Thanks for inviting me to Drag Queen Meat Bingo yesterday. It was one of many commitments I had for the day, but it was BY FAR the most fun.
I will be honest: I thought the “meat” part of the event was going to be the eye candy that one typically finds at drag events. Like Ru Paul’s Pit Crew.
But no, it was meat as in bacon, ribs, three chickens in a sack, etc.
Dear Readers, You all know how I love a good guest post. Well, my friend Revell — you know, my taxidermy partner in crime — wrote a doozy. Here is his end-of-year rant that he is permitting me to share. He echoes many of my same sentiments and is nothing if not authentic (edited slightly for format and references that might get him into trouble). You might agree with him, you might not, but it is a wild ride full of the F word (be warned). Enjoy! Beth
Just a Yearly Update By Revell
2020 … What the actual fuck? What even happened this year besides complete. Utter. CHAOS???
I don’t think I have ever been tested and pushed to this extent in my entire life, and I don’t doubt for a second the same for you! This may have been the most growth I’ve ever had in a single year or maybe as a human being in general.
This pandemic has had me question every aspect of my journey. Here’s a few key points I learned:
Hold on to your loved ones, celebrate life, and don’t EVER think twice about being 100 percent authentically YOU.
Don’t underestimate your personal power and know that WE REALLY ARE stronger in numbers.
Speak up for what’s right, call people out on their bullshit, keep friends close who also call you out on your bullshit, be held accountable, and don’t ever stop pushing to be a better person.
Being fired does not mean you were in the wrong or that you didn’t kill it at your job.
You can be in love with more than one person.
Mental health is real and you are not crazy.
Georgia is fucking BLUE!
Know your self worth, and don’t let people or corporations take advantage of you.
No matter how cute and adorable, small powdery moths are not your friends and will potentially eat everything you own.
Do not trust Nanna without a mask.
Love your family unconditionally, especially when they make it through COVID alive! FUCK — when YOU make it through COVID alive!
Dental care is still wayyyyyy too fucking expensive, and even when you try to be proactive about self care and the insurance money you paid into, you STILL get fucked! Well, unless it’s your cat and every tooth needs to be pulled at the most inconvenient time possible. So yeah! FUCKED!
Give yourself opportunities to grow and make yourself uncomfortable.
When someone laughs at your dreams or ideas and tells you they are not possible, just prove them wrong.
Peanut butter and Ramen noodles will keep you alive in a pandemic.
Credit Karma is an app and also part of being an adult now.
White men are still the worst! Especially fuckin’ Boomers.
Bernie’s campaign was smeared by the Democratic Party … AGAIN!
This country was founded on slavery, and if you’re not jaded, you’re obviously. NOT. listening. Fuck a confederate monument.
Socialism means all we want is healthcare … in … a … pandemic! Weird right?
I’m a queer, loud, unapologetic abolitionist with no regrets!
Well, one regret: that antique mirror at that one estate sale I decided not to buy on my credit card with money I didn’t have. Def a regret!
Fuck fascists, centrists and the “American dream.”
Trans women ARE real women!
When you’re starving in pandemic, just EAT THE FUCKIN’ RICH!
Harry Potter is fucking canceled, and J.K. Rowling ruined my childhood! What a TERF!
Still bitter about Taco Bell not selling potatoes.
And who knew that Paris Hilton’s vote-or-die campaign had such relevance now in 2020. The reality is vote, or FUCKING DIE!
Though this year has sucked in ways large and small, I’m thankful for all of you. I have big emotions regarding a few of you, but I’ll save that for a later post.
On this day of Thanksgiving (glossing over the actual horrific origins of this celebration), I’m thankful for small things (in no particular order):
I won’t be voting that day. Eddie and I chose the absentee route for two reasons:
I believe scientists that the Coronavirus is real and not a hoax perpetrated by the Democratic Party. (I mean, REALLY? A U.S. party is going to get the whole world in on a hoax? To what end?)
Hence, I want to limit potential exposure by not putting myself in close contact with people I don’t know.
I’ve had in-depth conversations with two long-time friends who support you. One was a rational, calm conversation where we agreed more than we disagreed. One was … not like that at all.
Here’s my response to some slogans you and your supporters use.
“Make America Great Again”
I thought America was pretty great pre-2016.
“Keep America Great”
Sorry, but America is not great at the moment. I am NOT better off than I was four years ago. I’m middle class and paying WAY more taxes. The industry in which I work has been negatively affected by your xenophobic policies. And as someone who travels, I can tell you that America is an international embarrassment.
