A socialite swirl

Last night my troublesome friend Justin Giunta invited me to a gala at the Museum of the City of New York.
Hosted by Nina Ricci and about 4000 socialites we knew we would be the odd balls out.
Sure enough we arrive at the shin dig and there are the painted ladies swooping out of their black cars in floor length chiffon gowns bedazzled in Maharani worthy baubles.
Sure are glad we got dropped off in our yelow cab around the corner.

We may not be Park Avenue prisses but we know how to dress for such functions.
I wore a camel Westwood suit and a spring straw hat I have 'borrowed' from Rod's collection.
Justin was decked out in dark trousers and jacket with a lariat type necklace of bronze olive branches and massive green chandelier crystals. Very Rome meets Venice.

Since we were some of the youngest boys there and we were both wearing hats (note to reader: if you want press always wear a hat. If there is more than one person in your group wearing a hat it's a press blitz!) the press went wild. Patrick McMullen, Wire Image, Bill Cunningham all snapped away.

We had gorged on Pop champagne in the cab up from Mary's book signing so we were eager to continue with libations. One of the yummy staff approached us with 'Mintini's' a mint julep type drink but not nearly as sweet. It was heaven. Then another hot staffer swooped down on us (another note to reader: when you go to such high glam parties, and you are under 30, the staff totally relates to you since you are in the same age bracket, therefore you get the first round of drinks and nibbles always, but dont talk to much with them, you may be thought of as a friend of the help and that can cause trouble) with caviar on EDIBLE spoons and vodka shots. We were in heaven.

Oh hey, I havent to ld you why we are here. Oh wait, I have no idea. I assume it was a benefit for the Museum. The theme was three graces, whatever that means and the attire was: Pure beauty, no ties. What?

We take a quick tour of the muesum and see some great galleries of images of New York then and now. We also tour the reconstructed rooms from the guilded age which are quite a treat.

Now it is time to socialize. Ivanka Trump keeps peeping over at us but doesnt say much. We got a smirk later in the evening.
Amy Fine Collins was looking like a rare bird as usual. Then on the dancing terrace we see three amazingly beautiful girls in pastels gowns all holding some serious court. Justin bursts out, "Oh my God its Lauren Davis! My favorite client!"
We stroll through and say hello and she introduces us to her two friends, Tinsley Mortimer and Fanjul (?). The party had started. Tinsley had just walked in Heatherettes runway show last Friday and carried it off like the lady she is. Lauren was muse at J Mendel and has now decamped to Carolina Herrera. I never found out what Fanjul did but she could cut a mean rug.

We were having so much fun Lauren said, "Can I borrow your phone? I promised my husband I would be home by 9:30 but I am having just too good of a time." So she borrowed, called, clicked END and said, "Ok kids, lets dance!"
All at once the three girls jumped to their feet and we lead them to the dance floor for PYT. I dont think these girls knew what they were getting into with Justin and Cator.
We swung, dipped, twirled and clapped until every photogrpaher at the event was around us snapping to their hearts content.
At one point one of the photographers (who was super cute, and yes talk to them all you want because once they remember you they always snap away) was so excited about the moment that I took his camera away from him so I could get a group shot of all the girls canoodlign with him. After what seemed like an eternity on the dance floor the girls stopped and said, "Oh my God! You two are the best walkers in town! We are inviting you to everything!" Justin and I couldnt hand our cards out fast enough.

Afterwards we chilled on our evenings ottoman and a cute blond approached me in a Pucci dress. "Were you just on a cruise in the Baltics?"
"Yes!" I cry, "Why didn't we hang out?"
"I dont know but I loved your hats everyday. What do you do in NYC?"
"I am a writer, and you?"
"Oh I dont do anything! ha ha ha!"
At this point I about have champgane exiting my nose. I love Socialite candor.
I give her my card and she promises to call since she doesnt have a card because she doesnt do anything.
We dance with her friend from Kate Spade until the DJ leaves us hanging at 10:15.
We protest but he is nowhere to be found.

So Justin and I call it quits. We give kisses to our swans and Lauren decides she must have Justins necklace. He takes it off and drapes it around her delicate neck. She winks and whispers, "Checks in the mail." Then we leave, just a little lighter in our loafers.

This morning in my inbox was an email from Tinsley with an invitation to an event downtown with a 'Hope you can make it! xoxox Tinsley" attached.
Lets the games begin!

