Or does Bro-Mo sound better? Now, I’m sure we are all familiar with the phrase “fag-hag” made popular by the inspirational ginger Miss Debra Messing on the iconic show “Will and Grace”. The term refers to a straight woman that is completely enamored with gay man/men in her life; so much so that she falls in love with them. The fag-hag in question then secretly prays and wishes that their gay best friend will forgo their homosexual-like tendencies and marry her and provide her with beautifully hygienic and artistically creative children. I actually had a number of self-identified fag-hag friends in high school, which was fabulous, except when they personally held you responsible for every smart, attractive, well-dressed man being gay. I always responded with “honey they might be gay, but their not gay for me, so in the end what sucks more?” The phrase fag-hag caused such a stir that straight men began to appropriate aspects of gay culture and incorporated it into their daily routine including stylizing their hair, wearing tight fitting jeans and graphic tees, and showering on a semi-regular basis. Thus a generation of metrosexuals was born into the world.

As of late, I have noticed a great deal of shifting social perspectives, especially when it comes to sexuality and gender. People are now becoming more comfortable with the sexuality and gender expressions of their friends and family, but also with themselves as well – specifically the straight men in my life. I noticed that the many of the straight men in my life do not feel the need to assert nor defend their heterosexuality when it is questioned or threatened. I now routinely hear about the “man crushes” that my straight male friends will have for such dashing and debonair individuals as Daniel Craig and Hugh Jackman. Suddenly the face of the typical straight male is a very different one than I experienced ten, even five, years ago. It’s really incredible and awe-inspiring to see.

However, most recently, I realized that I am gay male equivalent of a “fag hag” – I tried to come up with a clever title and all I got so far is a “Mo Bro” or a “Bro Mo”. Now I understand the plight and aggravation of the heterosexual women. These straight men in my life, whom I all adore so much, can make life so frustrating sometimes. They tell you they love, tell you that in an alternate universe the two of you would be together, drunkenly make out with you in public and sing epic duets together and then at the end of night go have sex with women. Though they profess they are straight, they are just gay enough to keep the hope burning alive that perhaps someday they will decide they like men and women – and luckily being a drag queen, I can fulfill both sets of needs. The best part is when I’m having “girl talk” with the boys and talking about the ridiculous things girl do sometimes – admit it ladies, sometimes it’s a little obnoxious – and I nonchalantly mention that if I was their girlfriend I would blow them every single day and then would grill them a steak. That usually gives them a moment’s pause and makes them think about changing their lifestyle.

Random tangent; I have a fun new show idea, “Bill and Jace.” Best friends from college, who at one time attempted to drunkenly hook up and Bill decided that he was straight and Jace has never really gotten over it. They live in San Francisco in a beautiful little flat. The landlord is this boozehound of a woman named Sharon. Bill has a best friend named Mac, who has an eccentric hippie personality, and repeatedly gets the more stable and boring Bill into trouble. I think we have a hit series on our hands.  

It's been a rough day thus far - political figures are ruining the lives of citizens in Wisconsin and a devastating force of nature has taken the lives of so many; a devastating force who's full effects we have still yet to feel. The lives of thousands of individuals were irrevocably changed this morning and the process of healing and moving forward has not even begun.

While flipping through the channels the other night I came across a Comedy Central special featuring the infamous Ron White. A member of the redneck quartet, the Blue Collar Comedy Tour, Ron White combines a dry raspy delivery with an impeccable sense of comedic timing to put on a truly hilarious and amazing set.

I dare say it was a little fortuitous that as I happened upon the special, White was discussing a friend of his who was still a homophobe. Shocked that were even still homophobes alive in this day and age, White relates to his friend that everyone is a little bit gay and then proceeds to convince his friend, using porn as the major crutch of his argument, that he is in fact a little gay.

If Ron White has enough charisma and comedic sense to convince his homophobic hillbilly of a friend that he is in fact a little gay, well then there is hope for the rest of the world just yet.

So though today has scene its fair share of tragedy, I saw this and smiled a little bit. Hopefully it will make a few of you smile out there as well.

Going out is always an arduous and time-consuming an endeavour. You must invest so much time and energy before you even step through the front doors of the club. As a drag queen, you must vest that much more energy in creating the illusion. This past Saturday, my friend Sabrina was having a birthday celebration at Edge Nightclubinside the Peppermill. In terms of high-end dance clubs in Reno it is probably the best. I could have gone out as a guy, but it is just so much more to go out as a girl. As Ginger, I bypass the line into Edge, get drinks bought for me all night, and attract the attention of more than one gentlemen caller throughout the night.

