Life Is a Cabaret, Old Chum

Aaaaah, the bachelorette party. We had a rolicking good time drinking and stuffing ones into the besequined shirts of lip-synching drag queens. The atmosphere at the Cabaret was much rowdier than expected, thanks to much drunker bachelorette parties than ours. One intoxicated bride was still to be divorced and didn't know when she could get remarried, but nonetheless saw fit to wear a veil festooned with plastic penises. My party, thankfully, spared me wearing a veil or garter or "G *heart* kStyle" tank top.

Yes, the runway at the center of the dark, noisy room was surrounded by bachelorette parties--at least seven!--seated at round tables on surprisingly comfy chairs. The ladies on stage danced and synched their hearts out, putting on quite a show from under gobs of eyeliner and dramatic false lashes. There was Mizery, large and black, towering over all of us and searing us with her amber eyes. She had a different wig for each of her songs, and her manner ranged from fierce (Beyonce tunes) to regal (Supremes medley). Some of my friends found her a little scary; I could see why. Destiny, the "Asian persuasion", was a post-op transgendered woman. She was so pretty my sister felt imtimidated by her. I adored her and gave her most of my ones. She was sweet, sassy, and danced flawlessly. (I felt less bad about throwing about all these dollar bills provided by my friends when I realized the funds likely all go back into elaaaaborate costumes for the show. Plus, it's better to feed the queens than to make them angry, especially Mizery.) Drinks kept appearing in front of me. Kris was weird, a giant blond round lady looking still too manly in costume, who did her own signing, cleverly altering song lyrics to enhance satirical obscenity. During one of her numbers, she parted paying brides' legs and sang "Show me your pussy/your pussy/your pussy," to a tune that might normally go "Show me the money/the money/the money". I quickly and desperately tried to foist the ones to my sister for this number, but she refused to hide them, less Kris sniff them out. I stuffed the money into the deepest recesses of my pockets and was spared. A special guest drag queen did a well-choreographed Britney Spears medley, which made M. and me nostalgic for college, when we went to see our friend Enrique perform a Britney song in drag at Queer Prom; he'd borrowed my blond wig for the occasion. (That wig ended up in more shows than I was ever in! It was the darling of student theater.) Norelle was hostess and sang a few songs herself, the mother hen of the operation. At one point, Mizery, who'd admired my boobs earlier, pulled a one from my blouse with her teeth. Like me, M. favored Dentiny, who felt M. up before accepting a dollar.

Most wild of all were the other brides, who drunkenly sashayed onto the little stage in such numbers that no room remained for the performers themselves. The poor, lost security guard stood confusedly at the edge of the runway, unsure whether to pull ladies down or just stand there in case of a fight or vomit. At one point, a particularly obnoxious bridesmaid Peed! Onstage! At the end of each song, mother hen Norelle gently reminded all the girls to take their seats before the next number.

But no matter--everyone had a great time. I imagine that the rudely drunk girls have terrible hangovers today, which are the law of karma manifest in a more timely manner than we mortals normally see in our short lives.

PS The most obnoxious bride of all wore a veil, a tiara, a garter as an armband, and a glittery tank top reading "Mikey's Wife". Ew.