“Life begins at conception”
Fantastic! So that means you’ll protect women endangered by a pregnancy, the children after they are born, old people who might get COVID-19, poor people, immigrants and people on death row. Right? Pro-life means that you support all lives.
“My body, my choice”
This one makes my head explode as it has been co-opted for the anti-mask movement. If you want personal autonomy, great. I’m all for that. But you can’t pick and choose. (See above.)
It should come as no surprise that I will not be voting for you. This is not to say I haven’t voted Republican in the past, and wouldn’t do so again if he/she were the right person.
But you are not the right person.
And the Republican Party is not the Republican Party of old. You know, the one that wanted a smaller government, fiscal responsibility, personal autonomy, etc.
I care about LBGTQIA rights, universal healthcare, eradicating systemic racism, reducing the deficit, upholding personal choice, maintaining separation of church and state — all those things that you are against.
And it was then, 30 minutes in, that someone finally explained why religious folks would support Trump:
It’s not about four more years. It’s about 37 more years. It’s about two more Supreme Court justices who are pro-life, pro-Israel, freedom of religion and freedom of speech.
Without that, according to him, “We won’t have the freedoms we grew up with.”
“What freedoms are those?” I was wondering when the dude brought out his saxophone.
I’m not kidding.
Jentezen Franklin plays “America the Beautiful.” He didn’t follow with “Baker Street,” sadly.
I guess he didn’t want Cain to upstage him.
This was getting a talent show kind of vibe, so I was excited to see what Bishop Harry Jackson would do.
But he just promoted his new book and explained racism to a room of mostly white people. Y’all were polite, but unenthusiastic.
Bishop Harry Jackson didn’t show off his musical talents.
Interestingly, he was the first person to mention the president by name: 45 minutes into the event.
Pro-life: Just unborn babies, apparently
Pro-marriage: Only between a man and a woman
Pro-freedom: Religious freedom to discriminate
Pro-constitution: A Tea Party battle cry regarding the expansion of the federal government (maybe)
She talked about squash plants and chipmunks. I was a little confused. But then she said:
Some things never change. Some things do change. There was a change of the guard in 2016.
And then she said something about Planned Parenthood “ripping little babies up.”
I see. Abortion. That’s the main driver.
OK, then. Let me say this about that:
No one is hyped to get an abortion. It’s a last resort. Also, no one is “pro abortion.” So let’s agree on one thing: The goal is to reduce abortions. How do we do that?
As we’ve seen with prohibition and the “war on drugs,” making them illegal won’t work. People will find a way, but it makes it very dangerous for women. So to me, the solution is to put more money into sex education, healthcare and contraception.
If you are pro-life (and really, aren’t we all?) then you should be supporting organizations like Planned Parenthood that actively help women with the above needs.
Alright.
Moving on to the next speaker, Richard Lee, who is as orange as the evening’s celebrant: the Cheeto in Chief.
He didn’t address abortion like everyone else. His main beef seemed to be with what is being taught in school: “garbage.”
Oh, and the Antichrist in the form of Democrats.
The Democratic Party has been taken over by the Antichrist. It’s an evil party.
I thank God that he sent Donald J. Trump to us. He is a gift to the church of Jesus Christ.
As much as you seemed to like this statement, I could tell you were restless. He willfully went over his allotted time and joked about it.
You were ready for the final act: Pastor Paula White. I found out later she is married to Jonathan Cain. Ah. He’s her third husband. With overlaps in relationships. So she’s truly taking those commandments seriously.
You and I clearly are kindred spirits. My friend Nick mentioned your Museum of Curiosities as a place to check out the next time I was in London. In fact, he specifically said this:
It looks like how I imagine the inside of your head looks.
Well, he’s not wrong.
My head is filled with flotsam and jetsam, much like your museum.
In fact, your website celebrates the lack of categorization as part of the mission.
This museum will merely display everything that has glittered & caught the eye of it’s founder.
I just want to take a moment to recognize your genius. Where else can a jar of Amy Winehouse’s poop live alongside some terrible taxidermy?
As I was able to visit recently, here are some visual aids for readers who think I’m kidding:
This is pretty bad, even as bad taxidermy goes.
And part of Amy outside her music lives on.
BFs 4EVA!
It must be weird to be a celebrity whose detritus is museum worthy.
There is plenty going on in this case. Almost too much for intake.
Id like to copy edit the museum mission statement, but I won’t. Here it is with all its charm intact:
The Museum has no overreaching aim beyond the theft of it’s visitors time and the hope that it will provide amusement by return & hopes to fill the vacuum between what the establishment elite believes is worthy of worship & what exists in the world.
