Sunday, January 16, 2005
The ball
Think Peggy Bundy meets Barney Rubble. Last night was the Spanish Town Mardi Gras Ball, the official kick-off to the Mardi Gras season in my neighborhood and the prelude to the annual Spanish Town Mardi Gras parade and all of it's tacky pink glory.
The group I went with came as "The Spanish Town Beauty Pageant," everyone sporting pink dresses and sashes and I went all out. Anyone who has seen me in drag knows the horror and lasting mental trauma it can cause by I think this get up may be my most terrifying gender-bending venture yet. I wore an open pink shawl thing over a much too sheer pink piece of lingerie (with a pink bra, of course) with a blonde wig, full, trashy make-up complete with a beauty mark, a tiara with fuzzy pink lining, pink fish-net stockings and three-inch black heels.
After wearing big, uncomfortable heels for a night I think I know what it feels like to have bound feet (I'm probably going to hell for that comment). It felt like my feet were being repeatedly steamrolled (my hat's off to all of you ladies who deal with that on a regular basis). Fortunately, the pain was assuaged by the bottle of Gentleman Jack I drank mostly on my own.
I have yet to piece together much of the night in the mushy, useless lump that passes for my brain after such an evening, but I do remember having Jim Beam sprayed into my mouth by my blue-wigged neighbor and getting an unwanted kiss from my friend who, wearing a wife beater and a tutu, drove home that point that no man should ever wear a tutu.
My two favorite non-Druz costumes of the night: my friend from Jackson, Miss., came as Miss Issippi and came with curlers in her hair, a frumpy just-got-out-of-the-bath-need-to-step-outside-the-trailer-for-a-minute pink gown and slippers that say "I Love Jesus" with a rhinestone heart on the front and have the Jesus fish on the soles; another buddy came as "Miss Ed My Period," and came pregnant with pink flowery slippers constantly saying she was drinking/smoking for two.
Against my better judgement, photos to come.
The group I went with came as "The Spanish Town Beauty Pageant," everyone sporting pink dresses and sashes and I went all out. Anyone who has seen me in drag knows the horror and lasting mental trauma it can cause by I think this get up may be my most terrifying gender-bending venture yet. I wore an open pink shawl thing over a much too sheer pink piece of lingerie (with a pink bra, of course) with a blonde wig, full, trashy make-up complete with a beauty mark, a tiara with fuzzy pink lining, pink fish-net stockings and three-inch black heels.
After wearing big, uncomfortable heels for a night I think I know what it feels like to have bound feet (I'm probably going to hell for that comment). It felt like my feet were being repeatedly steamrolled (my hat's off to all of you ladies who deal with that on a regular basis). Fortunately, the pain was assuaged by the bottle of Gentleman Jack I drank mostly on my own.
I have yet to piece together much of the night in the mushy, useless lump that passes for my brain after such an evening, but I do remember having Jim Beam sprayed into my mouth by my blue-wigged neighbor and getting an unwanted kiss from my friend who, wearing a wife beater and a tutu, drove home that point that no man should ever wear a tutu.
My two favorite non-Druz costumes of the night: my friend from Jackson, Miss., came as Miss Issippi and came with curlers in her hair, a frumpy just-got-out-of-the-bath-need-to-step-outside-the-trailer-for-a-minute pink gown and slippers that say "I Love Jesus" with a rhinestone heart on the front and have the Jesus fish on the soles; another buddy came as "Miss Ed My Period," and came pregnant with pink flowery slippers constantly saying she was drinking/smoking for two.
Against my better judgement, photos to come.
