Please Hold for Futher Assistance

Sorry y'all. Things are still kind of hectic and crazy in my life. Transitions tend to be tedious and exhausting, but necessary, you know?

Now, here's a thought for you guys and it's about friendships. True friendships are everlasting and despite the bullshit of life or getting caught up in different directions, true friendships are absolute. I have this one friend whom I just adore and through fucked up circumstances, we had to go our separate ways. Things took their course over a period of a few years and slowly our friendship began anew. On second thought, we picked up right where we left off BEFORE things got crazy. And, I love her even more now.

But I digress, to all the nearest and dearest, please be a little more patient. Things that have been wrong will soon become right and we'll pick up right where we left off. I know, at times, I can be tedious and exhausting, but like transitions, you guys are necessary, you know? Y'all know who you are.

Ta-Da.

Damn, just got cussed the f-ck out by a dear friend via e-mail. You bastards take drive-by blogs so damn personally.

So, in true I ain’t got time for this shit fashion, here’s a checklist to cover some serious ground in mere seconds.

· WETbar’s Anniversary – Kristine W and Hex Hector, packed house, great time, people were FILTHY

· Moving – new place in Midtown, makes drinking and driving a lot easier. Come to think of it, I’ll simply be drinking and stumbling home

· Truly not a fan of Buzz Magazine; they kinda suck

· Possibly writing a new column for a different magazine; more on this later.

· Drag Idol – I AM the Roaming Reporter, duh. Check out the blog at www.Myspace.com/WETbarAtlanta

· Note to self: You miss Fruitcake Sunday Tea Dances; get off your lazy ass and get to eleven50 for the next one

· I (Heart) my friends.

· I Loathe Politicians.

· Pride lineup, done.

There. Happy?

Transitions

Stay tuned folks, going through another transitory phase. Life is good; everyone please calm down. If this was a true emergency, I probably would have hit you guys up for some cash.

Cheers,
Arman

Getting to Know You; Getting To Know All About You...

TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Name:	Arman D. Reyes or "Hey You"
Birthday:	March 18
Birthplace:	Flint, Michigan
Current Location:	Atlanta, GA
Eye Color:	Dk Brown
Hair Color:	Black
Height:	Like 5 10ish
Right Handed or Left Handed:	Ambidextrous to a degree
type='hidden'
The Shoes You Wore Today:	Baby Blue Adidas
Your Weakness:	Can't say "no." You do the math.
Your Fears:	Being lost, being a failure, losing people I love.
Your Perfect Pizza:	Would be served to me by a hot Italian that has a thing for Latin/Asian hybrids somewhere in Milan.
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:	Get out of debt; fix a few broken friendships.
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger:	F'real?
Thoughts First Waking Up:	Is it noon already? Damn.
Your Best Physical Feature:	The face. The legs and ass are dueling for first and second runner up.
Your Bedtime:	Dawn.
Your Most Missed Memory:	Forgot what it was.
Pepsi or Coke:	Both are too syrupy -- has to be Coke Zero.
MacDonalds or Burger King:	Umm, I don't eat meat so Chick-Fil-A. Thanks.
Single or Group Dates:	Group.
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea:	Arizona Green Tea
Chocolate or Vanilla:	Strawberry
Cappuccino or Coffee:	Caffeine in any form is good.
Do you Smoke:	Yup -- trying to cut down though.
Do you Swear:	Are you bloody fucking serious?
Do you Sing:	Badly.
Do you Shower Daily:	Sometimes two or three times a day.
Have you Been in Love:	Yes.
Do you want to go to College:	Been there, done that.
Do you want to get Married:	Someday, absolutely. But, then again, so would the rest of the "gays."
Do you belive in yourself:	Most of the time.
Do you get Motion Sickness:	Cars? No. Planes and Boats? Yes.
Do you think you are Attractive:	Most of the time.
Are you a Health Freak:	Most of the time.
Do you get along with your Parents:	My mom is my best friend in the world. My dad passed away when I was three; I like to have conversations with him in my head though.
Do you like Thunderstorms:	Absolutely.
Do you play an Instrument:	No.
In the past month have you Drank Alcohol:	Yes.
In the past month have you Smoked:	Yes.
In the past month have you been on Drugs:	It's only the third of October, so no. Damn it, nevermind.
In the past month have you gone on a Date:	Romantic? No.
In the past month have you gone to a Mall:	No.
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos:	Hell no.
In the past month have you eaten Sushi:	Yes.
In the past month have you been on Stage:	Yes.
In the past month have you been Dumped:	No.
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping:	No.
In the past month have you Stolen Anything:	No.
Ever been Drunk:	Come on now.
Ever been called a Tease:	Is this in "past month" terms?
Ever been Beaten up:	Yes, I have an older brother, you know?
Ever Shoplifted:	Yes. I blame it on being a capricious youth.
How do you want to Die:	Heroine overdose; it's painless and you don't know you're gone. Yes, I've put thought into this.
What do you want to be when you Grow Up:	Successful.
What country would you most like to Visit:	Japan.
In a Boy/Girl..
Favourite Eye Color:	I'm not really partial to eye color.
Favourite Hair Color:	I like dark hair to be honest.
Short or Long Hair:	Short.
Height:	Average.
Weight:	Average..
Best Clothing Style:	Diesel.
Number of Drugs I have taken:	Legal or otherwise?
Number of CDs I own:	Over 1000.
Number of Piercings:	Five.
Number of Tattoos:	Zero.
Number of things in my Past I Regret:	At least three.
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS!

Hit It

I can’t really remember the last three weeks. Oddly enough, it’s not from the usual overabundance of alcohol and partying. Most of it, gasp, is work related. Just to get y’all up to speed, here are portions of my To Do List from the past three weeks:

• Lunch, Shopping and Photo shoot with DJ Phil B (f*ckin’ HOT and that Australian accent just works me to the carpet)


• Daytrip to Tallahassee with Genre (realized I don’t miss college towns one bit, kids are cute but expect to baby-sit -- discuss.)


• Finalize Drag Idol 3 Contestants (I established the frontrunners in my head.)