Good news: It did ABSOLUTELY provide amusement. This is exactly the sort of place that provides a perfect afternoon for me.
The first time I saw you perform live, you blew my hair back. So shocking, in a good way.
Friday night, the first night of your new tour, wasn’t quite as much of a surprise. It still was fantastic.
Those who don’t know you may not know how you popularized New Orleans bounce music and the accompanying twerking.
That “dancing” is part of the allure of your live shows.
This is what I told my Support Spouse Rob. You were performing in Savannah the night after I saw you, and Goat Yoga Lisa had tickets. Rob didn’t want to go. I sent him videos like that from your Atlanta show to encourage him.
It’s not just your female dancers who perform.
I love that you have amateur hour at your shows.
Here’s the thing: I can do this move. Should I? No. At least not in public.
Some of these folks shouldn’t either.
But others rival your own crew.
It’s not just the ladies who astound, though.
So thanks for a great night!
And thanks for having Low Cut Connie open. They put on a high-energy, engaging show.
Much better than the DJs you had for your last tour.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present “How I spent my first St. Patrick’s Day back in Atlanta.”
7:46 a.m. Wake up to the doorbell. Apparently, it is playtime in the neighborhood. The hooligans I live with head outside to terrorize each other and assorted friends.
11:30 a.m. Finish watching the last episode of the last season of “Game of Thrones.” I’m excited, aroused, worried, repulsed, mad, sad — all in equal measure. I need to talk to someone about it. I’m so far behind in finally seeing it, though, no one wants to talk to me.
2:10 p.m. Nap while watching recorded episodes of “The Voice.”
5:30 p.m. Make the soup that we like for dinner. Compliments all around. Pregame. Realize it is too early to pregame.
7:10 p.m. Take Nap Two. (I’m elderly. Leave me alone.)
8:50 p.m. Dominic notices that I’ve put myself together. The following conversation ensues.
Dominic: “Are you going out tonight?” Me: “Yes. Rene and I are going to some thing called ‘Psycho Disco.'” Dominic: “Well, don’t get murdered by a psycho. If someone comes up to you, turn your usual reporter mode off and run.”
8:51 p.m. Document the conversation on Facebook (because if it is not documented, did it even happen?).
8:55 p.m. Tell René I’m on my way. He tells me I’m early; he is not ready. I tell him I’ll cool my jets. Men.
9:02 p.m. Amuse myself by reading responses to the FB post.
9:15 p.m. Call for Lyft. Help Tarrant find me as I am on the side of the road (getting into apartment complex is a pain). Fetch René.
9:44 p.m. Arrive at The Music Room. It’s not open yet, but the barbecue place next door is. 9:49 p.m. Celebrate St. Patrick’s Day like I always do: by drinking an Irish Car Bomb. It’s tradition. Usually, this tradition involves The Royce, but he is in Savannah with Mike Pence and Mother (barf), so I had to carry on without him.
10:22 p.m. Go next door (now open) and meet René’s friend, DJ Tracy Levine. She is tiny, impeccably dressed and energetic. She also plays amazing house music for the seven people in the bar. It’s still early.
10:30-11:45 p.m. Listen to DJ Tracy upstairs. Go downstairs where there are more people to watch, but then have to endure a DJ that is not as gifted. Go back upstairs to dance. Go back downstairs to watch. Lather, rinse, repeat.
11:54 p.m. I’ve lost René.
12:30 a.m. Take Uber to Atlanta Eagle. I am the only one of my kind there. Also, it’s leather night. So.
1:11 a.m. Wait for Uber outside because now we are going to Blake’s. A woman rushes up to me: “Hi! So good to see you!” I don’t know her, but I see a guy right behind her. I quietly ask her if she is OK, or if she is trying to get away from this guy. Girl code. Then I see another woman with them. I ask her if everything is OK. She says, “Oh yeah, they’re together. She’s just drunk and friendly.” Aha. Then our Uber chariot appears.
1:24 a.m. “Do not pinch me. I’m wearing green,” I say to the fellow who has just tried to pinch me. I show him my shamrock. (My necklace. Come on!)
1:35 a.m. Blake’s is THE place to be, apparently. Let the mingling, chatting, dancing and whatnot commence! No, I do not want another beer. I’m good. Thank you very much.
2:21 a.m. Surprise stop at Waffle House on the way home. Scattered, covered, diced and capped, please.
3:11 a.m. Shower and go to bed. I’m too tired to take the towel off my hair.
8:53 a.m. Not taking the towel off last night was a mistake. My hair looks like a fright wig.
9:13 a.m. Text my friend Brian to tell him I went to the two gay bars he’s been telling me about. Without him.
