Where will Nomi Malone go?

It seems that the good people of Las Vegas have demolished the "Stardust Hotel".

As you may or may not know this is the hotel where Nomi Malone's (Elizabeth Berkley) tale of a hooker who wanted nothing more than to be a "dancer" played out (but really she just turned into a giant spastic bitch hooker who spits, fucks and fights her way to the top- gets there - then spits in its face). I am very sad. Whats next- The Cheeta!

"I don't know how good you are darling, or what is is your good at but if its at The Cheeta, it ain't dancing, I know that much"

Well Crystal, apparently "You don't know SHIT!"

Oh Nomi, Crystal, Zack, Molly and Gaye I will miss you.

Seeing that shit hole (the stardust, not Elizabeth Berkley's ass), going to Versace, eating in the forum and standing outside the "Krave Club" were the highlights in my self guided "Showgirls" tour during my brief (and horrible) visit to Las Vegas . I now have no reason to ever visit that pit again (not that I would have anyway).

The demolition comes at a poignant moment in my life as well as I too undergo change, Oh "Showgirls"- always leading the way...

Confusion abound

Well it seems some of you faithful readers have been asking "what the fuck dude, where did you go - how come no more blogs" Beleive me , plenty of embarassing episodes and catastrophies have happened that I am dying to write about but things are complicated. I apologize again- it seems I took too much from the all you can eat buffet of life and now have to sort out which things stay and which go. Hopefully this disaster will clear up soon as I have a lot in my head and a lot of unfinished posts on here that include-

-Why I loved Kids Incorperated

- The day the homeless religous man gave me a gift and changed my life

- When my biggest crush came out of the closet and I threw up

- Singing at town fairs only to be made fun of the next week in school and then on public access television


oh so many good times I tell you- so many revelations. In the meantime I am on my way to boredom and numbers.

Yes folks- I did not spell check.

Chestnuts Roasting...

This time of year usually amounts to me getting fat, losing motivation, feeling lonely, broke, and not wanting to leave my apartment. The older I get the more difficult the holidays become. I am continually reminded by family that I am single and not getting any younger, asked questions I don’t want to answer, have to hear about so-and-so’s engagement then feign interest in stories about medical conditions. Every Christmas morning my mother reminds me that when I have a boyfriend I will no longer get a stocking full of razors... I am not sure what the implication of that is but it always feels like a threat.

Today I decided that it was time to cast off the negative vibe and remember why this used to be my favorite time of year. When I was little Christmas meant listening to the Carpenters Christmas while my sister and I pranced about with tinsel draped around our necks. My mom would pull out all the campy Christmas crap she had collected over the years and every room had something special- even the toilets got Santa caps. It meant having an electric candle light in my room which illuminated everything blue or orange depending on the color my mom chose that year. I could twirl endlessly in a red velvet skirt with gold fringe on the edges (the Christmas tree skirt ) and no one would think twice- God I loved that. I have fond memories of lilac candles on evergreen advent wreaths, lighting one each Sunday evening in anticipation of Santa’s visit. It was the time when everything felt magical and wishes came true.

As you probably noticed I had no idea that according to my father and the Catholic Church Christmas was about the birth of Jesus- then again who does anymore.

My earliest and one of the best Christmas memories is from when I was four. At that age my main concerns were

1. playing Barbies with my sister
2. singing & dancing
3. organizing my stuffed animals
4. playing with blocks and matchbox cars
5. playing dress up.

I did not realize that there were games and activities that were distinct to each gender at this age. I had no idea I was different from my mother and my sister- they were my favorite people, my best friends and we were one in the same. We hung out together, laughed, played, made cookies and dinner- it all seemed normal. My sister played “boy games” with me so why couldn’t I play “girl games” with her? My parents agreed, for the most part. The first time I noticed something was different was when my mother had painted my thumb nail red and said “Don’t let your fatha’ see that”. Following that incident I was caught twice putting on my mothers make up and not thinking anything of it. Santa knew of my practices and so war was to be waged in the toys I would receive that year.

Christmas Eve my sister and I dug into our gingerbread houses and ate candy while the adults sipped sherry. I had on my blue and red flannel bathrobe and was walking around with a pink headband on because my sister had one on- everything she did I had to do as well. I am pretty sure it was the first time I knew what was actually going on (seeing as it IS my earliest Christmas memory). Once we had run around and worn ourselves out of the sugar high it was time for bed.