So there we were living it up on the dance floor when this guy sauntered up our circle of dancing ladies and began to dance with me. All of a sudden, he begins to get all up in my business and rubbing his hands all over my curvy and vivacious body. This is all fine and dandy until he starts fondeling my better half - the half that makes me a drag queen and not a for real real woman. Now I when I am doing a show, I make certain that my package is not going to pop out during a performance and my shit is stuffed, tucked, strapped, and tied down. However, a night out at Edge didn't seem to warrant such excessive precautions and therefore - for a lack of a better term - kind of let it hang semi-loose. So I am not quite sure what this guy thought when he started rubbing my junk - I have never felt up a vagina before but I am pretty sure they do not protrude from a women's body and get hard. However, he didn't seem to mind or pull away so I sort of rolled with it. Eventually, I left the dance floor and my first gentlemen caller, in order to get myself another drink - he was cute but his hair was a solid mass of gel and gave me bruises just touching it.

I had barely stepped back onto the dance floor when gentlemen caller # 2 entered, who was taller, cuter, and bald (I have a thing for bald guys). Everything was going great and then it happened. You hear stories from your girlfriends or witness such travesties yourself but you never think it is going to happen to you. I fell on the dance floor. Not a slip or a stumble but a straight up land on my ass and back kind of fall. The guy started laughing at me and I knew at the moment that I was drunken falling girl. The only problem was that I wasn't drunk, just wearing the worst possible boots to dance in and the dance floor had mixers, water, alcohol, and ice everywhere and was extremely slippery. When I recovered from my devastating fall, we continued to dance, and once again gentleman caller # 2 decided to get frisky with me and got introduced to my other half. Once again no real reaction thus begging the question; did these guys know that I was a man who transformed himself into a devastatingly beautiful woman?

I'm sorry, I know I look amazing - you wouldn't believe that power inherent in fake eyelashes and corsets - but is it really that hard to tell the difference between what is fake and what is reality. Furthermore, what does it say when all it takes is a wig, some eyelashes, and a little bit of makeup to create the illusion?

I must ask myself the question of "do they know?" every time I go out into public as Ginger. Do they know that I am a drag queen? Do they know what a drag queen is? Do they like big old queens? Unfortunately, some of these questions can have potentially terrible and unsafe answers. Transphobia and homophobia are still very much realities that we must face. Throw in alcohol, drugs, and flashing lights who knows how someone might respond when they realize that they have just been making out with a guy for the past hour. However, I am not giving these men enough credit? In a world of diversifying sexual interests and tastes, these men could have very well figured out my secret identity and not cared. At the end of the day though, my mama didn't raise no fool, and therefore and not going to willfully put myself in an unsafe situation.

At the end of the night my feet were numb, my organs had re-shifted from being in a corset for too long, and one of my fake eyelashes was holding for dear life - only held there with a little bit of glue and some hope. In other words I was a hot mess. All in a day's work as a drag queen ;) Until the next outing.  

This morning, I was doing some research on a blog entry that I am currently working on. The blog will focus on queer peoples’ fervent love for Buffy the Vampire Slayer. While on Google search, I started my search phrase with;

“Why do gay people …”. Before I could finish the sentence, Google pre-populated the following popular search queries:

(1)   Why do gay people have lisps?

(2)   Why do gay people get AIDS?

(3)   Why do gay people talk funny?

(4)   Why do gay people want to get married?

It’s not really shocking that this came up – although I am surprised that nobody asked why gay people have an agenda. So on a lark, I thought fair is fair and decided to see what the magnificent Google pre-populated with the search phrase “Why do straight people …?”. Disappointingly thought, nothing came up! However when I broke it down between men and women I got some very interesting results.

When I searched “Why do straight men ….” These are the responses I got:

(1)   Why do straight men like men?

(2)   Why do straight men act gay?

(3)   Why do straight men cross dress?

(4)   Why do straight men flirt with gay men?

Last, but certainly not least, when I searched “Why do straight women” I got these responses:

(1)   Why do straight women like gay men?

(2)   Why do straight women fall for gay men?

(3)   Why do straight women marry gay men?

(4)   Why do straight women love gay men?

