2003-12-11

Ah, chickens. Betaland is sucking it, as usual. I've been working every night for the last seven days on a freelance poster that I despise. Work is work. There is no play.

Well, that's not true. My lady friend and I went to dinner last night, followed by a nightcap at Marlena's, which is a drag bar. No one was in drag last night, as is the norm. It's usually just a bunch of queens coming from work and sharing pictures of their weekend drag shows, pictures that never cease to amaze me. They do put on some awesome shows on the weekends.

Marlena's is owned by a queen, who, like all queens, goes balls to the wall for the holidays. The place is crawling with Santas. There are three shelves on every wall, including behind the bar, stuffed with Santas. There are piles of plushy Santas on top of the shelves. There are glass casings filled with the most delicate Santas. Every once in a while you think you're tripping out because one of them will start dancing. Motorized Santas. There are colonies of Santas, swarms of Santas, an epidemic, a bevy, a herd of Santas.

It does put you in the spirit though. As do the 50 battery-operated revolving snowflakes hanging from the ceiling. That place is a treasure.

The cats are drinking the Christmas tree water like a vampire sucking on a virgin. They also think the ornaments are their personal toy collection, the tree itself is the center of a track to run laps around, and the branches are a mighty fine place to play stealth warrior.

And no, my little feral cat has not let me touch her yet. She has taken over the dog's bed during the day and sleeps on my feet at night, but woe be the lady who stirs. She's lightening.