Daddy's money

Last week I left my teeny tiny phone at my friend Soraya's jewelry studio in Soho.
By the time I realized it was gone I was cackling to myself when I saw some poor girl drop her phone in front of Bloomingdales and watch it explode.

As I reach in my bag to hold my security blanket I dont feel its presence.
I break out into a cold sweat, run to the nearest pay phone and call Soraya.
She said it is there and to come by and pick it up in the next two hours.

After a Martini with Barge at Barneys we head down to pick it up.
When we get there I grab it and rapidly check for messages (I hate being that person but I am) and then I can relax.

Soraya speaks up and says, " I hope you dont mind but my partner and I were looking through your phone and we couldnt believe what we found!"

Oh no- she has seen all those dirty texts from Jorgen.

"We were scrolling through your numbers,"she continues, "and we found Daddys Money. We got so jealous! Wow! I cant imagine being so rich that you can just pick up your phone and call your dad's bank! I mean that is really rich! You are crazy!"

"Soraya, darling, that is the name of my moms boutique in Gainseville, Georgia." I laugh.

"Oh, so your not that rich?" she protests.

"No babe, sorry,if I was I would buy alot more of your jewelry."

And with that I leave and giggle to myself. Oh the conclusions people come to!

Wigstock 2005

There aren't many occassions these days that still give me goose bumps. I would never say I am a jaded New Yorker but I have seen alot at the ripe ole age of 29. I do declare that it may sound odd that seeing the Taj Mahal and seeing a bunch of Drag Queens on stage gets me equally twitterpated.

I used to hear about Wigstock in Atlanta and read about it in underground magazines like Popcorn and Project X, so to attend the event was something I looked forward to once I moved to the city. Of course it is not nearly as good as it used to be, one of those relics of 'the good old days', but it is still equal amounts hoot and holler.

For the past several years the event has been held during the HOWL festival in Thompkins Square Park. What was once a 6 hour event of performers and dance routines has been whittled away to a two hour non stop drag revue. And this is a good thing. The first Wigstock I attended (although I was a devoute attendee at Wigwood in Atlanta for many years) was held on a pier on the Westside Highway and was jammed with thousands of crazies, 5 port-o-potties and neary a chair to rest your heels in. There were tele-trons, broadway worthy acts and lots and lots of heat stroke trannies passed out in a wig clutching a Budweiser. Not a pretty site.

It got too big for even Lady Bunny to handle so she called the whole thing off for several years until HOWL offered her their stage for a two hour spot. P for Perfect. The only thing is, not nearly as many people dress up for the occassion. Why? God knows. What other reason does one have to done a wig, makeup and heels and prance around NYC during the day and not think twice about it? And don't say Halloween silly because thats at night.

Anyways, this Wigstock I went with Sue Saas and she strapped on a tiny top hat and I yanked on a shaggy man wig and gave myself a glitter fade across my face and we headed downtown to the park. Once we got there there was an energy in the air that only happens at Wigstock. Everyone is out and about and rubber necking is modus operandus for the day.
The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze and as we approached the park we could see a sea of heads sporting everything from beehives, tinsel and even massive chinese takeaway boxes. Paradise.

This was a special Wigstock because this year they were celebrating the 20th anniversary. Bunny had quite a line up in store for us including Jimmy James, Sade Pendavis, Jackie 60 and Kate Pierson. Kate cancelled and we were really let down. Who wouldnt want to see a B-52 back on stage? I was most looking forward to the performance of Lady Kier. She hasn't performed in nearly 10 years and she was ready to rock.

Bunny dazzled us even though she had a broken toe. She had to break down and sport some Sketchers instead of her usual lucite mules. Her costumes were still be-dazzling though, starting off with a 'Pigs in Space' number followed by several moose knuckle skimming caftans and ending with a floor length number and a wig I can only describe as an Atomic Hair Bomb.

Sue and I took in every act, taking time out to scout the crowd of young kids with their hippie parents and little old black ladies wide eyed and full of razor tounged comments. There were even politicians theres shaking hand with every sort of person to win the gay vote. Whatever it takes kids! We raced back in time for Lady Kier's numbers, one reggatone like and very political, the other disco down as she was accompanied by a male stripper. My girls still got it! And her look was nothing short of sizzling: black corset with a skirt of tulle piped in hot pink with a matching pill box hat with more tule and piping standing erect on the back like a cockatoo ready to shake a tail feather.