9:30 a.m. Brian decides I’m going with him to see “Love, Simon” this afternoon. But that’s hours away.
The so-called Religious Freedom laws in Indiana and Arizona are polarizing, to be sure, and the events in Ferguson, Missouri, and beyond are more than disturbing. I thought we had evolved past the point of Other = bad. Not so. I was naive and stupid to think that because I believe difference = good, everyone else does too. This difference of opinion is not good. Ironic, I know.
I want welcoming and accepting voices to speak louder than those of people who do not believe all are created equal. Here’s another voice to add to the concert: Brian Harper in this guest post.
Dear gay people:
You are my people and I love you. We should never tolerate being treated as lesser than anyone. If fact, no one should. It is nothing short of painful hearing religious leaders and politicians openly condescending to us daily. Imagine the message that kids are getting who are still figuring themselves out. It’s no wonder so many gay youth are committing suicide. This country is largely not a welcoming place, despite being referred to as the melting pot of the world.
However, I’m really disappointed and sometimes shocked by the amount of name calling and hatefulness a lot of our community throws out at those who don’t agree with us. I understand and feel the anger and the pain and the frustration. How can people want so badly to control us and take away our simple happiness? Still, we have to do better. We can fight the good fight without tarnishing ourselves in the process. It’s easy to lash out towards ignorance with more ignorance. I’m guilty of it myself. I’m also acutely aware of how we are perceived the the statement we make with how we present our arguments. It’s important that we lead with love and empathy, wherever we can find it. Not everyone who thinks differently than us is bad. Most of them are just fearful of what they don’t understand. Sometimes it seems easier to beat people into submission, but that’s exactly what they are trying to do to us, and we deserve better.
I’m running a bit late on this letter and I apologize. Clearly, I need plenty of help this year. I wish I could have given you more notice; I don’t think the elves can whip up the things on this list.
Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store.
Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!
Here’s what I want for Christmas:
1. Some freakin’ patience. I’ve been with my children almost nonstop for weeks and there’s more to come as school is out. I’m trying to limit the “no more wire hangers” moments, but it’s rough.
2. A good, old-fashioned smiting. I know that’s usually God’s area, but I thought maybe you could help out a little with the hypocrites screaming that Phil Robertson‘s Freedom of Speech was violated. A&E isn’t the government, Freedom of Speech does not equal Freedom from Consequences, and weren’t these the same people calling the Dixie Chicks traitors?
3. Awareness of others for certain people. They clamor for attention daily (especially on Facebook) but cannot be bothered to remember other people’s birthdays or other important events.
4. Relief from some of the holiday trappings. Call me Scrooge, but I despise the Elf on the Shelf, “The Nutcracker,” and Christmas cards that start arriving right after Thanksgiving. (I hate them because that means the senders have their shit together. I don’t, especially when it come to cards. I’m thinking New Year’s cards sound good. In 2015.)
5. An end to the ridiculous “Merry Christmas” flap. Look, some people are sensitive to the fact that many people don’t celebrate Christmas. It’s not an attack against Christianity to say “Happy Holidays.” Is there NOTHING else to worry about? Oh wait … see No. 2.
6. The chance for Jack Kingston to live within a poor person’s means for a week. Maybe then he will understand that we are not all born equal. Low-income families certainly don’t choose to be low income. To suggest that children sweep floors to earn their subsidized lunches is beyond crass. He’s a real-life Mr. Potter!
7. Blake Shelton.
8. A silencer for anyone who wants to talk about Crossfit. It works. It’s great. Now shut up. It’s like this:
9. Some cold weather. It doesn’t feel like Christmas when it is 77. Does Mrs. Claus need to make another appeal to the Miser Brothers? (My tropical husband disagrees, but whatever.)
10. A return to robustness for the aforementioned tropical husband. He’s been in bed with a fever since Friday. It means I don’t have to worry about No. 8, but that’s sad for him.
Oh yeah, and peace on earth and goodwill to men (which I’d like to include marriage equality and an end to racism and classism, but maybe that’s just me). Also, an end to poverty.
You may not be able to deliver. If not, I understand. It’s short notice, plus it’s a tall order. I know. And we regular humans should really be doing a better job of walking the walk of loving and understanding our neighbors. (Uh oh. Didn’t I just ask for a smiting? All right. I’ll take the coal.)
9:49 p.m. Celebrate St. Patrick’s Day like I always do: by drinking an Irish Car Bomb. It’s tradition. Usually, this tradition involves The Royce, but he is in Savannah with 
9:30 a.m. Brian decides I’m going with him to see “
Observe and report 