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From Mono to MRSA
I hate to break it to you reader(s), but I am afraid that the rain has officially pounded shut my blossoming spring confidence. I opted last week to leave out my solicitous squandering and celebrate the newborn season instead, waxing and waning about the return of the home I so adore. Well, the bubble was shattered by gale force thrusts of frigid air keeping me from any sort of happiness. My eyes have been squinting so long in the rain that my stare is more shrew than ever. I have been around and I have been bitchy, and I have seen some shit you won’t believe.
At week’s break I was feeling especially seasonal…seasonal allergy, that is. That shit was “pumpin’ and blowin’” more than Kristy Mcnichol, and I was in need of more than a Zyrtec. Had I known the events that were about to transpire, I may have thought twice before leaving the house for the House of Herrera Burning Man benefit. Once there, however, I was awash in burners, hipsters, art fags, and dykes, all cavorting.
I was bemused, and made my befuddled rounds in a sinus-induced haze. Before I knew it my drag mother had talked me into playing a role in her number, and I found myself running about the bar in a frenzy perfecting the lighting and helping set up the kissing booth. I was so preoccupied by the tasks delegated that I felt remiss in being kissed by the booth attendants. However, it was not without good cause, as the rumor mill churned stories of mono that circulated throughout the partygoers, and left everyone craving rest.
When rest is craved, it never fails to be in short spare. There was no rest for the weary the following day, when DJ Bus Station John celebrated the 4-year anniversary of his landmark club The Tubesteak Connection. Hundreds of fags showed up, packing Aunt Charlie’s Lounge to capacity and leaving barely a speck of room for command performances by Gina LaDivina and Vicki Marlene. It was a night of disco good-times with some dames who truly remember those days. After all, Vicki was 50 in the disco era, and she is still going strong.
Friday night, the inner middle-schoolers came out in droves to The Transfer, where Bongo! was the brand of choice, and everyone seemed just a little bit awkward. DJ Bearded Lady played up the choicest tracks from our bygone era, leaving the crowd wondering, "how do you talk to an angel?" It was a High School high that left the crowd beggin' for more.
I, sadly, was still feeling a little under the weather over the weekend, and opted for ice cream and movies. While at home, attempting to arm-wrestle my allergies to no avail, I noticed that a little swelling in my nose was rapidly growing. I thought I had perhaps just been blown dry, but my senses were set on high alert as the bump in my nose grew larger and larger. What was happening? I wondered. Why ME!? "Oh my god", I declared! I MUST have a MRSA.
Thankfully, Sunday's 420 celebrations did a bit to ease and appease my anxiety. It may have been the joints and brownies that were causing a collective calm, but I felt at ease in a way that I hadn’t for, say, exactly one year. I fielded the calls for the array of celebrations and parties with a simple response, “Sorry, I have MRSA.” The next day, thank goodness, the emergency room doctor who was checking me out told me that not only was the irritation minor, but also that it was in the “Triangle of Death". He treated me for the plaguing staff infection, though he assured me it was not what ailed me, and I am happy to report that I am completely healthy!
So while my MRSA scare mounted, who was out tabulating the tits and tats of the mo’s? And what performer suffered a “nutty allergy” attack at a local automobile-themed bar? Looks like someone should read the menu before ordering a burger that turned into a hospital visit! And finally, what House of Salad founder succumbed to her outrageous Kate Bush addiction once again in the public eye? Will she ever learn how tiring that hill is to climb, especially at a jogger’s pace? Well, I know all the answers and the fags who saw, but I have been tight-lipped for days and I don’t think this little foray will stop me. I never break a pinkyswear!