I get my kicks above the waistline

24 05 2009

You know, 5 euros might not be a great deal of money but if I’m paying 5 euros for a Drag Queen show, I want a bit more for my bucks. All I can really say is that last Friday Jackson, C and I had the most bizarre and surreal evening, to rival many that I’ve had in the past (Wurzburg summer 2001, anyone?). Watching a Drag Queen attempting (badly) to pose on one leg on top of an old orange box, at the end of every badly lip-synched song, just made me think of a senile grandmother – the lips drawn back from the teeth in a forced grin, the wavering leg and the bleeding lipstick edges really turned my insides, aided by the bad Sekt I was drinking.  The three of us thought we would never escape, and it did take more than 4 hours after our arrival for us to manage to get out – alive. It just wasn’t Ru Paul’s Drag Race, there was no bass in the walk. There weren’t even any Barbara Streisand or Annie Lennox covers.

I’m not sure if anyone but the three of us who went together will truly understand what we experienced/suffered. I actually suspect there might have been dubious ‘group activities’ occurring once everyone had consumed enough of the liquor chocolates that were passed around. At one point I asked C if I was missing the trick, the punchline or the green fairy that might appear on my shoulder.  I’ve never craved an out of body experience so much; my curiosity to find out what the senses of the ‘performers’ where receiving, compared to what befell my eyes was extremely high. Will anyone else ever understand the ‘Aldi Champagne Truffle’ advice I was given by an extremely shouty lady? Will anyone ever share my pain after being slapped, hard, on my backside by same lady as we finally escaped the….the…..menagerie?

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