What possible conclusions could we draw from Google? Just from this little drag queen’s perspective it seems as though there is an apparent fascination with gay people and our fabulous culture. Although gay people are still sometimes the focus of bullshit and some straight-up hateration,  straight men are attempting to appropriate our culture and transform themselves into fabulous gay creatures. Straight women wish to marry us - seeing us as a more desirable mate than straight men - and procreate gay babies – also known as gaybies – whom they would dress in little sailor suits. I’m just saying …  

I’m not really a sports fan. I rarely if ever have the desire to go outside and play a sport. I frankly couldn’t care less who won the game last night or who got traded to which team. It’s cool if you do; some people enjoy watching sports and tracking statistics and other people enjoy watching award shows and taking bets on who is going to win the Oscar. The only sport that I know anything about is tennis. The other night at rehearsal some of the guys were discussing sports and steroids. I crack a joke relating that “that’s why tennis is superior sport because taking steroids will not make you a better tennis player”.  They look over and flippantly remark that tennis is not an actual sport and give me this condescending disdainful look at my futile attempts to discuss sports with a bunch of straight men. So … you make these judgments that gay men – and especially drag queens – don’t know anything about sports. In your eyes, our area of knowledge is sadly limited to Miley Cyrus, makeup, musicals, and GLEE. However, the times that we do try to contribute you refute and mock our efforts by stating that tennis is not an actual sport.

 Obviously! Obviously tennis is an “activity” that stuffy, preppy, sexually-repressed, country-club-goers do in between cocktails and verbally abusing their staff. Allow me to outline for you all the reasons why not only tennis IS a sport, but in some respects a far superior sport to others.

-          Usually there is no team in tennis. Unless you play doubles – which is rare - there is you, your opponent, and a mother fucking court and that is it. If you don’t feel like running down the ball because you are tired, well then you lose the point.  

-          Along the same lines, you are truly alone on the court. You do not have a defensive coach, an offensive coach, and a special teams coach at your disposal telling you how to think and which plays seem the most logical. Your coach is sequestered to the stands where both you and your coach could get into loads of trouble if they attempt to coach from the bench.

-          Tennis a rarity in the sporting world for a match has no pre-assigned time limit. While other sports and sports teams enjoy the benefits of a game clock – tennis players are afforded no courtesy. In tennis, players win a match when they win a certain amount of sets – typically women need to win two, and men three – and to win a set one must win six games, winning by two. I have seen tennis matches be over in as little as 40 minutes and sometimes have them take 5 or 6 hours. Wow, to have the stamina and mental dexterity to play a game for 6 hours, must mean that you are an incredible athlete.

-          Tennis is one of the few sports that has both a men’s and women’s division where attention is shared equally. However, tennis goes one step further in that men and women have the opportunity to compete against one another in mixed doubles tennis.

-          Let’s not forget that the whole point of tennis is for one person to hit this tiny little rubber ball with a small racquet and make sure that it not only goes over the net but then that ball must fall within a certain area of the court otherwise it is out and you will lose the point.

-          The Williams Sisters – Enough said, I would not fuck with them.

These are but a few of the many glaringly obvious reasons why tennis is an actual sport – contrary to straight men world. Perhaps tennis would be viewed as a more legitimate sport if its members beat the crap out of each other on the court, or better yet members of their own family. Perhaps tennis players would be considered true athletes if they did any number of illegal drugs, or punch hookers in motel rooms, or trash their own hotel rooms. Perhaps tennis would gain more airtime if each player had a mascot or better yet they all smacked each other’s asses at the end of each game. So in the future, try not to cast judgment upon something that you are blithely unaware of as I often chose to restrain myself from stating judgmental comments upon your tastes and interests.

Love Ginger

After a few dates with some gentlemen callers and talking to a few of my girlfriends, I was astounded to see/hear that so many men have decided that manscaping is not necessary or important in the slightest. Manscaping is not just a good idea but should be mandatory by law … ok perhaps that was a bit too dramatic. Now to preface this entry, if you have found a partner that doesn't care about the state of your Johnson, then fantastic! However do not assume that this is a universal preference.

Now I am not talking about manscaping your whole body. I typically go for a lumberjack type of mans that usually has a healthy amount of chest hair in some rugged cowboy Burt Reynolds fashion. In this PSA, I am specifically talking about manscaping your junk. All I am saying, is that if you expect me to put that in my mouth, that you better have it prepped and ready to go.

The thought might seem rather scary. Taking a razor or a scissors so close to the family jewels can be a daunting and nerve-racking task. In some ways, it's as if you were diffusing a bomb; one wrong move could result in a very unfortunate and disastrous outcome. We are not necessarily asking for elaborate design patterns, for you to bedazzle it, or spritz it so it seems like a grove of wildflowers. Just trim.

It's not too much to ask. Good maintenance and a thorough manscaping from time to time is a reasonable request considering what our male dates often request from us. It is sign to me of forethought and commitment, that should we decide at the end of a fabulous evening to bump nasties, you have taken the necessary steps to ensure that I have an enjoyable time.