My weary mother tucked me in, turned on my blue candle light and said to make sure I slept all the way through the night or Santa wouldn’t come. She leaned in and gave me a good night kiss smelling of perfume and powder with a hint of tart wine- the fanciest smell in the world. I obeyed her and forced my eyes shut. That night felt like an eternity.

Finally I saw the sun and knew it would be OK to sneak downstairs and see if Santa came. I hopped out of bed and into my sister’s room. There she slept amongst her stuffed animals in full barrettes and ribbon beauty looking like a princess. I cautiously walked over and her eyes flew open. We giggled and suddenly there was rustling from my parent’s room. It was time.

My parents were worn and tired, probably hung-over, dreading the day of screaming and family that was about to ensue but they did not show it. My dad got the camera and told us we had to wait for him to go down first. My dad trotted down the stairs and made a big deal of all the presents with audible “OH MY! WOAH LOOK AT THAT!!”.

I almost peed my pants in excitement.

We were given the "OK" and we descended the steps holding hands. We reached the landing and my sister and I screamed- the place was FLOODED with gifts . I don’t mean a mild two or three big things and a bunch of crap- I mean play houses, sleds, toys and more toys. I have no idea how my parents afforded all of it but it was truly amazing. We quickly separated hands and flew towards the gifts.

The room was divided up between the two of us with gender specific toys most prominent so we would know which side to go to. Each of us had a full on toy store display to rummage through and scream “WOW” as we tore through gift after gift. My sister began to play in her new cardboard play house as I went through my stash of goods. A yellow Tonka dump truck, a fire engine, more blocks, matchbox cars, star wars action figures- so much good stuff. Then I saw the first truly awesome gift- a cowboy outfit laid out and next to it a POM POM!!! I yelped and looked over for my sister's approval. She stood proudly behind me with a pom pom in hand to! I put the cowboy hat on my head and we waved our pom pom's around and chirped with delight. I was in heaven, dress up AND a pom pom what could be better.

Then I saw it.

She was beautiful.

I stopped my cheering and my pom pom slid out of my hand as I stood dumbfounded by her beauty. I was nervous at first as she was in the middle of the divide and it could go either way- could be my sisters, could be mine- which was it? I continued to stare at her. I glanced longingly at my mom and she nodded “go ahead”.

Slowly I walked over to her. I saw her brown polyester hair shining in the Christmas tree lights, her perfect complexion, her pouted lips, her Carmen Miranda looking disco outfit. It was mine, my very own BARBIE! I ran towards her and picked up her little busty body. Something was off about her- she was kind of hollow and not as heavy as my sisters Barbies, she seemed "cheap" if that was possible, plus she had brown hair- Barbie was BLONDE. I didn’t care, I cast off all doubt about who she was and just knew she was mine and I loved her. I could not put her down. I removed my cowboy hat, walked over to the Tonka truck, placed her in it and started doing her hair. Later I changed into the full cowboy outfit for pictures and did her hair again. I must have done her hair about 20 times that morning.

When the extended family arrived I was told to put her away in my room and not let anyone see her. Throughout the day I would check on her to make sure she hadn’t walked away or run off with Ken. She was there, staring blankly at me in her tacky flammable gown amongst the rest of my stuffed animals sending me pouty love. I would tell her not to move and I would be back, run down the stairs and continue having Christmas while thinking about her brown lustrous hair, her glamorous multicolored blue, yellow,orange and red ruffled gown and what fun we would have once everyone was gone.

Last Christmas my mom and I were watching the home movies from that year. There I was, headband and all skipping about in excitement.

“You know, that’s the year I got that knock off Barbie”.

My mom nodded and smiled.

“I loved that Barbie!”

She nodded once again and supped her scotch. She sighed, looked over at me in a tipsy glow and relayed the brief story of how Carmen Miranda dollar store Barbie came to be.

My mom knew I loved to play Barbies even when I tried to hide it. She knew my secret wish was one of my own. One day while out shopping she was inspired and bought a knock off Barbie for me (in case I didn’t really like it) and did not tell my father. Christmas Eve while they were setting up the gifts my mother pulled out the toy and placed it on my side of the floor. My father asked her what it was for and she responded “oh you know he plays Barbies with his sistah, I thought he might want one”. My father apparently was not too happy. The agreement was to place the knock off Barbie in the middle ground and see if I would notice it. My mother knew I would as I was observant but she obliged and placed the doll under the tree but a touch more on my side than my sisters.

Her little son did not let her down, he found that Barbie and thanks to her the best Christmas ever.