• Eddie Baez and Peter Rauhofer remixes of “Sexy Back” (the shelf life is about up for the original, but the remixes keep getting better)


• Providing some professional advice to loved ones, may be a conflict of interest – more on this later


• Quit Buzz Magazine (ain’t no one’s writer monkey no mo’)


• Opinions, share them, no matter the outcome – must take ownership of thoughts


• Make plans to visit family (miss them much, but not moving back to Florida – too many hurricanes)


• Loving new Basement Jaxx and Janet Jackson LPs (BJ-“Hey U” / JJ – “Get It Out Me” are quickly rising among my Most Played MP3’s and for good reason – they’re both dance floor stompers)

Word, Bitches

The other night, my dear friend Biz-won-ra and I decided to take in a movie. We’re good for improvising at the last possible second, so we didn’t have any idea of what we were going to see, let alone which movie theatre. So, we decided on the Atlantic Station Regal because of its H. T. P. (High Trade Potential). We surveyed the movie selection and finally decided on Step Up, not because either of us was particularly interested in it, but because of the flock of queers rushing to see Channing Tatum. (pictured in all of his hotness as he was intended -- wearing next to nothing)

As far as the movie goes, they should have just called it Save the Last Dance Pt. 2, considering it was nearly identical in storyline comparison. Posh dancer girl meets ghetto dancer boy, ghetto boy influences posh girl’s biggest recital ever with his street cred, boy and girl get together and cue hot soundtrack.

My biggest issue with the movie is Channing’s single shirtless scene is robbed of its sexuality when his younger foster sister barges into his bedroom. WTF? I want my eight dollars back, immediately.

And, why was Channing channeling Sylvester Stallone circa Rocky?

“Does it look like I own tights?”

I was half-expecting him to yell out “Yo, Adrianne!”

But, I digress, who did we happen to luck into on our way out of the theatre? We ran into WETbar’s head honcho hottie, James and then not even two minutes later, we ran into the hottie bartender from Einstein’s who needs to consider a new job doing either a) porn or b) soap operas.

For the rest of the night, Biz-won-ra and I adopted the Channing personae (complete with Rocky monotone voice) and his crew of mischievous dawgs. We (as in he, cause y'all know I don't do that kind of ig'nant shit) hit the panic button on the escalator, nearly launching James and his friend into the parking lot, ran over several orange cones, which we felt was a public service considering they were obstructing the path to the nearest exit and laughed the entire time – like homies.

We ended up in East Atlanta for an overdue visit to Mary’s (see: H. T. P. OTP). While there, we ran into cutie owner Mike. We love Mike because he’s just so f’n cool. Is it the demeanor? Is it the smile? It’s gotta be the shoes. All we know is the man has got charisma. Word, it’s the charisma.

Unfortunately, we had to hit one of Mary’s signature karaoke nights. And, to be honest, their singers are pretty damn good as compared to other karaoke joints. But, it’s still karaoke. So, Biz-won-ra and me threw up some peace signs and yelled out “hollah” to all of our homies on the east s-i-i-de.

Cue hot soundtrack. We was hittin' it.

No Place Like Home

In the past few months, a few of the nearest and dearest have packed up their lives and hit it right on out of town.

While Arizona, Alabama and Atlanta are pretty similar in that they begin and end with the same letter, these locations are different from each other…very different.

In Atlanta, it’s the norm to see various men leaving random apartments and houses holding onto stray clothing and rocking bedhead sans hair product and ten minutes of tszujing. This kind of wild behavior and free spirit is fun to watch on the way to Sunday brunch.

In Alabama, the wild behavior and free spirit comes in the form of Lolly -- a stray cat -- my friend Shawn watches and admires -- in his yard. Yeah, it’s very different.

I also learned both Scene and Chris are fans of Battlestar Galactica. Huh, what?

“It’s got lasers,” says Chris over an instant message. Sorry kids, the only lasers I want part of my night time entertainment better be audio synched to a massive sound system a la Jungle or WETbar. But, I can’t fault him for his past times; it’s very different out there.

In a recent survey, Shaun admitted to slim pickings and lack of sex in the past 24 hours. In Atlanta, there are places open 24 hours where people go for just sex. Or, you can just order in. Instead of answering questions that ask whether thunderstorms are cool or scary; you’re answering questions like “host or travel” or “top or bottom.” Like I said, it’s very different.

I digress; Chris moved to be with his husband, Shon left for his career and to be closer to his folks. They’re good boys, those two. Soon, they’ll find their niches and they’ll find their own Atlantas in Arizona and Alabama.

But, come on now it’s an f’n cat and you two are watching Sci-Fi! W-T-F?

Ok, sorry, I apologize. I know it’s a little different out there. All right, fine, very different.

Relatively Speaking

You know how relatives always tell you that you look like one of your parents? Well, yeah, I get that ALL the time. I didn’t really put much thought into it though and never understood how anyone could think I look similar to my mom or dad. My dad passed away when I was very young (like when I was three) and all I’ve ever seen of him were pictures from the wedding and him playing with me or my brothers. Honestly, I didn’t think I looked anything like him. Sure, some of the features were similar; but nothing to gawk at me for.

When my grandmother passed away, my mother located some pictures of my dad taken when he was around my age (give or take a few years). When I saw the picture, I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I look just like him. It was kind of eerie. Imagine looking at yourself in black and white, not to mention in an outfit or haircut that you couldn't identify. Then, I find out that my dad was a bit of a troublemaker, “mischievous” as my mom put it. I found all of these things fascinating and oddly reassuring. It made me feel better that I inherited my penchant for disregarding rules and wasn’t cursed by some gypsy I had pissed off.

At any rate, here’s his picture. Those that know me will understand my disbelief at this image, for those that don’t know me – I’ve got a pretty good looking dad, yes? Discuss.

Overtime

So, here’s the deal. The reason why I haven’t been on here lately is because I’ve just taken on some rather overwhelming challenges. In short, work has been whooping my ass. Those that know me know that I thrive in that type of multi-tasking environment – especially one in which I get to work closely with the nearest and dearest.

More on this development later.

All right, time to make the donuts.

All I'm Saying...

Hex Hector + Shawnna Brooks = Night to Remember
'Nuff said.

Played Out

I recently checked the Play Counter on my MP3 player and my music tastes are way too across the boards. I’m not one to set myself up for ridicule so I won’t place them in the exact order of highest to lowest or vice versa, but damn, where is my musical taste going? At least the Fray (pictured) are in my Top 10. Hot.

• “Crazy,” Gnarls Barkley – yeah, I think the shelf life is about to expire on this one.


• “First Time (Offer Nissim Club Mix),” Maya – This year’s “Heart Attack”


• “Sugar, We’re Going Down,” Fall Out Boys – “I’m a loaded God complex, cock it and pull it.” ‘Nuff said.


• “Faster Kill Pussycat,” Paul Oakenfold f/ Brittany Murphy – shit’s got bounce


• “I Write Sins Not Tragedies,” Panic! At the Disco – damn you Genre.


