Everything is f--ked!

I’m freaking!

I have this show tonight in Pasadena. It’s a new thing. The owners of this place called Villa Sorriso approached me with the idea of doing a show on a Tuesday night on their beautiful outdoor dining patio. Pasadena. Tuesday. Patio. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be great, but there is also the possibility that I will be singing for five people. You never know. That’s show biz, right? Well, as a card-carrying control freak such as myself is apt to do when freaking out about such things, I thought I would take matters into my own hands and send out an event invite to my over 7,000 MySpace friends—you know, just to get the word out. So I called a friend from whom I get like five of these annoying invites on a daily basis (you know who you are) to help walk me through the process. I jokingly called him my tech support and demanded that he speak to me in an East Indian accent. He tried, but it sounded more like an old Russian Jew so he quickly reverted back to his regular gay male voice. In that voice he explained that since I have so many (faux) friends on MySpace I should buy this program that will allow me to send the invite much quicker. Otherwise, it’s one person at a time and—hello!?—I’m a busy gal! I went to the Web site, entered all my credit card info and purchased the program. So easy, right? Wrong.

I learned that if I’m on a Mac, which I am, I will also need to purchase this and/or download that and blah blah blah. Ugh! I downloaded this thing that took forever and then attempted to install it. My Mac asked for my password, and I entered it. For some reason my password was not working. After about 90 minutes of this I all but burst into tears and told my friend, “I give up! I have to get off the telephone, sorry!” and hung up, wondering why God hates me.

I tried my best to “let go” and shake it off. I am, after all, an artist. I am not a computer person. I am not, as they say, “user friendly.” I decided to take a shower and go to the bank to deposit the stacks of mad cash I made in tips last night at my show at here lounge (I know, poor me, boo hoo!) I noticed that there was still some standing water in my bathtub from my post-drag shower last night. You’ve seen how much makeup I wear—that water was not pretty. I live in a great place in Little Armenia, but it’s kind of old, so these things happen on occasion. No biggie. Only a crazy person would let this bother her, but a well-adjusted type like me just rolls with the punches. La, la, la! Someone told me once that there is no need to waste my hard-earned tip money on expensive Drano (and God knows that the look-alike crap from the 99¢ Only Store is about as good at its job as George W. Bush), further explaining that spill-proof gel Clorox Bleach does the trick! So I poured a whole bottle over the drain, pulling the bathroom window closed so the sound of the gardener’s lawn mower would not bother me. The room filled with toxic fumes and I thought I might faint. My nostrils, which I had just had waxed along with my ears the day before (you people have no f--king idea what I go through just to ensure that your drag queen does not resemble Danny DeVito when you get up close and personal!), burned not unlike George Michael’s pee after a three-day weekend in the bushes of a public park. Great! I have to sing a dozen songs tonight and now my throat, nose and eyes are melting and I have a throbbing headache. Do you think the fact that I’ve had a whole pot of coffee with genetically mutated Splenda, and no food, could possibly be making matters worse?

I decided not to go to the bank. The one-dollar bills, anally paper-clipped “Martha Stewart-style” into neat stacks of 25, will be safe in my sock drawer until tomorrow. I should just relax. I have nothing to do until the show tonight, right? Wrong.

I suddenly remembered that this goddamn column was due. Everything is f--ked! It seems like I just turned in my last column yesterday! Why do these things always sneak up on me? What the hell am I gonna write about? Hey, I know...

I threw open all the windows—letting in fresh air and the roar of the lawn mower. “I shall let that sound serve to remind me of how blessed I am to have a roof over my head, a roof that is surrounded by greenery that needs to be tended!” I said. I got on the phone and ordered some lunch, thinking, “I am so fortunate not to be one of the millions of people on this planet wondering from where their next meal shall come!” I know that my next meal shall come from my favorite Thai place—and it shall be delicious and reasonably priced! I let all thoughts of tonight’s show leave my bleach-clouded head, replacing them with the comforting assurance: “Relax, it will be fine. It’s a f--king drag show, not a Broadway opening!” Then I cranked up the A/C, opened my MacBook, let my dog, Lil Sister, curl up in my lap and started typing the very words you are now reading.

Everything is f--ked? Wrong.

Everything is fine.

Editors' note: We have it on good authority that everything wasn't just fine in Pasadena—it was fabulous! As a result, Jackie Under The Stars will take place once a month, with the next show scheduled for Tuesday, July 17, at 9:30 p.m. at Villa Sorriso, 168 W. Colorado Blvd., Pasadena. For reservations or more info, call (626) 793-2233 or visit www.sorrisopasadena.com.

illustration by www.glenhanson.com