I liken it to throwing an excellent mid-Spring tea party in your backyard. You would go to all the effort of choosing a design template for the invitation, wearing your best Sunday attire, and polishing your best jokes for the cheesy, yet sentimental, opening remarks just to have your yard look like some bullshit straight out of Jumanji. Your guest hesitantly enters the lanai, not quite sure what they will find, or if they will make it out alive.

So guys, make sure that if you are going to ask anyone to go down on you, that you have freshened up the space a little bit. Make sure that we do not think we are looking at something out the Twilight Zone for more than likely it will frighten us and make us not want to venture into uncharted territory again.



It's a rather odd statement to make – let alone out it out there publicly – but truer words were never spoken. I was going through old facebook photos and reminiscing and there were two photos that I came across that just made me burst into laughter.

The first was this photo taken with my girl Veronica while we were at West Second Street. I got dressed up and competed in a Halloween Pin Up Girl Contest at Tree House and I totally took home first place. Veronica, her friend BP, and I decided to go out and grab at drink and their favorite bar. Scared shitless, would perhaps be a bit of an understatement, of how I was feeling at the time. I do not frequent heterosexual establishments all that often – I usually incur the wrath of jealous straight girls hating on me because their boyfriend just eye fucked me from across the room … oh and because I'm a ginger … the firecrotch is very mysterious and exotic to people. Oh there is also that whole drag queen thing – now I was born in Texas and raised in Detroit, so I can fuck some people's shit up, but its not usually how I like to end the night. I tend to only go out to gay clubs dressed up as Ginger but I thought, why not, we're in Reno – how out of the ordinary could it be for an overly done women in a tight corset and nothing else to walk into a club?

V, BP, and I went to go sit down in a booth and I kid you not within a period of an hour, seven guys had come up to me and offered to show me “the time of my life”. Granted the majority of them were drunk, but seriously …. seriously … seriously!!!! I am sitting at a table with two actual women who are really hot and you bypass them for the drag queen …. damn I'm good. At some point in the night we got up and headed to the dance floor where I was quite the popular figure. Then in a matter of minutes things changed quite rapidly. This girl came up to me and started dancing with me and then she grabbed my less-than-real hair and once she felt the artificial fibers of the wig she ran off to go tell everyone and their mother in the club. All of sudden, like a game of dominoes, I saw people and bouncers whispering things in each others' ears and pointing in my general direction. I grabbed BP & V and said we had to leave now. Mama didn't raise no foul and I am not going out like that – so I grabbed them and we hauled ass.

The other picture that I came across was one of us from EDGE nightclub after the premiere of A'DOLLed Fantasy. We decided to go out as a company and celebrate after the show. I was looking slamming that night; I was still glowing from a great show and the great last minute impulse buy of my sparkly corset. Similar to my experience at EDGE, I found that I didn't need to do really anything and guys were coming up to me wanting to dance, wanting to buy me drinks, and being generally freaky. This was made even more hilarious by the fact that I didn't have a purse so my cell phone was stuffed into one of my boobs and my Mens American Eagle wallet was stuffed into the other – apparently this did not confuse, shock, or any way disorientate my gentlemen callers. Within 20 minutes of being there I had a guy getting freaky with me on the dance floor and more followed him throughout the night. I even got more attention than some of the girls in the burlesque company once again forcing me to take a moment and go “really …. seriously …. seriously!!!!”.

It is an odd and generally inconvenient curse. I do believe that there is a higher power in this universe and that higher power must have a sense of humor. As a guy, I am cute, nice, and intelligent but it is sometimes hard to grab a hold of the attention of gay men who are often off-put by my drag queen lifestyle and a flamming persona that burns brighter than most. However as Ginger I am a smoking hot temptress that ensnares straight men in my web of mysterious drag queenary. They think to themselves that it is possible that I could be a man, but then they are so entranced by my fake eyelashes and all the shiny stuff I'm wearing that they kind of forget it. However, at some point I have to step away and cannot let things progress too far. There are times that I will be dancing and my wallet will be popping out of my corset, or I realize that my arms are a little hairy, or they will caress my hair and I always wonder if they can feel the wig or the large amounts of real hair contained underneath it. Panic and paranoia takes over, and never knowing quite sure how they are going to react, I often play it safe and pull away before the reality of my true identity is revealed. Who knows how the men would actually take it, but I understand that I am in a straight club on a Saturday night, it's 1:30am and people are drunk around me, and I am a drag queen. Things could happen and things do happen – transphobia and gender violence still occurs every single day and I do not want to put myself into an unsafe situation where something could go wrong.

So it's pretty devastating that my drag queen gets more booty than I do but is never really able to follow through on it, on account of the whole lack of vajajay thing. But I am sure that there is a guy out there who is straight but gay enough to fool around with a drag queen or vice versa. Now all I have to do is find him ;)