• “Over My Head (Cable Car),” The Fray – I can’t get enough of the lyrics, brilliantly written. I mean, they use the word “disengage” and give it a relationship spin.


• “Girl Next Door,” Saving Jane – I admit it, I like it. A lot.


• “Sexy Back,” Justin Timberlake – The song doesn’t even sound like him, but hey Timbaland is behind the beats so the shit is definitely grooving.


• “What’s Left of Me,” Nick Lachey – umm yeah, I don’t know when I downloaded it, but it’s been ear-worming its way into the top 10. WTF?


• “The One That Got Away (Wamdue Extended Mix),” Natasha Bedingfield – it’s a house thang. Y’all don’t know shit about Wamdue, do ya’?

Mariah Carey is Kinda Scary...

Late Wednesday afternoon, I got a phone call from my buddy Tim.

“What are you doing tonight?”

Without embarrassment or hesitation I told him I was watching this week’s and last week’s Project Runway.

“I’ve got extra tickets to see Mariah Carey tonight if you want them. I can’t go.”

Now, for the record, I sorta like Mariah Carey. I really like her ear-worming up-tempo stuff (i.e. anything produced by Jermaine Dupri), but her ballad shit has got to go (see “Hero”). Hell, I probably have a copy of Emancipation somewhere in my stack of promo CDs. I hold no judgments regarding her emotional/mental breakdown or her slut phase. We all have them, it’s just we’re smart enough not to get booked on TRL or Cribs when the medication is out.

I told him I’d take them off his hands and called NPB. Of course she said she’d go. I suspect she would go see U2 in drag if she had a chance. The other abandoned tickets went to Mathew (one T) and his buddy Eddie. We had a great time. Mariah’s voice, as per usual, was amazing. Despite her many flaws, the bitch can sang the house down. As far as stage presence, well Heather Daniels could have replaced Mariah -- even without a rehearsal. This bitch didn’t do shit on stage but mug. The fabric on her dress(es) moved faster than she did. Oh and why wasn’t every outfit rhinestoned into oblivion? C’mon now, all those Number Ones and Grammy’s and you can’t wear anything that sparkles during your World Tour? Bad, fag hag, bad.

I will say this though; Mariah has got some really influential peeps in da’ ATL. How about Da’ Brat popping up on stage? Then we had Jermaine Dupri’s three foot ass on the other side of the stage. Sorry kids, that’s an ATL exclusive, you won’t be seeing that in LA, Topeka or Ontario. I was half expecting T-Boz, Chilli and Big Boi to jump up there too.

I had to wonder if Janet was waiting on Jermaine at home to cuss his ass out the second he walked through the door. Jermaine would be all "honey, I'm home" and Janet would be talkin’ all “You went to that bitch’s show?” Shut her down, Janet, shut that shit down.

As MC went through her show, I had to admit I caught myself bopping to at least half her set. The bitch has had some hits and then some. Ok, another sidebar, but can Trey Lorenz please find another gig? Or at least a decent record label that will actually promote him? The man has got talent, but there’s only one Nikki Harris, know what I mean? Oh, and Trey, did you actually take Mariah to Fat Matt’s or did you just grab her some take out? Not this bitch got a fish sandwich either. Girl, it’s all about the ribs and half-chickens.

But I digress; overall I liked the show and had a great time. I really need to stop picking apart production value and enjoy them for what they are.

(PS All apologies for the previous post being so melancholy. I had to get it out of my system. Oh, and thanks for all the encouraging words from all of my dear friends.)

In Loving Memory

In Loving Memory of Silveria Herrera

(Actually written Thursday, July 27, 2006)

“Listen.”

An hour ago I got a phone call from my younger brother, Jay-Jay. He’s only a year younger than me, but he’ll always be Jay-Jay even when we're in our 50’s. I knew it was something bad. Our conversations never start with the word “listen.”

“Lola passed away,” he said in nearly a whisper.

Lola means grandmother in Filipino.

This wasn’t shocking news. As a matter of fact, I feel bad that I didn’t feel worse. Now, I know it may come across as cold, but I came to terms with my grandmother’s passing months ago during my last visit to Florida. She’s been on life support for several months now and may she rest in peace, she was a bad ass that kept fighting until she was ready to go and no one would tell her otherwise. And, that is how I choose to remember her. It would be an insult to think of her in any other way.

What made me cry was not being able to be there for my mom. I could hear her in the background crying. Although she and I have had so many discussions about death and moving on, I guess nothing can really prepare you for reality.

Jay-Jay eventually handed her the phone and she repeated the news. Why couldn’t I think of anything more to say than “I’m sorry?” And, why is it that those words never feel enough? I’m a writer for fuck’s sake. I should have an entire back catalog of the right things to say in bad situations. No, instead it was “I’m sorry;” poor, inadequate, trite “I’m sorry.”

Mommy was there with Lola until the last second. Mommy held her hand until she was gone. She said to me she wasn’t going to let Lola go by herself; that she had to be there with her. She said she didn’t want it to be like when my father passed away; that he left my mom when she wasn’t there. This is when she started crying again and dropped the phone. Jay-Jay picked up the phone and said he was going to stay there with her. I told him I would see them on Saturday, but I’d call on Friday.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I got hit like a sledgehammer by my mom’s words. What kept playing on a loop in my head was the part where she wasn’t there when my father passed away. I hope my mom hasn’t been carrying around that kind of guilt for this long. That is a lot to hold on to; a lot of pain to harbor. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, let alone my best friend in the world.

Jay-Jay also told me my little baby, Haylee was in the room when Lola passed away. I knew this was some small comfort for my mother. Let me explain, just like all other mothers, my mother is the head of the family. She takes care of all. She is the strongest, she is the provider and she is the Diva.

With Haylee there, my mother would never allow herself to slip into a depression. With Haylee, my mother sees that she is still needed, that she still has to be strong for the babies and new editions to the family. Haylee represents my other nieces and nephews Aimee, Amber, Lucas and Nyko -- that my mother is still the Queen Bee; Haylee represents life and that it certainly goes on.

I suspect she felt powerless as the foundation for the family after losing her own mother. I suspect this because my mother and I are the same way in mind and how we mull things out in our heads. That’s why she’s my best friend. In no way do I feel her equal; I could only aspire to be as strong as she is, as clever and as intuitive.

I wish I had a time machine. I wish I had a teleportation machine. I wish I had the capability to be there this very second. I have none of these things. I wish I could take away Mom’s pain. If I could, I certainly would. It’s not “I will,” but “I wish;” poor, inadequate “I wish.”

