The Gay OBX

Hello gentle Americans. July 18th was my birthday and I spent it in the Outer Banks, North Carolina. Why you may ask? Why not, they paid. Or was it in Virginia? Or did we fly into Virginia and had to be drown to the Outer Banks? I can’t be sure after my 12-hour trip by plane, several connections with a horrendous layover in Washington, DC from Provincetown. By the time we disembarked you could have told me I was in the Philippines and I would have believed you. I staggered off the plane, with my wig in my hand and I felt like I had been raped and not in the ‘good’ rape kind of way. The kind of rape that leaves blood in you panties and condom stuck in your hair and no phone number. Have I said too much? Though I don’t think I have spent a more memorable birthday in years and the fact that I was hired to perform at my own party added to the lunacy.

Kelly’s, the Restaurant where the event was held, is a lovely space and Corey (one of the organizers of the event and head of the Gay OBX who brought me to town) decorated it with every piece of green stuff he could get his hands on: green balloons, heads of lettuce, green Mylar curtain and green plants. It looked like a leprechaun farted chards all over the room. Sadly there was no pot of gold. By 10pm the showroom was filled with festive revelers awaiting the chance to see the big green lady up close and personal. Billed as an adult show I brushed up on my expletives in the dressing area where Corey met me to discuss the cake. The plan was to bring my birthday cake out in the end of show, after my last number, and surprise me as if I had no clue it was going to happen. I hate a surprise that is why we planned it. Control queen? Perhaps. I have faked so many things in my life faking a birthday cake was to put it mildly a piece of cake.

Later that night having just entertained the masses I came to the close of my last number and the cake was nowhere to be found. I waited on stage for several moments thinking that maybe the candles were being lit. But after a few more awkward moments I had the sinking sensation the cake was not coming and I exploded, “Where is the fucking cake? I know it was supposed to be a surprise but the cake was to have come out by now.” The audience chuckled through the awkward moment as this trembling young man came to the stage with a sheet cake covered in green icing that said: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HEDDA LETTUCE. There were no candles on top of it and I thought to myself, “What the hell am I going to blow on?” Though I would have loved to have blown the boy with the cake, and I seriously thought of asking him upon delivery, but his foot missed the top step and fell to his knees, cake in hand. When I looked down at his stunned face half the cake was smooshed and where it once read HAPPY BIRTHDAY HEDDA LETTUCE it now read: Hap Day Ed Lettuce. He looked mortified and I just made a joke that we will be cutting the half of the cake that survived after the show and all should participate. Frankly you could not have asked for a better comedic moment and it felt very I love Lucy to me.

After the show I posed for photos and looked around the room to see who would like to eat my cake. One boy did catch my eye, he said he was a lifeguard or maybe he was a crossing guard, but after a few moments of conversation I think he was more interested in doing blow and drinking than doing me. It is a sad day indeed when one does not get any ass on their birthday. Heading back to the hotel I cushioned the blow (there is that damn word again) and told myself that a good nights sleep would be better than sex since I had to travel all day tomorrow. Besides I only allotted one hour for the dirty deed, which included foreplay, intercourse, light cuddling and showering. Did I say I was a control queen?

Waking up yesterday I felt cheated. My rest was poor to say the least. Perhaps drinking that Red Bull did not help? So not only did I not get laid but also I slept like crap. I had no idea what was in store for me once I got to the airport, delays upon delays because of a few thundershowers. I missed my connecting flight to PTOWN and had to stay overnight in Boston and return today. In total my flight home took 24 hours. Would I do this again? Probably. To bring my gifts to a town that is starving culturally is reason enough. Though next time I will require heavy sedation and a cute boy as my flying companion.

Stay fresh,
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