I LOVE MY LIFE!

I’m sitting here in bed with my laptop, trying to think of what to write about, and I can’t help but think, “I love my life!” I wish that everyone had a magazine column due so they could sit down and write about why they love their life, too.

The very fact that I am back in bed—with my dogs, no less—is one reason to love my life. In the grand scheme of things, I live quite the life of luxury. Think about it: I only work a few nights a week and that can’t really even be called work (even though often times people are yelling “Work!” while I do it). I write a column here, an article there. I go out of town every so often to do a show for less-fortunate people in less-exciting cities. Cities that don’t have drag queens like me. Meanwhile, people half my age are struggling day to day with spouses and kids and mortgages and credit card debt. They slave away at jobs they hate, living paycheck to paycheck. They live vicariously through other people’s lives via the tabloids and reality TV shows. America has become very sad that way. If you look back to the Great Depression you will see that most of the movies were about rich people and many of the songs were about abundance and windfall. Rags to riches classics like Poor Little Rich Girl, starring Shirley Temple, have simply been replaced with the TV equivalent to lotto scratchers, like Deal or No Deal. And those delightful “anything’s possible” songs like “Pennies From Heaven” and “We’re in the Money” have been drowned out by grotesquely boastful crap like 50 Cent’s “I Get Money” and Nelly’s please-tell-me-this-is-a-joke “Grillz.” Today’s youth is blinded by the bullshit of bling and preoccupied with technology that, in reality, ultimately disconnects them from humanity.

Yes, I love my life! I don’t work in a factory. For some reason, that has always been my worst nightmare. I cannot imagine standing in front of a conveyor belt, doing the same thing over and over and over again. Having to ask permission to go to the restroom. I love my life because when I go to a show or a movie, I turn my cell phone off. I escape into another world and forget about my problems and responsibilities. I went to see The Color Purple at the Ahmanson recently and some woman kept looking at her cell phone! Every time it lit up, my eye would dart from the action on stage to this classless cooze looking at her goddamn phone. Then a little while later, some idiot asshole’s phone actually started ringing! Should I really have to put up with this shit, especially when I paid close to $100 to see this wonderful show? As the feisty character Sophia says, “Hell no!” I love my life because I know that my self worth is not based on what labels I wear or what I drive. This is L.A., honey. Your car is going to get dinged and dented. Just buy something that’s clean and safe and won’t scream “Look at me!” to every thief or, worse yet, carjacker. And can someone please tell me the point of buying Louis Vuitton luggage? It’s just gonna get thrown extra hard, and possibly broken into, by some bitter baggage handler who’s busting his ass for minimum wage. I always buy the most hideous luggage I can find in revolting stomach-turning colors. No one rummages through it looking for stuff and I don’t have to pick up each and every basic black bag on the carousel to check the name tag.

I love my life! Guess what I did yesterday? I went to see my very first condo! Yep, this homo is going to be a homeowner soon! I figure why not write a check to myself and my future every month instead of handing my hard-earned moolah over to some landlord? I have scrimped and saved a good chunk of change, one sweaty crumpled dollar at a time. So if you happen to be one of the many audience members who has shoved a dirty single into my cleavage—thank you! I will think of you every time I enter my new home. And you just know what I’m gonna say everytime I do that, right? You got it—“I love my life!”

illustration by www.glenhanson.com