I’m happy Lola isn’t feeling pain anymore. I’m happy she’ll be reunited with Lolo and her sister. For now, that will have to do since I can’t really find any other happiness in a time like this. I hope that’s enough. I won’t downplay hope like “sorry” or “wish.” I say it all the time, but it wasn’t until just now that I understood and subscribed to the concept: Hope does spring eternal.

No Recent Document

Have you ever lost everything? Well, I now know what it kind of feels like. My computer crashed a few days ago. The hard drive had zeroed out – so not cute. All of my music was gone. That’s fine. It can be replaced.

All of my work is another thing. It was all gone. All of my short stories, past columns, my book; nothing but memories now. It’s kind of depressing. Please spare me the lectures on “backing up.” I have all the seasons of Sex and the City on DVD, I’ve seen the episode; I should have heeded its advice.

I have most of my columns in the form of the issues they appeared in and the short stories and book can be rebuilt, perhaps better than their predecessors. I just have to rely on the brain, but even that is at the mercy of all the designer drug use in the mid 90’s.

Come to think of it, maybe this was my computer’s moment of clarity. Maybe my hard drive is an extension of my own personae and thought process and this is its way of telling me to be more ambitious, to forget the past and start anew. Perhaps this is my cue to think on a bigger scale.

Yeah, I know, I know, I should have backed up.

Simplify

From time to time, you guys will hear me mention my dear friend Rob on here. I caught up with him today and instantly inserted foot into mouth.

"How's the happy wife?," I asked.

"Single."

He and his boyfriend had broken up two days ago. Rob told me that it was his ex's decision to end the union. For the record, Rob would make a great husband; he's a little high strung and neurotic but extremely attentive and fun. It balances.

I've learned to proceed with caution when it comes to talking to Rob about his boyfriends/exes. Rob is the type that will talk when he wants to and won't be forced into venting.

"He didn't want to be in a relationship is what he told me" said Rob.

"How old is he again?" I asked.

"38."

Before I realized it, I blurted out "well, there you have it." Damn it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

Strike 2.

"Explanation plus age equals 'emotionally unavailable.'"

Silence.

"Hello?"

"I'm here," he said. "I'm loving what you just said."

Well, it's really that simple. I also told Rob that it was a combination of that and how Rob had tricked himself into thinking that his ex had the potential to be emotionally available.

I braced myself. Had I gone too far?

"Yeah, you're 100 percent right. Thanks, I feel better already."

Damn, I guess when you're bogged down with all that emotion and stress, you really can't see past the bullshit. Maybe all it takes is to simplify. Maybe that is the key to a relationship. Who would have thought? Had I just stumbled on some key to happiness?

Nah, I, for one, refuse to think it can be that simple.

Pride, Finito

I made it through another Pride, y'all. I'm way too exhausted to give up some of the funnier stories of the past weekend. However, I will sum up my overall experience with this one little anecdote:

This year I decided to put a contingency plan in place. It was an agreement I had with Shawnna. IF it rains on Sunday, we would not be participating in or watching the Parade. I woke up at 10am on Sunday after getting to bed at oh 5. I looked out my blinds and saw grey clouds. I went back to sleep. Shawnna calls me shortly before 1 -- just as the parade is supposed to begin.


"You still in the bed?"


I barely respond with a "Yeah, you?"


"Oh, you know that. I'm just making sure you held up to your end of the deal."

Yes, ma'am.

Pride Guide

It's here. It's fucking here! Pride truly is my favorite time of the year. A lot of work has gone into some of this year's nightlife productions so I hope you fickle fags like what we came up with. I was racing against time and had to rehash some stuff I had written in previous years with a contemporary twist. And, damnit, I'm a funny motherfucker sometimes.

At any rate, here's one of the Guest List/Fast Tracks from years past. It's funny how my advice still holds true today. Damn, I'm good.

PARK AREA GUIDELINES

• Contrary to popular belief "The Bath House & Pool" you find on the Pride Map is NOT sponsored by a Membership Only Club. You will get arrested for those activities and all of your friends will laugh at you.

• The same men you find in classifieds do NOT run the Massage Center found on the Pride Map. All personnel found at the Massage Center are professionals, have faces and do not announce their stats. We ask that you DO NOT bid on the personnel.

• The Operations Center is not there so you can get sex changes, penal implants, face-lifts, or wrinkles removed. And, no, your insurance will not cover it.

• Scuba diving and skinny-dipping in Lake Clara Meer is NOT encouraged and is actually frowned upon. We will not be held responsible for any strange fungus growing out of any orifice as the result of these activities.

• Religious Zealots: These people are there EVERY year. Remember, nothing attracts a crowd like a crowd; follow your mom’s sage like advice and ignore them. Getting suckered into a debate is just a waste of time. Think about it: Nothing you say will make them change their minds and put down their “God Hates Fags” signs.

***The best and easiest way to get under their skin is to have a photo shoot right next to them. Be sure to put on the cheesiest possible grin and then post the pics on the net. Even better, e-mail it on over to the Church they represent. (2006 Update: Post it on your blog or on your MySpace profile too!) Good times.


PARK FASHION FAUX PAS

• If you have piercings and insist on showing them off, please remember that metal does get hot in the sun. Scarring may occur and let's face it, how attractive is that?

• It may look cute when you have it on, but please consider humidity and heat as factors when deciding on your ensemble. We highly recommend reassessing your outfit if it includes any of the following materials: vinyl, velour, fur (real or faux)

• Color coordinating your outfit with the frosty beverage you have in your hand is always fun. So when you're up at the Beer & Beverage kiosk, please note what you have on.

• If you must incorporate a rainbow flag into your ensemble, we recommend bringing extra twine, duct tape, and/or super glue in case of those messy emergencies

• In the words of Absolutely Fabulous vixen, Patsy Stone: Beware of wigs.

PARADE BEHAVIOR

• Please be courteous of other hecklers during the Parade. Witty commentary does not have the same punch if repeated several times by different people.

• Please be courteous of hangovers during the Parade. Bring enough aspirin for people within a five-foot radius.

• Fighting for the free giveaways from each float is not necessary. There is plenty of lube and condoms available at local free clinics.

FOOD & BEVERAGE

• For those of you that insist on bringing your own food to the Festival, we have provided a Safety List of things you should probably leave at home.


