had a lazy day full of brunching and napping - my favorite weekend activities. That evening, after polishing off a tasty meal at Thai Square, we headed to the Bavarian Beerhouse for Ms. Sara and Ms. Morgan's leaving party. We had a lovely private room where some serious drinking was going down. If my liver was a college freshman, I'd essentially thrown it into the group showers of the lacrosse team at Duke. Oh snap! And that's just my back...my neck... After closing down the joint, we attempted a few bars on Essex Road but due to full capacity and general English tomfoolery, we ended up at 2AM at a flat with 5 pizzas and watching The Sound of Music. At one point, the mo-ness level was so high that we all spontaneously had anal leakage and flooded the place. Fortify the dams and hide your children...there is a sea of anal leakage coming our way! And the hillllllz are aliiiive......

Sunday morning was a quick brunch at The Marquess Tavern and it was delicious. Highly recommended, especially if you're a roast lover. (http://www.marquesstavern.co.uk/). Who doesn't love some good lookin beef? Then I was off to the airport and made it back in time for tomorrow's St. Patrick's Day celebrations, where I am quite sure my liver will once again be violated, hard. No longer a girl, not yet a woman.

Fierce, Fabulous, and Flawless

The funniest thing on SNL.  Ever.

http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video#mea=227155

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Indeed, it was quite the evening last night.  My tardy weave zipped uptown to pick up Ms. Nicola to have a gorgeous dinner at Koi.  Nothing like some raw tuna in your mouth to start an evening.  Fish breath is so hot right now.  Our meal was lovely, until it was interrupted by two whorish sluts next to us who decided to start making out.  I suspect that these two dim lights were indeed not carpet munchers, but trying to bone up the limp lame investment banker douchebags surrounding us.  This isn't college, sluts.

Onto the main event, we jammed up to the Waldorf Astoria for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony.  What's the best way to describe the crowd?  Geriatric.  Droves of old money and shriveled penises filled the ballroom, accompanied by slutty "young" 55 year old companions in too tight dresses and the most insane face lifts ever seen.   

We meandered around during the inductions of The Ventures and Leonard Cohen.  I think I'd rather deepthroat a cactus than listen to those speeches again.  

Then all of a sudden, the big moment was upon us.  A montage of Ms. Madonna's career played to the screaming woops of random old mo's and their accompanying hags, followed by the arrival of Mr. Justin Timberlake.  He rambled on about who knows what for 10 minutes, making loads of dirty sexual puns such as how he was excited to "induct her" and how she was about to "enter the hall".  Even better were the digs at Britney including statements like, "There have been plenty of Madonna wannabes...I've dated some of them" and stories of how he felt at the VMA's when watching Madonna make out with Crazy.  Oh snap!  

And finally, the announcement and arrival of Madonna herself!  All I can say is Diva is back!  The fake British accent was gone, the pretentious Helen Mirren wannabe demeanor was out the window...Madonna circa 1990 was back!  She cursed up a storm, calling people in the audience "You mother fuckers".  At one point, she made an inadvertent sexual pun, which the audience took out their teeth to laugh at.  When she noticed it was because of Justin's previous innuendos, she turned around and called him "little fucker" under her breath.  Heaven!  She also talked about how she got her start in the business and one night in a night club, she passed along her demo to someone (who eventually would make a big impact in her career), then took some E and danced the night away.  Loves!

Anywho, it was amazing to hear her talk about her career so candidly and thank all the people who have helped her along the way.  The speech was followed by a frightening performance and tribute by Iggy Pop who sang "I'm Burning Up" and "Ray of Light".  What exactly is wrong with Miss. Iggy?  Perhaps one too many lines of coke has permanently damaged all of his brain cells.  It's unclear.

A big shout out goes to Miss. M for hooking my weave up and making this night possible.  100 bottles of Prosecco at Soho House are coming your way, my love.

It's the freakin weekend

Ahh finally my lovelies, the long awaited Friday has arrived. Hasn't this week felt like a menace to society? My weave is totally flustered.

Tuesday evening, I met Ms. Jackie, Ms. Rebecca, and Mr. Isaac at Lovely Day in Nolita for some tasty dinner. Although the majority of the waitstaff there resembles a giant bitchy cunt, the food was still tasty and we managed to toss back two bottles of Petit Chablis before moseying along to the Bowery Ballroom to see Mr. Gavin DeGraw. Don't call it a comeback! The new songs were fine...but the old songs were panty creaming. Chariot! There was definitely a strong Long Island / New Jersey contingency but nothing will come close to these two middle aged dames with the fiercest Jersey weaves you have EVER seen. Imagine some old bitches on QVC in the early 80's...mmhmm that's right. We nicknamed them "Tenafly...because girl, when you so fly, you tenafly! After the show, we lounged around and chatted with Mr. Landon Pigg. He was a nice chappy, if not a bit odd. Check him out: www.landonpigg.com .

Wednesday, a gaggle of us headed to the Gershwin Theatre to see Wicked. People raved and raved about the show, shoving dildos up their ass and screaming from rooftops of how marvelous a show this is..Well, it was mediocre at best. I saw a lot of potential in the story line and solid performances by the actors, but for some reason, it fell flat. There is a serious lesbian undertone which made things a bit more pleasant. No need to go to Oz...just pop down to Home Depot on 23rd Street and build me a house! Or unclog my pipes! Or unclog your own damn pipes!

The main event Wednesday evening was of course the finale of Project Runway. FIERCE! Did you all see it? My heart was filled with glitter and good weave glue when I saw that my little peanut Ms. Christian took home the top prize. His collection was innovative, dramatic, and beautifully crafted couture that would make any tranny happy.

I hate to admit this but I also admired Jillian's work, even though she is annoying and heinous. Her collection was simply well done ready-to-wear garments, however, I think she took her experience from Ralph Lauren and just gay jazzercised the shit up.

Rami's collection was disgusting. As disgusting as a ripe vajayjay in your face on a muggy summer night. Makes me want to cry! The color palette was atrocious, the design was amateur, and seriously girlfriend, enough draping already! His clothes look like such petty knockoff you'd find in a cardboard being sold in downtown LA. Unoriginal and not cute!

Another week in review

Well, the weekend is almost over and tomorrow, our weaves go back to getting strangled and manipulated. But what a week it's been!

I had a tasty dinner at Jane with Ms. Rebecca and Ms. Ethrina on Thursday. It was a veritable pu pu platter of mo-ness yet the ladies spotted one Mr. Greg L. for their enjoyment. Sexuality - questionable. Smoke show - most definitely. Poof!

Friday, I met the peeps at Chez Mr. Jeremiah for a quick gulp of all things alcoholic before zipping my weave up to Roseland to see One Republic. Why? Because it's too late to apoloGIZE... Big ups to Ms. Becky for hooking us up with some fantastic mezz seats. After the show, we popped down to Happy Ending for the appearance of Ms. Sara F. from London then called it a night.

Saturday, a gaggle of us had a tasty dinner at Giorgione where we stuffed our faces with deliciousness and Sauvignon Blanc. Um, seriously...holler. Then we rolled over to Tailor for Ms. Sara's soiree. I would like to also take this opportunity to give Ms. Sara T. a big ol shout out, because she thinks my weave is negligent and doesn't give her enough props in my blogging. Hey Ms. Sara T...Holler!

And now it's Sunday and I think I may nap the rest of the day.