Jumping stilts a little too jumpy

I’ve never typed my column one-handed before. This hot pink cast has forced my hand, figuratively and literally. My left hand to be exact.

My jumping stilts got a little too jumpy this year at Apogaea, Colorado’s version of Burning Man, in the mountains east of Bailey. It was a typical Friday night. There I was dressed in a leather harness, black leather kilt, giant white fuzzy bunny ears and my spring-loaded stilts. If you are going to hop around on jumping stilts, bunny ears are a must.

After dancing at Expat Alien Camp, I headed down the gravel and dirt road to explore what other fun parties the other 1,300 attendees were hosting. Down was the key word. The road went down, I picked up speed, and down I went like a hot lizard at a BP America truck stop. Luckily I happened to crash directly in front of the EMT tent. When my hand swelled up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon, they suggested I might want to get some x-rays. I did that, two days later. I was not about to cash in my fun ticket on my first day. I had more creative costumes to show off. My hand could wait. A pan of medicinal brownies also kept me distracted from the fractured bone pulsating in my hand.

On our way out of the mountains on Sunday morning, Mr. Waste dropped me off at the St. Joseph emergency room for my much needed x-rays. St. Joe’s is filled with hunky orderlies, nurses and doctors. All that eye candy was a total distraction from my throbbing appendage. Or rather, it caused other appendages to start throbbing. Either way, when they checked my blood pressure, it was elevated.

As the hottie male nurse was wrapping my hand in a splint, he asked if I would be getting rid of my stilts. Bless his heart. He clearly did not know PrideFest was the following weekend. After 15 years of stilt walking in the parade, I was not about to miss this one. Two days later, I found myself at Kaiser deliberating the color of my new cast. I settled on hot pink since it would accessorize best with my parade outfit. When it comes to casts, pink is the new white and a cast is the new accessory.

As my doctor was wrapping my hand, he inquired if I was OK.

“It’s not bad at all. It doesn’t hurt one bit,” I replied.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable. I’m about to cause you a great deal of pain,” he warned.

“Do I need a safe word?” I asked. He laughed and our conversation took an unexpected turn filled with terms like ball gags, asphyxiation sex and leather whips. I should have known a doctor who spends his life wrapping people’s body parts in bandages probably knows his way around a dungeon or two. I just love my Kaiser.

I think I am going to start a new fashion trend – casting. It will be a type of haute couture bondage. Various parts of your body will be immobilized in the latest colors and trends from  Paris and New York. Colorado House Speaker McNulty will be my first customer. I plan to put a cast around his entire head.

I spent Friday night of PrideFest weekend at Nina Flower’s Drag Nation at Tracks. Her invited guests included the top three contestants from this season’s RuPaul’s Drag Race, Sharon Needles, Chad Michaels and Phi Phi O’Hara. Sharon brought the house down singing a live Rocky Horror parody. Phi Phi spent her time whining about how hot the stage lights were. (Honey, get over it. You are a performer wearing a wig. This is not your first rodeo). Chad Michaels resurrected Cher (she’s dead, right?) and was the epitome of grace and style. I learned that suspended spinning drag queens carousels and candy corn bras are awesome.

They meet for a weekly luncheon at noon every Wednesday at Charlie’s – their most popular recurring event called “Nooners” – but every week holds a number of cocktail hours, coffee dates and breakfasts as chances to connect.

As for the rest of the regular cast, I have some tips for performing in front of hundreds during pride weekend:

Know your words. You only have to memorize ONE song. Know the words. Learn to tuck. Camel toes barely look good on camels. Even less so on drag queens. Wear hose. I don’t care how close you shave. No one wants to see your pasty bare knobby legs.
Back up dancers should know how. This is self explanatory.

Eat a cheeseburger, you skinny bitches.