• Sushi


• Anything with mayonnaise


• Jell-O


• Crawfish


• Sardines


• Anchovies


• Chitlins


• Brie


• Fondue


• Soufflé


• Pickled Pig's Feet


• Oysters on the half-shell


• Pimento Cheese


• Caviar and Toast Points

MISCELLANEOUS ITEMS

• For your convenience, we've also created a checklist of miscellaneous items you should bring with you to the Park.


• Cell phone-communication is key


• Sun block-eliminate premature wrinkling


• Pen & Paper-be prepared, anticipate collecting phone numbers


• Sun glasses-cruise without being caught while filtering out those harmful UV rays


• Deodorant and/or perfume/cologne-self explanatory


• Mints and/or chewing gum-also self explanatory


• Designated Driver-safety first


• Contingency Code Words-assign words for use in case of emergency, this way your buddy can pull you out of messy situations. (Example: "Have you seen Phoenix?" really means "Get me away from this killing ass fag.")

Everyone up to speed? Good. I hope everyone has a wonderful Pride. Please remember to be safe from crossing the street (look both ways) to driving drunk (call a cab) to your tricks (wrap it up). I'll try to post throughout the weekend, but we all know that's probably not going to happen.

"Keep Pushin' On...

...things are gonna get better; it won't take long. Keep on movin' to the top."

Thanks Boris Dlugosch for that decade old (yeah, can you f'n believe that shit is ten years old?), sage like advice. And, yes, that cut still makes me bounce to this day.

In one weekend, Backstreet Atlanta completely came down and Charlie Brown's Cabaret has escaped Underground. The last show was nothing short of amazing. The girls made it a point to show the
packed-to-capacity-with-a-line-wrapped-around-the-fucking-Courtyard crowd why they're still the top dogs in the Gay-T-L. Charlie took requests before she went on, whatever she heard the loudest is what she performed, Ashley broke out her "Sweet Dreams" talent, Shawnna did "Killer," GiGi and Genre did, umm, well pretty much everything else. The more things change, the more they do stay the same.

And, in more exquisitely frustrating news, our fearless leader is up the same shit, again. It amazes me that every time his approval rating dips another three percent how he rallies those farmers and white picket fencers back by side-stepping real issues like war and gas prices by fucking with fags, lesbians, trannies and Mexicans. Who knows? Maybe the Christians will be too busy protesting the DaVinci Code to give a shit. Hope does spring eternal.

"Keep on Pushin' though the mountain seems too high and the valley low, things are gonna get better."

Indeed.

Farewell, Old Friend

I never thought I'd get all sentimental over a club, but Backstreet Atlanta was more of an experience. I say that in a non-copywriter tone and I say it with my deepest sincerity.

Got My Cherry Popped
Backstreet Atlanta was the first gay club/bar I ever went to upon moving here in 1996. I have many a fond memory there, not to mention many a fucked up memory. A lot of the people I know I've met on its dance-floor, on its stage, in its bathroom stalls and even the parking lot.

Bitch, Did You See That?
Today, Shawnna and I drove down Juniper on our way Downtown and as we do every time we go past it, we looked over to pay our respects. This time though, it was different. So different that we pulled around the block to take a closer look from the Armory parking lot.

Cameras Ready? Prepare to Flash
The Backstreet main lot was completely fenced in and demolition had begun. First we joked about getting every tranny in the city we know to get in high whore drag for a photo shoot next to the bulldozer, but the laughing soon subsided to quiet stories of Backstreet and its glory days. These newer kids would never have survived until day break, that's for damn sure. And, their handy fake IDs wouldn't have meant a damn either.

It's Alive in Clubland
We decided whatever fancy high-rise built to occupy the hallowed space would be haunted. There would be blasts of fag house blaring in the air conditioning ducts; ghosts of overdosed circuit boys, party kids and trannies roaming its verandas; everytime anyone shut the door to their bathroom they'd hear sniffles and the popping open of tiny plastic baggies. These frou frou heteros and their 2.5 kids would experience the gay life they had been sheltered from, just in a more creepy and ghoulish manner. You wanted a view? How about this one of two muscle boys getting it on ya' Aeropostale wearing yuppie? I hope it drives the lot of them insane. Me? I'd feel right at home.

How Did We Get Here?
For years, Backstreet wasn't a destination, oh heavens no. You just kind of ended up there. And, there you'd have the best time. The liquor was ever pouring, the trade was around every corner and and the real world was light years away. Was that your boss in drag? Probably. Was that your third grade teacher doing bumps in the bathroom? I wouldn't be surprised. But, it's ok. Backstreet was like Vegas in a building -- whatever happens here, stays here OR until you call your best friend on the phone cause they weren't there yet.

B.F.F.
Ah, Backstreet, rest in peace, my friend. Yes, I revise, Backstreet wasn't just a club or an experience; it was a friend -- a friend you told your deepest, darkest secret to and they'd listen without judgement or prejudice. They'd just hold up their glass and offer a toast.

My American Idols

I’ve met Margaret Cho and Bruce Daniels; shared Krispy Kremes with Paul Oakenfold; saved Paul Van Dyk from a drunk tranny; helped Sasha push a K-holed Keoki off the turntables at Club Firestone; insulted closeted Hollywood stars with John Cameron Mitchell; and, along with Ashley Kruiz and Nicole Paige Brooks, was part of Kristine W’s entourage for an entire weekend; hell, I even brought dance icon Shannon down to Charlie Brown’s Cabaret to watch Shawnna Brooks perform to her single “Give Me Tonight.”

In the words of Missy Elliott, “I don’t brag, I mostly boast.” I mean, who else gets to do that kind of shit?

I often wonder when my luck will luck out. I have these idols that most people would never get to meet and up until last night, I’ve met them all with the exception of two: Anderson Cooper and my favorite author. The former I watched on Oprah yesterday and secured a copy of this month’s Vanity Fair with his mug on the cover, so I’ve got my fix for a while – he’s just so damn sexy and smart, not to mention a Vanderbilt.

The latter I first fell in love with when he-who-shall-not-be-named stayed with me for a little while. I had discovered Magical Thinking and blasted through its pages within days. I was hooked. I picked up Dry and Running With Scissors and read them both in large helpings at a time.

