Living the drag queen dream

I am living the dream. Lucy Ricardo’s dream, that is.

Portia Potty, one of my fellow Demented Divas, and I were backstage at Lannie’s Clocktower Cabaret about to perform to another sold out audience.

I was telling Portia how crazy it was that here I was, a grown man dressed in a beaded sequin gown and green wig, about to prance around on stage in front of a live audience. If someone told me when I was much younger that I would be famous for donning three tits and a wig, I would have said he or she was smoking crack, even though crack wasn’t invented yet.

And Portia agreed. But, she informed me, we are living the dream – Lucy Ricardo’s dream.

In the old black and white television show, Lucy was always trying to find a way to get into one of Ricky’s shows down at his Tropicana nightclub. And Ricky would have none of it. There was no way a wife of his would be performing on his stage. Lucy kept scheming with the help of sidekick Ethel, and hilarity ensued.

Lucy never realized her dream. But we have. Lannie’s Clocktower Cabaret is our Tropicana. I guess that makes me Lucy, and Portia is Ethel. I am the pretty one.

And that begs another question. Just how long can this last? Makeup and wigs can only cover up the crow’s feet and wrinkles for so long. At some point every drag queen has to ask herself, “When am I too old to be doing drag?”

I’ve seen some tired old queens who should have retired long ago. Nasty disheveled wigs, eyebrows drawn all crooked, outdated fashions. Everyone knows she should have retired long ago – except for her. I suppose her failing eyesight does not allow ther to see how scary poorly drawn lipstick looks in the mirror. If you see a tired old drag queen that resembles this and it’s me, just shoot me dead. I never want to be like that.

Some drag queens do make it beyond middle age and look fabulous right into their years of Social Security and nursing home talent nights. Good skin and genetics may play a role in that. Fake tits will always remain perky. But the real secret is to have some damn good makeup.

So I guess I will milk my three tits as long as it lasts. So far they don’t seem to be running dry. There’s no magic number when a drag queen should retire. I’ll keep on living Lucy Ricardo’s dream until Ricky kicks me out of his club. Or someone shoots me.

I am no longer a stay at home mom for Puppy Waste One and Two. One of my freelance clients yanked me back into the world of marketing and a full-time job. I have a commute again and now Puppy Waste One and Two must keep themselves entertained all day while Mr. Waste and I work to bring home the bacon-flavored dog biscuits.

I broke out my butch tool belt and took a rip saw to our back door, installing a doggie door for the pups. I may prance around by night in some killer platform pumps, but by day I’m a regular Janet, er, Joe Mechanic.

Now our furry kids can come and go freely, go being the operative word. They drag their toys out into the backyard, while all manner of sticks, stones and unidentifiable mummified body parts are carried back in. Our house has become Pandora’s box. Every time you open the front door you’re guaranteed some kind of surprise. One time it was 300 white plastic cups, shredded. At first glance I thought it had snowed inside the house. Another time it was green stuffing from a ripped up doggie bed.

The doggie door has made Puppy Waste One and Two free-range dogs. If only I could train them to lay eggs.

Nuclia Waste can be reached at http://NucliaWaste.com.