Thanks Stacy!

I got my first hate comment on the blog!
If ever there were a sure sign I am on my way, it's this.Oprah, here I come!

I just hope I make it there before she looses her mojo.


Posted by Stacy Beasley on my post entitled, "Priorities" from last October.

it is people like you that have given psoriasis its bad reputation......by your comments i see that you are the most shallow pile of compost i have ever seen.....you are rude and obviously believe that you are above people with a disability.....over 75% of the suffering that people endure is not the itching and flaking, but the idiots like you who make us feel like we are not fit to walk the streets.....and who makes you better than anyone else? well no matter what you think or have been raised to think in your spoiled rich bitch atmosphere, people with psoriasis are human and yes, it hurts when people like you talk such hatred over a condition we have no control.....maybe instead of snapping pics of this poor guy and posting them all over the internet, you could feel some compassion for another human being.....trust me, a piece of skin from a person with psoriasis is the least of your worries riding a public train......your kind makes me sick.....i would rather sit next to a person with psoriasis than your hateful snobby ass that thinks you are better than anyone else......beware honey, Karma is a BITCH! and so are you it seems!

Pills & Prom Dresses

In a lot of ways I think I've been waiting for my mom's breakdown for years. The more we learn about her illness with addiction, the more I realize that she's had a problem for much longer than any of us realized. It's just that now, we've come to a crisis point. And I have to admit, there is a part of me that is relieved.

Fucked up, I know, but it's just the truth of how I feel right now. I've spent so much of my life (pretty much all of it up until this past February) scared of Mom and realizing she has a problem with pills makes me feel like I'm finally on equal footing with her. Maybe even gained some control of my life in relation to her. When she's on the pills, I feel like I have a sense of who I'm dealing with. A pill addict I can understand, I know addicts, I love addicts, I have my own addictions. Addiction is right up my alley.

Before last February, I just had an unpredictable, inconsistent, erratic, moody mother whose heart I was constantly breaking in one way or another.

Are those tattoos?
Yes.

How many do you have?

Twenty-three.

Well! You have broken my heart. [Dramatic exit from room containing the majority of my family because we had all gathered for my grandmother's funeral.]

This story actually began with my cousin/arch-nemesis and I washing dishes together and her announcing loudly that she had just spotted the star behind my left ear. I believe this was a malicious outing of my decision to have 23 miniscule stars permanently applied to my body. It resulted in my mother's heart being broken. I hope she is happy.

See it? There on my left shoulder. That spot? That's one of the 23 tattoos that broke my mother's heart.

Another time my Mom's heart was broken happened on my sixteenth birthday when she bought me the prom dress I was dying for as a gift and told my, also 16 year old, best friend and was absolutely livid when she found out my friend told me about it.

I was so excited to give this to you as a surprise and Cindy had to come along and ruin it! I don't even want to give it to you now! The whole surprise is shot and it just breaks my heart. [Dramatic exit from room, as per usual.]

For months I had clipped pictures of this dress out of magazines and hung them on my wall. It was a beautiful, lacy off the shoulder number with a hoop skirt with a white lace pinafore and a scalloped overlay of satin with three-inch vertical pink and white stripes. I thought it was the most stunning thing I had ever seen. As I look back, I realize it only served to make me look like a pastel circus tent and if 16 little people in clown makeup had emerged from underneath it, I am sure no one would have been surprised. But my 15 year old self adored it. I tried it on over and over, I fantasized about how beautiful it would be next to my date's white tux and pink cumberbund. And in the span of less than two minutes, I learned to despise it because it had broken my mother's heart. Imagine this dress but with stripes. That's my dress. (I have to get a scanner. I'll show you the real deal. It's a good time.)

So, last week when I confronted Mom, about her pill addiction and told her that I could no longer participate in her killing herself, she replied, "Susan. You have broken my heart," and I gotta tell you, it just didn't pack the punch it used to.

Homo-wner.

Do you know why one would spend an exorbitant amount of money on buying an apartment in Brooklyn? I mean, sacrifice all clothing and accessory purchases, give up on your obsession with eating out, start buying the sub-$10 wine?Trader Joe's "Three Buck Chuck"


For those non-New Yorkers (or non-Sex and the City addicts) living across any bridge from Manhattan basically means that you have voluntarily joined a leper colony. And, if your leper colony happens to be Brooklyn, your leper colony has as many cool, trendy clothing stores, and even cooler, trendier restaurants as Manhattan does. The rents are cheaper, the apartments are larger, and yes, the commutes are longer.