His name is Augusten Burroughs and I worship him. The man is hysterical, dark and troubled, and a damn good storyteller. Last night, Mr. Burroughs made a stop in Atlanta for his newest memoir, Possible Side Effects. He’s over analytical, deviously mischievous and is obsessed with dangerous escapisms. He went through some seriously fucked up shit, turned it right around, wrote about it and, naturally, became a New York Times Bestseller. He also met his husband and lives with him in their dream house. Can y’all see how he could be a role model? Well, I’ve got the writer and alcoholic thing down pat…

Stunts, Riggings and the Curse of the Double TD

I’m a bit disheartened y’all. I know awards and accolades shouldn’t really mean anything, that the journey itself is its own reward and all that yoga/pilates/zen garden gibberish, but what happens when the deserving get completely shafted?

Let me tell y’all about the Curse of the Double TD. About two years ago, a major part of Atlanta nightlife (see: drag queens) was blessed/cursed with the resurrection of a certain citywide pageant. Some of the A-list pageant names came out to represent as well as a few of Florida’s well noted.

Being an event producer, what amazes me is that the rules and regulation shifted on several occasions and were never posted for validity. One contestant was told certain rules, another was told differently. This is neither here nor there, but this type of uncertainty would make several people make mental notes.

The following year, the pageant’s contestants doubled due to the strong support from neighboring bars and clubs. As the pageant got closer to its date, the rules changed again. Yes, you must have won a preliminary to enter the contest. Oh wait, that one contestant won an alleged “preliminary” two years ago and that other contestant just gave up a national title that prohibited her from entering smaller scale contests so what “preliminary” did she compete in? Color the contestants and preliminary hosts ten shades of confused. TD1 (think the code word to Crystal Meth) would answer a prospective contestant’s question one way, TD2 (think Frosted Flakes) the polar opposite.

Where are those damn rules?

The outcome of the pageant wasn’t ever in question to the audience. They had chosen their champion. So, when their champion was named the 2nd runner up, the “stunt” flag was thrown. But alas, the scores are the scores, even if the entire judges’ panel consisted of a former national pageantry system which was the same one that prohibited one of the surprise contestants from entering smaller scale contests. This same contestant also went on to win that night over the people’s champion. Not to mention that the second of the surprise contestants took first runner up status with an extremely questionable presentation and talent. Curious.

And, where the hell are those rules and regulations again?

Oh yeah, no where to be found.

Fast forward to this past Monday, how did the Double TD manage to get the ATL’s infamous dick dancer club to buy a preliminary contest? They don’t even have drag shows, just nude men. Six contestants at $125 a pop; not a bad take. A week ago, the theme was one thing, this week it was the same theme, just a little bit more specific. And, that little bit could change the outcome of the pageant. Oh, and it really did.

At least two of the contestants are close friends and with an objective eye, I watched the entire Presentation category. These two dear friends burned that category to the ground. At the end of the night, neither of them would be crowned. The winner had everyone in the audience dumbstruck. You see, there were a few questions regarding the outcome:

• Why was the Double TD judging the preliminary to their own pageant?


• Why did one of the other judges get up from the table during talent?


• Why didn’t the Double TD catch this judge before she completely walked away from the judges table?


• Why were they going to let it all slide until one of the host bar’s entertainers called it out?


• How did the winner win when her Presentation and Talent carried no entertainment value?


• Why was the winner selected before the pageant even started?

And, just to make your brain hurt, let's consider a few more things:

• Why did the preliminaries drop from about ten to oh two (including the Monday night fiasco of a preliminary?)?

• During last year's preliminaries, why didn't the previous year's reigning queen ever appear to perform or represent the system?

• Why did their current queen hit it right out the door after she finished her two performances?

• In three years worth of contests and preliminaries, why hasn't there ever been a set of rules posted anywhere?
  

• Why is the Double TD so fucking rotted?
  

Stunts, Riggings and the Curse of the Double TD, y’all are a smart bunch; you know who I’m talking about. Yeah, it IS all a bit disheartening ain't it? I'm holding a silent protest on this one and you guys know how silent I can be.

Dueling Divas

I love my friends. I hate it when my friends argue. I hate it even more when I can see both sides of the argument. This one isn't even an argument really; one wants to explain, the other doesn't "want to talk about it right now."

Oddly enough, it's the latter that is infamous for her 20hz voice (20hz is a measure of noise where the sound is no longer being heard but felt as well). Yeah, you do the math.

Oh, and class, despite how much you respect your friends' opinions, see where they are coming from, know what they're talking about and so forth, if two are feuding, stay the f*ck out of it. Period.

Repeat after me:

"I don't know anything about it." (Or for those with street cred, "I dunno nothing 'bout that shit.")

"I see where you're coming from, I hope you two can figure it out." (Or for those with street cred, "I feel ya', ya'll need to get y'all shit together.")

"That doesn't have anything to do with me." (Street cred, "That ain't got shit to do wit' me.")

"Are you seriously asking me to take sides?" (Street cred, "F'real?")

Or, when in doubt, go for the ambiguous "mm hmmm." Don't forget to cock your head to the side a bit and slightly nod as IF to say "yes, you are quite right." Just don't say anything else.

Don't get me wrong, break your friends up if they're close to swinging, but for the most part try to be a sounding board. Friends don't ask you to take sides, they expect you to, which in most part is the obligatory part of a friendship. However, if two of your friends are expecting obligatory alliances, then said alliances null and void each other out.

Update: Too late, "drag"ged into the middle.

I should have heeded my dear friend Shawnna's advice and told them "I don't wanna hear none of this mess; I like you, I like her, fuck both of you and call it what? A day."

And yeah, she's got street cred to spare.

I hate my friends sometimes.

Can't Wait

I can't wait until Pride this year. It's just around the corner. All the clubs and bars are already getting geared up with their weekend events. And, I'm loving every minute of it. You see, Pride will always have a special place in my heart. I love all the freaks, shirtless men, PFLAG families and even the completely insane organized religion enthusiasts that come out to Piedmont Park each year.

I'm one of those weirdos that enjoys the comradery, can appreciate the Stonewall Riots and its commemoration and, of course, the money. Each year Pride tends to be the most lucrative time of the year for any of us that work in the entertainment industry. 'Cause you know you faggots love to be entertained. All my DJ, drag queens and performance artist friends just rake in the dough with double and triple bookings per night.

It's usually enough to get me through whatever financial crunch I'm in. Yay, Pride. I'm proud to be part of you each year. Through all the drama, the rain, the chaos and corporate machines, I haven't lost touch of the real reason of Pride -- it's a weekend just for me, my soul, my freedom and financial gain.

Just kidding. Well, sorta.

Stupid Shit

I've decided I can't fault people for the "stupid shit" they do. I can't say shit about shit because lately I've been embracing my own penchant for doing the stupidest shit.

I'll admit it...

