Weeding Tips

There are three things I did not expect when I first started doing drag.

1.     People would hit on me.

2.     People would buy me drinks.

3.     People would ask me for drugs.

When I am in drag, I feel as sexual as my grandmother’s burlap panties. The last thing I want to do is leave lipstick stains and glitter in the crotch of some half-drunk and horny guy in the bathroom of Broadways, not matter how hot he is. (If that was you, that was NOT me. But I do know who the drag queen was.) If you are turned on because I am dressed up all freaky, tis you, not me, that is the freak.

As for the drinks, keep them coming. You might think that the intent of number two would be to get to number one, but that is not the case. People genuinely just want to buy me a drink because I am a drag queen. Sometimes it’s to thank me for all my charitable work. Other times it’s because I made them laugh or smile. Other times, it’s because chivalry is not dead and men, gay or straight, just feel the need to buy a lady a drink. Well, lady or not, I am happy to toss them down.

It was number three that really caught me off guard. One of my first times in drag at a dance club and all kinds of twinks and ravers were asking me where they could score some love drug, toot vitamin K, or Kibbles and bits. I had no idea what they were talking about. I don’t know who the big drag queen drug dealers in town are, but just because you are seeing my three boobs does not mean you can score a trip. It probably did not help that I was also wearing flashing red lights on the ends of my triple nipples. I was a human light show for anyone rolling on X.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m no goodie platform-two-shoes. I love my edibles and love to get high. And now that pot is legal in our state, I can finally confess my drug of choice. Mary Janes are not just shoes for tap dancing. Give me a THC-infused brownie or hunk of chocolate, and I’m more stoned than the top of Mt. Evans.

I must confess. I am a lightweight. One hit off a joint is all I need, or a little brownie crumb. I’ll be flying all night and sometimes it lasts until next day for breakfast. (This is the BEST omelet EVER!)

I don’t get high before performing. What you see on stage is my natural, unaltered crazy state of mind. But take me mountain camping and we’ll soon be playing croquet in the woods. True story. And, as if it’s not trippy enough playing stoned croquet in BLM forest with logs and rocks obstructing your way, along comes a herd of cows grazing across our playing field. John Denver never wrote a song about that, I can tell you. Rocky Mountain High, indeed.

So now our state has done two amazing things in less than a year, legalized weed and legalized civil unions. I am sure there is some uptight preacher in Oklahoma wondered what the hell we were smoking when we passed civil unions. Well the former answers the question to the latter.

So the next time you see me, follow my new rules.

1.     Keep hitting on me. (You won’t get lucky, but I will be flattered.)

2.     Keep buying me drinks. (The more I drink, the prettier you get.)

3.     Don’t ask me for drugs. Give me some. (Preferably something chewy and chocolate.)