After the show I walked over to the back stage area where every year I have mingled with RuPaul and Boy George. This year my ego was bruised as I got a stern NO from the security guards who were only letting performers and press back stage. Ouch! Guess I should of gotten totally gussied up. I turn to walk the walk of shame and see Kier getting interviewed for Logo. I wait for her for a minute and the longer I wait the more people notice her. I felt like I was back at a rave in 1994 with everybody screaming her name and primping hoping to get a picture with her. When she is done and begins walking over the cameras go wild, the fans start screaming and I head out. I am so excited for her that the fan base is still huge and I was glad to see her basking in her glory.

After chilling out at a luscious BBQ at Tali's I head to the Slide and meet Kier, Charlie and Justin and we get the party started. Kier is still in costume but her corset is let out 5 inches so she can really get down. We tear up the town that night heading to Taboo!'s performance then the Boy's Room and finally the Roxy where we realize we really didnt want to be.
The night ends at Kier's apartment with her in her nightgown and three boys and one deconstructed Drag Queen laying on her guest bed giggling and reliving the night bit by bit.

Once I pass out at 530am I am still riding on cloud 9 minus a wig but still glitter encrusted.
Kier darling, I owe you a new pillow case.

For more wigworm madness click on www.ladybunny.net

Letter from the Hamptons

Dear Rod,

Hope you are enjoying Jersey. I’m sure you are having a much needed champagne getaway. I am sitting at Jamie’s breakfast table struggling with a cup of coffee and a hangover as Marika makes breakfast. I thought I would fill you in on what’s been happening since you have been away.

First off- how dare you leave when its Fleet Week! Lucy met me at work on Thursday night and we had a cocktail or two and decided that we simply must entertain the troops. With men in mind we find a local Mexican joint with a goofy looking marine smoking outside. We walk inside and find 20 men doing shots and making out with some real ugly girls. Obviously we were coming in mid party.

I, dressed in a suit and blackamoore broach asked, “Hey can we join your party?!” and I get a rough, “No!” from a bulky naval officer. I was shocked but not surprised. Then they all see that I am with beautiful and blond Lucy and they all plead forgiveness and yell, “Come on over!”

We order Margharitas and meet all the boys, who are mostly from Pennsylvania and have never been to the city. They gloat of their tours through Time Square and 5th Avenue and invite us to a place called Rosie’s for hot dogs later since it is near their ship.
Lucy pouts her lips and furrows her brow and declares, “We don’t do hot dogs. How bout we take you boys on a tour of the meat packing district?” This garners a big ole yeehaw and a little grumble from the ugly girls who are no longer getting their annual feel up. After a round of flaming shots (a flaming Mame?!) and pictures of us in their hats and them in mine, we head out the door.

Rod darling I cant tell you the ego trip it is to walk down 14th street with 4 Marines and 4 Navy boys! People stopped and stared and I even had random gay men run up to me and say, “Girl, how did you pull that off?” I retorted, “by hanging out with a big boobed blond, sister.” I think the last round of shots were mixed with Spanish fly because these boys were crusin’ for action. My favorite marine who was super hot and super cocky walked my a woman walking a dog and said, “Well hello little doggy! Must be nice to be petted by such a fine master!” This woman nearly pulled up her skirt and bent over she was so excited. What a man in uniform will do! The next victim was a hot Asian girl in a red coat. My man began serenading her with “Lady in Red” and she ditched her friends and came with us. We took the boys to the Hog Pit, a mom and pops Hooters type of place. They were thrilled and so were the girls. One of the officers fell madly in love with Lucy and she was just not having it. We sat in the corner and rehearsed the speech she would deliver to let him down easily that she was not interested and had to leave. When le officer approached she turned on the acting switch and began her performance. “You are such a sweet man and I wish you the best, but I simply must leave you at this time because...” Before she could get out her sob story he said, “OK, bye!” and walked away.

At this point I fell over laughing. She was a drop in the bucket for this champ and he was on to the next lady. Lucy was miffed, I was tickled and we left. Somehow on the way to dinner we run into the deserter again and he turns on his acting switch and comes bounding down the street to meet Lucy and swings around a poll declaring his love. Lucy gives him the ultimate eye roll and then he scoopes her up and holds her tight asking for her number. I step in as her PR agent and give him my card and tell him to call us next week. I get the evil eye from Lucy as he lets her go and bounds back up the street.