...I love a good stupid movie that won't win any awards. I was giddy about Underworld: Evolution, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and now, Scary Movie 4. Critics hate the types of movies I tend to love and watch over and over.

I fuckin' loved Scary Movie 4. Then again, I loved the first three. I completely adore Anna Farris and Regina Hall. I was literally in tears watching it. And yes, I'll probably go see it again. And again. And then buy the DVD on its first day of realese. I'm all for spoofing the Grudge, Saw, Brokeback Mountain, War of the Worlds -- all of which I found completely bland. Long live satire.

...I'd rather eat at some Buffet joint than at the gay establishments. Oh yeah, I love em' all, bring on the Chinese, the Home Country and any other place that you can pile mass amounts of food on your plate, take a couple of bites and then go back to start over if you change your mind. And, at most of these places, you pay before you go in and just hit it when you've had your fill.

Don't get me wrong, I'll completely patronize the gay establishments, but let's face it, the food and service usually suck and it sucks bad. Here's my beef with the all queer all the time spots: you tend to know all the servers so if your service sucks, you can't really complain to management; the food is just blah, not very exciting and always too SOMETHING; eating takes forever cause you're too busy cruising, chatting or waiting for your server to stop their drag show and/or arguing with their boyfriend on a cell phone.

...I take naps and get cranky without one. It's true. I love my naps. I think they're completely underrated. Am I digressing? Probably, but I truly don't care.

...I can't help myself most of the time. You know that tiny little voice in your head that tells you when you shouldn't be doing something that you know isn't good for you? Yeah, I've got that bitch tied up with duct tape on her mouth.

"Sure, I'll have just one more drink."

"It's a great idea to call he-who-shall-not-be-named after that just one more drink."

"It makes perfect sense to keep calling even if he doesn't pick up the first two times."

Yeah, say it with me class. That's some stupid shit.

I'll take it TO GO

"Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

Oh yeah? Well, can we speed it up a bit? This one sucks, I think I'd rather start tomorrow.

So, you know that scene in Clueless where Cher and Dionne are trying to comfort Ty in the restaurant after she finds out Elton doesn't actually like her? All of a sudden, "Rolling wit' my Homies" starts playing and she breaks down and starts banging her head against the table screaming and crying that this was "mine and Elton's song!"

Yeah, that almost happened yesterday. With Pearl Jam's "Jeremy." At Vortex. Pathetic.

It gets easier, right?

Class? Anyone? Anyone?

On another note, driving through the Dogwood Festival aka "Straight Pride" (thanks Genre) sucks. Get the fuck out of Midtown and take your inbred baby carrying strollers with you.

I love me some Elephant Ears and Funnel cakes though. Yum.

Hmm, if today is the first day of the rest of my life, then I'm going back to bed. It's nice and warm there. Not to mention no Pearl Jam or straights with baby strollers. I do want another funnel cake though. Extra powdered sugar, please.

Are we there yet?

Ya' know that point where you're so exhausted that you start hallucinating and everything seems to be on the verge of some grand punch-line? I believe the medical term for it is "slap happy." Yeah, that would be me right about now.

Child Neglect
So, I've been going full throttle and working on so many different projects at once. With me, it truly is feast or famine and right now my fat ass is all up on the buffet. First, my baby, my pride and joy of all the events I've ever put on -- IMpulse. There are just so many things that need to be worked out in the next five days. It's going to be fucking huge, this much is true; I'm just thinking I don't have enough time in the day to devote to it.

The Cut
Then, there's dealing with the Studio 54 performances. I think everyone got the message to figure it out on their own when I sorta snapped yesterday. It was something along the lines of "if she can't get her ass to one rehearsal then find someone that can." Hence, let's welcome Summer K. Night to the disco party of the year. Genre, if you're reading this -- I'm really sorry for being so short.

Return to Sender
Now, the new gig. Buzz Atlanta is on the streets right now. Hell, Richie was allegedly walking from table to table at Cowtipper's giving it to boys he thought were cute. Oh, that Richie, he's such a character. I'm so glad I don't have to live with him anymore. So, yeah, the delivery company was supposed to drop off all 65 boxes at Bobby's bar, but whoops some jackass in the Florida office marked Bobby's bar as a residential address. So, guess what? Yup, a field trip out to umm, yeah, an hour away in rush hour traffic. (see: brain dead)

You Must be 21 and Up to Enter
We got back to the city and split the chores of distribution. Why did I have all the porn stores and video booths? I also discovered that there's a fraction of gay men that go from one to the other and back again. I had inadvertently gotten myself on this little loop and got some "come hither" looks from some of these gentlemen. Yeah, that's really special, ain't it?

Other than these little beginning hiccups, I like the gig. There are some things I don't like, but I guess it gets better with time or until I get pissed off enough to cuss everyone out and call it what? A day. Trust, it won't be the first time I make that exit from where I worked. I've become pretty efficient at it too. It's easiest to skip over the piss ants and go straight to the source of your headache. Just another friendly tip from me to you.

Hints, Allegations and Things Left Unsaid
I also promised to never mention a certain someone on this blog ever again. I've been censored -- on my own blog. That's really funny on so many different levels. That should say something about the nobody I'm not talking about.

**(Update: This shouldn't be a problem from here on forward.)

For Promotional Use Only
All right, so my last bitch and complaint of the day. I made this kick ass CD for a friend of a friend with "black girls" on it. Yeah, you figure it out. So, utilizing my pretty impressive collection of MP3's I made a 17 track compilation of some of the best R&B, hip-hop soul, hip-hop, jazz and remixes of said genres. It had some Deborah Cox, Goapele, Etta James, Angie Stone, Diana Ross, Bassment Jaxx and various other "black girls" on it. It kicked ass, hell, I even put the bitch in order from oldest to most recent in sort of a timeline sequence.

Lactose Intolerant
Why is that bastard asking me for a second CD? I was gagged. Let's say I make him a second one. Just by the magnificence of the first one, the second one is going to suck and pale in comparison. What I had created was true art, bouncing and transitioning effortlessly between decades and styles all with critical acclaim and/or popularity status, but not overkilled popularity.

Oh no, you won't find any Velveeta in this batch. Even the Deborah Cox selection was her "House Is Not A Home (The Mixshow Edit)" release. No ma'am, you won't find any "Absolutely Not" or fucked up circuit anthem on this exquisite collection.

You want a second CD, go to Napster ya' asshole.

How's that? From slap-happy to bitch-slap pissed in no time flat. Damn, I've got skills to multi-task.

