Tuesday, Aug. 05, 2003 - 1:20 a.m.

The Provicetown Diaries

Day One - Saturday

3:55 p.m. Landed at Boston�s Logan Airport after an uneventful uninteresting unmemorable flight from my home base, LAX. There wasn�t even anyone remotely dark skinned enough to keep the passengers and crew guessing are they or aren�t they will they or won�t they could be never know. Normally, there is always one that�s at the very least suspect of being a terrorist on each flight that gets my fellow passenger�s juices flowing each and every time the suspect gets up to use the loo making us each question ourselves as to whether or not we would or could jump the terrorist, disarming him/her thereby saving the day and the lives of many. My fantasy always has me victorious but not without a small knife wound to my left shoulder. The fantasy continues with American Airlines showing its gratitude for saving their stock from taking a nosedive by giving me and a champion of my choosing first class tickets for life. Natch, that would also include Europe.

5:15 p.m. Boarding Cape Air�s flight 228 destination: Provincetown. As the pilot walked the 9 passengers out to the 10-seat propeller plane he asked me if I�d like to sit in the co-pilot seat. I had visions of the two of us cozied in the cockpit laughing about something whimsical or whatever, drinking champagne and talking sexy and looking hot in goggles. I pictured him asking me to take the helm or the wheel or the stick or whatever it�s called while he fed me caviar on toastpoint. Dream shattered the second we reached the plane. First off, did I mention it was a ten-seater aircraft? A ten-seater aircraft has no cockpit, which means no privacy, which means bye-bye to in-flight fantasy hello to in-flight screaming like sissy, "Watch out for that bird."

6:00 p.m.. Arrived Provincetown ready willing and able to enjoy a wild eight days seven nights of debauchery with gay posse comprised of Corky, Jr, T-Mo and Danny.

12:30 a.m. Most exciting and debauched thing we did was play a domino type game called, "Chicken Foot."

Day Two � Sunday

9:30 a.m. Played a round of Chicken Foot.

12:00 p.m. After breakfast Corky, T-Mo and I decided to do little shopping while Danny and Jr tried their luck at the beach.

12:15 p.m. While walking down Commercial Street it didn�t take us long to realize that we had landed in P-town for Gay Family Week. For one week every summer season the already saturated gay and lesbian Mecca seaside resort town just has a few more strollers than what is normal or desirable. The few straight couples that do venture into town do so at their own risk with men clutching the hand or arm of their girlfriend for dear life fearing the worst of an "Oz" episode should they break grip for even an instant.

1:48 p.m. The gay men are so cute with their different color skinned children looking adoringly at their two dads who saved them from a life of uncertainty found in South American countries or the eventual long boat ride over to the States from the faraway orient.

4:15 p.m. Back at our rented Cape Codder three-bedroom gray-shingled cottage playing Chicken Foot.

6:15 p.m. Showered and fluffed we strolled into town to see whas-what and decided to spend twilight at the lesbian bar, Pied. Having just had altercation a few weeks ago with my condo lesbians I was understandably a bit nervous and caught myself involuntarily flinching every time some lesbian raised her hand to smooth her mullet.

7:15 p.m. If didn�t take long for the harmless Stoli Vodka and cranberry to turn to deadly vodka kamikaze shots. It was at this point, I do believe, that I clued into the fact that I had been hitting on a lesbian couple, which I soon started referring to as "my lesbian couple.", As the vodka continued to pour so did my best come-on lines.

?? p.m. Brought back to momentary lucidity when T-Mo yanked me aside and harshly said, "Honey, beef or fish. Cause you better decide before it�s too late." I questioned, "What are you talking about." He explained, "I thought I�d seen everything but the site of you locking lip with those two dykes is a new on me. So, beef or fish?" In my drunken state of mind I guess I rationalized opposite-sex sex wasn�t really sex at all. Or is it?

?? p.m. Brought back to momentary reality once again by the suggestion we all, the five of us boys and the six lesbians I corralled around me, with the promise of hot man lovin�, go to some club having a Prom Night themed rave allowing in only gay and lesbian twosomes. Sounded great and as long as I had my lesbian couple on my arm I was happy to go anywhere the gang suggested to go and vodka still flowed. What I didn�t realize when I signed on for Prom Night was that the gay was to be dressed like the prom queen and the lezzy the escort.

?? p.m. Luckily (?) for us the drag store was only a few blocks away and open late for last minute queens shopping for a new frock for the ball. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars later T-Mo was dressed in a canary yellow bouffant wig with a bright yellow and red swirl halter dress with matching boa and three inch heels and a red satin cocktail purse swinging from his limp wrist. Jr resembled a young Blythe Danner looking ever so elegant in a simple blonde wig, black form fitting dress with the side spit up to his coochie and criss-cross lace up pumps. Danny went for the Pucci print shorty short dress with long flared sleeves, a sensible heeled shoe of pink satin and in lieu of a wig opted for a matching pink wide-brimmed hat that he worked like a pro the rest of the evening. Corky wore a strappy stretch tube dress, a dangerously high pair of tramp pumps and a Demi Moore wig that lent much needed credibility to his look. I had always said that if I was a girl I�d dress like a slut. Tonight as long as the Genie was granting wishes and as long as I was going for it I went for it. Hot pink beehive wig with shocking pink-feathered tiara, bright pink shimmy shimmy Catherine Zeta Jones Chicago flapper dress, pink elbow-length gloves and four-inch heel fuck-me-pumps. I was pretty in pink and I knew it and I worked it and you know it.

?? a.m. (?) Unfortunately it took only steps before we ceased tittering and were walking like divas down Commercial Street packed with other Sunday night partiers. Once at the Prom the party really started to heat up when hiding behind our costumes we let loose and throwing all caution aside let the fun consume us. T-Mo was the first to spot the pedestal with the pole. With a leap and prayer he landed atop the dance box and worked that pole like a raw nerve. Corky almost lost all dignity when a she-male in a Buzby Berkeley hot pants sailor suite kept singing, "Fries come with this shake" and Corky responding, "Yeah, but I didn�t say super-size it."

?? a.m. With nothing left of the closet door but splinters and hinges I got me more lesbian lips by over using my new line, "Can�t a bitch get a lick?" Answer is yes and a lot more. Danny, still working the hat like a Teret Joan Collins, was the belle of the ball answering his many complements with bitchily reply, "After all sugar I am me!" As the evening wore on poor Blythe was not looking pretty in a town without pity.

?? a.m. Somewhere along the line I remembered I stashed my wallet in my undershorts and every time I was groped I was convinced they only wanted me for my money. Things got fuzzier after my legs gave way from underneath me and I fell to the dance floor resembling a giant pink marshmallow Peep when out of nowhere I was helped up my a very strong Cinderfella. The night became magical as I changed my order from mere fish to the Surf n� Turf. However, after Princess Charming asked me to help her with his zipper and I got a glimpse of back I couldn�t help but make comment, "Excuse me but that just screams for wax." He questioned, "What�s wrong with back hair?" With look of total honestly I said, "Honey that�s no magic carpet."

?? a.m. Back to fish and my lesbian couple.

5:30 a.m. The night came to an end when I woke up atop the washer dryer in the utility shed adjoining the cottage, stumbled across the lawn, puked, crawled in the bedroom window fell flat on my face on the floor and stayed there until�

Day Three � Monday

10:30 a.m. During what is my morning ritual I can�t believe how much it hurts to dance around the cottage in my Calvin Klein ribbed trunks to Beyonce�s "Crazy In Love." The price of beauty isn�t cheap whether you look it or not.

to be continued...

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