The Gender-Bender, the Soup, and the Blur of a Weekend

As if my life weren’t crazy enough, this story has been unfolding since Wednesday.

I was at work when my phone rang. Since the area code was local, I answered. (when you have a business that’s listed on the internet, telemarketers have a tendency to swarm like vultures, so I just let most calls from out-of-state area codes go to voice mail.) I’m currently running a prom special, so I answered. It was a guy.

The conversation started out a little slow. He asked if I did makeup in a salon. I told him I was a freelancer and did mostly television makeup. He asked if I did anything more glamorous. I told him about the prom special and asked if it was for his wife or daughter. He told me he would be the client. *awkward pause* “Is it Pride already?” *nervous laughter* I haven’t done drag makeup in a long time.

“I’m not gay. It’s for a party,” he said. We talked a little while longer, agreed on a time and he texted me his address. I still had no idea what this was for. I just hoped this wasn’t his brand of kink that he was looking to indulge. (The job was on a Friday. I’m usually exhausted by the end of the week and have little patience for weirdness, perverts, or anything more than the job I’m hired to do.)

Because I’m female and always take the requisite safety precautions, I looked up the address, found his last name and within seconds had gone through his Facebook profile. He was attractive, a programmer AND a musician… SERIOUSLY? Regardless, I texted the address to 2 of my close girlfriends and the guy I would be working with on a shot for MSNBC first thing in the morning. People knew exactly where I was and what I’d be doing. I felt safe.

When I arrived, I was greeted by 2 of the tiniest chihuahuas I’ve ever seen. He was running around nervously, brushing his teeth, going from room to room. I think he’d started rethinking the whole gender transformation thing, but it was too late. I was there unpacking my large, unwieldy girl makeup kit. He was committed.

I got to work at his kitchen table in the worst light imaginable. I knew he was straight because he still had Christmas cocktail napkins out. A gay man would have tossed those in January. And there was also no better lighting in his house. The lighting in the guest bathroom was even worse. But still, we persisted. I made him into his twin sister Julie. His friends got a kick out of that. He said they called him Julie all night. (I’m not sure if I’m charmed or freaked out a little by this, but I’ll continue my story.)

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His outfit was all the sequins, leopard print and gold lamé I could handle… and in heels he looked 7 feet tall. I really should have gotten a full-length photo, but hindsight is 20/20. He was the straightest, manliest drag queen I’d ever seen. I was thinking at this point that he’d lost a bet.

As it turned out, he had 2 close girlfriends who watched RuPaul’s drag race and they’d dared him to do it. Being someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge, he embraced it head on… and hired me. Strange how these things work out.

We had a drink together, talked a while, then he asked what I was doing the next night. I paused for a second, thought about how much fun I was having talking to him and how effortless the conversation was… then accepted.

So basically, this was my weekend.
(He knows more about writing code and music theory than I do which makes me want to both punch him in the face and hang on to him at the same time. I think I’ll live.)

this weekend

And Sunday I went with my friend Erin to see Bowling for Soup. I’ve always loved them because as you know… I’m a sucker for a clever lyric and a band who has a sense of humor about themselves.

The opening bands were like sandpaper on my eardrums, but BFS made my evening. Erin and I were (of course) right up front and I took a ridiculous amount of Facebook live footage. (to that point, I realized hardly anyone is up that late on a Sunday and I probably shouldn’t be either.)

There was a child on his Dad’s shoulders the entire concert 3rd row center. They endured both opening bands to hold that spot and had earphones to protect his ears. It was DARLING! And Jaret took notice. Here are a few photos of the child and Jaret giving him picks from all guitarists, a drum stick and a set list autographed by all members.

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Another Epic weekend…. Check!

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Officer Squirrel-Killer

Who’s ready for a good laugh?

I’m the newest member of the Citizen’s Police Academy!

Yes, I realize I’m not what you’d typically imagine when you picture a class of students in a “police academy” setting, but when I saw the write-up, something told me I needed to go ahead and do it. WHY NOT?

I’ve spent so many years letting the squirrels win.
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I made myself so unnecessarily busy doing all the wrong things for so long that I had almost forgotten what the right things were. This made me say NO a lot. Now, I’m saying a lot more YES, but my NOs have much more power and meaning.

I remember a time not so long ago when I worked for a modeling school. I’d been laid off from WorldCom (now Verizon Business) and it was the first viable job option that opened up for me. My parents wanted me to “hold out” for another job in the tech industry, but I knew my severance package wouldn’t last forever and felt guilty collecting unemployment. Even though I enjoyed the work, the environment was stressful. The owners knew all about business, but little about the industry. As soon as the “stage parents” learned I was there, I’d spend entire Saturdays sequestered in my office with a line of parents out the door.

When I started the position, I was engaged. Both my fiance and my parents encouraged me to quit straightaway and look for something else. They thought the job was beneath me. Even with the constant backlash, I stayed my course and threw myself into my work. My relationship dissolved. It became too difficult to come home every night to someone who didn’t believe in you.

One of the last events I attended for the modeling school was the Southern Women’s Show. This event happens every year and fills the convention center with women of all ages. It was my job (along with the new receptionist Joey) to gather leads for new students. Joey was flamboyantly gay and a LOT of fun, so between times of “doing our job” we would sample the food, participate in every demo that seemed fun (or ridiculous), and just walk around everywhere being silly and looking fabulous.

That particular year there was a hypnotist on the main stage giving a demonstration. Since Joey and I stuck out like two of the sorest thumbs ever, the hypnotist selected us to come onstage (along with 20 others). I listened to every word… or at least I thought I was listening. But the squirrels were way too strong to silence. I just couldn’t relax, not even for 10 minutes. I remember being so disappointed in myself as I left the stage.

The hypnotist said, “It’s okay. Some people just can’t be hypnotized.” I would have liked to believe that was true, but I knew deep down it probably wasn’t. It took that defining moment to make me take a step back and see exactly how bad it had gotten. The squirrels had taken over. I was panicked and nervous. I felt at times like the walls were closing in. It was hard to breathe. I couldn’t relax.

That Monday when I returned to the office, I did something I never thought I’d do. I quit my job without a backup plan, giving 2 weeks notice.

Later that same day, my friend Renee called and offered me a position managing the Smirnoff promotion at the amphitheater. She told me I’d need to hire on a few more girls for the Summer concerts, but if I wanted it, the job was mine.

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So I did.