The Trouble with Hairpieces

Last night I was putting away things from last weekend’s drag party, and I realized that I had walked off with three of my friend’s wigs. I found them as I was unpacking a bin of what we had dubbed “emergency drag”, and for a split second I thought I had tribbles.

Old-school Star Trek jokes FTW!

I'm a dork.

Oh, 69!

I hit up MadDonna's in East Nashville for Drag Queen Bingo with the bestie last night. Adam said it started at 8ish, so we planned to get there at 7:30 so that I could grab some dinner beforehand. I ended up running behind, so we didn't get there until about 10 to 8, making me nervous that I wouldn't have time to eat before the festivities began. Such an assumption was terribly silly of me, of course, since as we all know, "drag time" is not real time. I don't think things actually got rolling until 9:15 or so.

It was a damn good thing, too, because the task of ordering food proved be a true test of patience, since the poor bartender had to take care of every single person in the upstairs area. She was serving around 35+ people, and she wasn't writing anything down! This led directly to her not putting in my new friend Monique's full order; the poor dear had to make due with hummus until her entree arrived.

After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, the inimitable Bianca Page arrived wearing a white, green, and black catsuit that would make Pollock puke. She lip-synced to a country version of "Irreplaceable", and then proceeded to make enough blue references and off-color comments to peel the paint of any church within twenty miles. There were a couple of teenagers in the audience, but Bianca didn't tone down her shtick one bit. I'm kind of glad she didn't, since those kids shouldn't have been there anyway.

Finally, the bingo-ing began. Bianca called out letter/number combos, and different parts of the room reacted according to their good or bad fortune. I didn't have much luck; whenever I got within one square of winning, someone invariably hit the one they needed first. Ironically, "B5" came up several times ... and not once did it help me. Poor Adam had one round where he was one away in three different directions, and he still got beat out. That's just fine by us, though. We didn't want any stinkin' prizes anyway.

I hope that guy who won the penis-shaped lollipop chokes on it.