04.05.06

And, it's crunch time, kids. We had our production meeting today at Brandon's super-apartment. The place gives me the creeps; I'm convinced they used to hang slaves in there. Eerie.

At any rate, we've teamed up Genre and Xdrenaline in the night's first performance in Ride. This is going to be really interesting considering they're two of the most creative entertainers in this city -- past, present and future. It's true.

We were having some issue placing Jade Daniels, but I think we've got it figured out. Nicole and Phoenix, well I wasn't too worried about them -- I think they're pulling some kind of stunt. That leaves the Dancing Diva, and folks this is going to be the stunt of the year if we can pull it off.

I'm excited as hell and we're still coming up with little nuances for our reunion. Oh, and the free shit? There's gonna be a ton of it.

Correction...

Genre was officially the first person to wish me a happy birthday. Genre and I were at Blake's on Friday and shortly after midnight, she wished me a happy birthday. So, Genre cares, she really does. I love her; she had on army pants and flip-flops.

So far, So good

I'm starting out my 30's properly. Lunch with Shawnna, then a bit of shopping and maybe some home improvement. Maybe we'll 86 that last one and replace it with a nap.

Go Shoh-tee, It's Ya' Birt-day...

So, it's my birthday. And, to be quite honest, 29B isn't any different than 29A, which I celebrated in 2005.

Shawnna was the first one to officially wish me a happy birthday. Sure, other people e-mailed and posted on Myspace and Friendster, but she was the first to call and say it. Yes, there is a difference. Bobby called, then my mommy (yes, I still call her that), and NPB as well as my little brother and sister-in-law. It's one o'clock now, sixty minutes into my 30th, err 29Bth birthday and still no word from CC. Fucker.

That birthday present better be super right. I'm just saying.

Hmm, 30 (yeah, I fucking said it, what bitches? what?!?), new job, new apartment, possibly a new love interest if the birthday present ain't sickening. Maybe, just maybe this isn't so bad. More on this later.

For now, it IS my birthday and I will be partying the house down with the family tonight.

The More Things Change....

The more they're fucked. Just kidding, well sorta.

I got a phone call from a dear friend yesterday asking to confirm a rumor she had just heard.

"Yeah, it's true, girl."

"I'm involved, it's pretty nice and yes, I have to put the smack down on your paycheck," I said without the slightest trace of sarcasm. Which, for me, happens to be quite an accomplishment.

So, here we go again. A new magazine is coming into town. Yes, I was approached to head up its Atlanta editorial. Yes, I will be helping the sales staff nab clients. And, yes I'm going after nightlife -- the one true thing I know and know well.

My work is definitely cut out for me, the first issue drops in 9 days.

Geez, this feels like when I left DA to start Otherwise, which sold out to HOTspots. And it also feels like the time I left HOTspots, watched it crumble and went back to work for DA. Things seem to have the habit of falling apart when I leave.

The more things change, the more they're fucked. Or, something like that.

Back Once Again With the Ill Behavior

I fucking love spring. I really, truly love it. Today was the first day I got to slow down for a few hours and enjoy the company of good friends and hard liquor, springtime in the Gay-T-L (boys just love the first day they can show some skin during the day) and slowly reveal what has been keeping me unavailable for consultation.

One of my all-time favorite “projects” (lord knows I’ve worked on quite a few) will always be those five months at Compound in 2004. It was during this project when I was feeling ten foot tall and bulletproof. We truly had a good thing going, not to mention some of my most favorite people in the world were working with me each Wednesday.

Long story short, due to scheduling and contract conflicts, the night known as IMpulse went away.

04.05.06
Fast forward two years and we’re coming back for a reunion. And this shit is going to be incredible. Yeah, we brought in Shawnna on a Hummer twice. Sure, we had every major entertainer in this city roll up in there and perform the house down, but this time it’s going to be a little different. Trust me when I say that some shit is about to go down.

Can ya' keep a secret?
The other project is super secret ninja, FBI, KGB type shit, but it’s something else that’s gonna rock Gay-T-L to the core. If I can pull this one off, then a lot of people are going to respectively be extremely happy, really pissed off or completely confused. That’s all I got on it for now. It’s gonna be hot though, I’m just saying.

Damn, I fucking love spring.

Miss Jungle Atlanta Pageant

Okay kids, I finally had a chance to catch my breath after the pageant and put together some cohesive thoughts about Miss Jungle Atlanta.

Overall, the feedback has been extremely positive and I appreciate all the kind words about this event. The glitches were handled as quickly as possible and anyone in attendance can vouch for the show's quick pace. Now, I *sorta* understand why some of these damn things take three fucking days to do.

With that said, I'd like to congratulate the Dancing Diva Shawnna Brooks for capturing the title. Her victory was well deserved and the package she brought was impeccable. Every category was well thought out and executed for the sole purpose of winning the pageant. In short, she came to win and anything else was unacceptable.

The exceptionally talented Myah Monroe came in as the 1st Runner Up and was knocking on Shawnna's door the entire night. On a personal note, I've come to admire Miss Monroe for her absolute professionalism and perhaps more-so as an entertainer. Great job, Myah.

Jade Daniels nabbed the 2nd Runner Up spot with a package worthy of a National title. From her Presentation to her emotional roller coaster of a Talent and her ever changing Club Wear, this bitch will have a crown around her head in the near future.
Angelica Diamante was also a crowd favorite throughout the pageant. She, arguably had the most energetic package of the entire night. Every time she hit that stage, the crowd went absolutely UP.

Isabella Diamante did a phenomenal job with her Miss Jungle Atlanta package. With the difficult position of drawing the Number One contestant, Isabella showed exactly why she has all those titles under her belt. Everything she did was clean and eye popping.

Finally, Jason Jupiter the Dark Horse of the contest was quite a spectacle to behold throughout the night. She added an element of surprise and unique attitude to the night.

To the entertainers: GiGi Monroe (ATL's first Drag Idol), thanks for all the encouraging words and energy; Necole Luv Dupree -- you're amazing, simply amazing; Monte St. James -- thank you sir, you're truly a gentleman; Tamisha Iman -- it was truly an honor.

To the judges: Bubba D. Licious, Niesha Dupree, Randall and my dear friend Ruby Redd -- thanks for keeping it real. A huge thank you to the MC, Mr. Charlie Brown and her sidekick Nicole Paige Brooks -- you two kept it moving at the speed of light.

Last and certainly not least, to my partner in crime the lovely Ashley Kruiz -- you never cease to dazzle me with your talent, intelligence and brilliance.

Cheers,
Arman