So, what's a lesbian couple who wants to own property, but doesn't want to give up their social life (as it is), to do?

Buy well.

Before you think I'm being conceited or elitist, hold your rent-paying horses. Our apartment is less than 600 square feet. We live above a tattoo parlor, a bar and a dry cleaner who may or may not be sending toxic fumes through our air ducts. But!

We have a yard! Know what will get Manhattanites -- even Manhattanites who live, not downtown or on a convenient train line, but who live where they either pay $30 for a cab or have to make a transfer on the subway --to cross a bridge? A back yard.This past weekend we re-named Chateau St. Chulo to The Hamptons - Park Slope. You know. Like, University of Madison - Wisconsin. But it's our own time share, minus the share and the cost, and the gays love it. Especially my Patsy and Danny. They love it so much, not only did they spend all of Sunday afternoon with us, they are coming back next weekend!

This past Sunday culminated in a Stomp-Off a la Tyra Banks between myself and Patsy Key. (Both of us were wearing my platforms, so I did have a slight advantage.) It was gorgeous. I haven't had a better time since I wore the $400 bridesmaid dress I bought for L&A's wedding to the Miss America Pageant Party in Dan & Patrick's Williamsburgh abode. Best part?They're coming back this Sunday! However, I do have some reservations. Erica and I are making the scary move of conjoining two groups of friends. You never know how these things are going to fly. E & I absolutely adore Danny & PatsyKey. We also love, love, love Christophe and Jayme. They all think Erica and I rock. So, one would think things would go well, considering all six of us are in love with me & Erica.If we run out of current events to talk about, we can all just compliment each other. (One thing all our friends have in common, high self-admiration.)

Plus, the ultimate clincher is, the aforementioned backyard. As much as a New York party crowd may hate each other (as if), they'll suffer through anything to hang in a backyard on a spring day.

Prego!

I was cooking dinner last night -- Pasta sauce, as always. It's my specialty. -- and I was being filmed for my cooking show. You know how you always feel like you're on camera? I know it's not just me.

Well, if you claim not to do this (liar), most people have a fantasy camera crew following them around with a team of interviewers ready with questions on any topic in the world.

So, last night as I'm going through the steps to make the world's best pasta sauce, I get to the part where I'm crushing red peppers by hand. I tell my audience that they have to be sure to wash their hands after this step because they might rub their eyes and that would suck.

(I promise that these conversations only take place in my head. I don't speak the fantasy out loud. That would be insane.)

Then, because I had the worst sinus reaction ever yesterday, I eventually rubbed my nose. I, of course, had not washed my hands. Ny nose burned so much I thought it was going to burst into flames. I considered ripping it off my face, because I thought that would be less painful.

I got online -- as everyone does in an emergency -- and tried to find a cure for the red pepper that was melting my nose off of my head. Nothing. Everything I found was giving red pepper as the antidote, not classifying it as the cause of the condition. So I decided to suffer. I didn't really have a choice.

I continued cooking and I could never get the sauce quite right, but I was starving so I ate it anyway. Erica came home late and was cranky -- as she tends to be when hungry. And do you know what she said to me after she ate the first bite?

What is this Prego shit you're serving me?

I wanted to kill her. I was also quite shamed. She followed it up with this someecard this morning.

So, to make it up, I told her I'd use the sauce to make lasagna tonight and that I promised it would be better. After work today I stopped by Russo's -- the best little Italian market ever -- and got more sausage and onions and the cheeses for the lasagna and I came home to cook.

I was doctoring up the sauce and decided to add a little more red pepper.
As I type this, I am again weighing the options of suffering, or just ripping my nose off my face.

Los Angeles - 1, Jason Castro - 0

He is SO high.

I have basically boycotted Idol this season, but for some reason, Erica and I ended up watching it tonight.

Jason Castro, lover of reggae, has just discovered pot.

Or something.

I have never seen a more virginal, completely fucked-up high person in my life. And, I worked in a gay bar in New York's East Village. Hell. I was the virginal, completely fucked-up high person when I worked there. Jason Castro was so fucking high.

Maybe it was ecstasy.