Lucy and I pull a Rod Keenan and forget about dinner and head to some gay bars. We want to see if any Fleet Weekers are openly flaunting their wares to the gays. We hit XL and Hiro and find nary a man in uniform. Insisting on creating more scandal Lucy and I go to the upstairs bar at XL which is closed off for the night for some reason. We thought that we could get a much better view of the crown from up there. As I am standing in the dark bar overlooking the crowd I hear a scuffle behind me. Lucy has climbed behind the bar and was making us G&T’s. With our cocktails in hand we head back downstairs, chat up some boys and then remember our dinner plans.
We dash over to El Cid for tapas and a pitcher of Sangria (a pitcher only serves 4 glasses since it has so much fruit and ice in it, thank you very much) before heading back to 202 and 206. Lucy is now determined to be on the Fleet Week event committee next year and have a proper booze fest at her home. We will see how far she gets with that one.

Friday I interviewed some cute boys for Genre and then headed out here on the 4PM train. Jonathan picked me up in the egg cream colored Rolls, aka banana boat. Just as he was telling me how much he hates driving that show car because everyone knows that its Jamie’s and it such a spotlight for attention, a car drives by honking and waving at us. It’s one of Jonathan’s ex boyfriends and he yells out, “Hey! Nice car!” and begins cackling. Jonathan rolls his eyes and whines, “See!”

My favorite guest of the weekend was Mary Jane who twirled in about 3PM just after we had all been at the pool. She saunters into the back garden in a pair of white tight jeans, a pink cashmere sweater and massive Chanel glasses. Her piece de resistance was a 1950’s bangle bracelet in gold with dazzling diamonds at each link. She is syrupy sweet and is an absolute riot.

My least favorite guest was asking me how I have been and I said, “Well my writing career is very promising! I feel like its up and coming!”
He throatily replied, “Well that’s how I like my boys, UP and CUMMING.”
Gross!

With that the Studio 54 soundtrack came one. Jason brought in the after dinner drinks and everyone began dancing in the living room. I had a great bourbon called Fighting Cock. Divine! MJ was lit and we did the bump and Jamie and Jason waltzed around the room. At one point MJ flips out and Jason asks what the matter. She pulls an alteration pin from her crotch that had been left in. Jason looked at her and said, “Well did it hurt or tickle?” I thought we were all going to pass out we laughed so hard.

The night wound down and everyone said goodbye. Of course one creepy man slipped me the tounge when he kissed me good night. Eeeew! Toothpaste post haste.

It is now Sunday morning and Tali should be arriving shortly. Will fill you in on the rest when you return!

Love,
Cator

The holy ghost shops at Staples

As anyone knows who has spent time in Harlem, Sunday is the busiest day in the neighborhood. Every church is packed and the fashion parade of shark skin suits and monochromatic pastel hats, dresses, hose and shoes is more exciting than Paris fashion week. The scent of fried chicken permeates the air.

Last Sunday after a rebel rousing night the night before I simply had to run errands I had been putting off for days.
My Holly Golightly neighbor, Lucy and I headed to 125th Street admiring the ladies outside of their respective churches in cotton candy headgear. We make a major dent in Marshalls but when it was time to head into Staples, Lucy feigned illness and I darkened the door alone.

It was around 2PM and church had just let out but for one dear lady in Staples, her church service hadn't quite ended.
Wearing a floral print blouse and a bright yellow skirt she donned a royal blue turban with a brooch pinned to the front like a metropolitan Maharini. On her way to the copy center she bent over, grabbed onto a pile of recycled paper, let out a loud holler and proclaimed, "Oh Lord! Thank you! Oh lawd! Oooooh mercy me! Oh he is a good Lord! Yes! I hear you lord! Thank you!"

While this was happening her head was shaking her feet were stomping and her entire body was jittering.
I whipped out my phone in a panic to call 911 thinking she was having a heart attack, but nobody else even noticed her.
Then a calm and cool pair of ladies breezed by and without even blinking declared, "That's right girl. Work it out. Someone found the holy spirit a bit late today."
"Well at least she found it honey," sighed the other.
"I say amen to that."

Once she let out a couple more Hallelujahs, Amens and Thank you's she picked herself up and went on with her business like nothing happened. I proceeded to buy my camera battery and will never think of Saint Staples the same way again.