People… it’s DRAG. Find your sense of humour, improvise and move on.
I’ve had music stop numerous times at shows, on CDs that had been tested to be sure they worked. Generally, no big deal. Until it happens at a pageant. What a clusterfuck that was. Talent portion of competition. CD had worked fine in rehearsal earlier in the day. Thirty-seconds in: *blip*. No more music. But we kept going. It was myself and 4 backup dancers and we had the crowd on their feet, clapping and cheering and we never missed a beat. But my god, it was nerve wracking! And then, to add insult to injury, I was accused of staging the stunt on purpose, to gain the sympathy vote. Bitch, please! If I wanted to go for the sympathy vote I’d perform on crutches or something. But you know… I’m sneaky like that. I managed to slip a note to the DJ, telling him to please just cut the music 30 seconds into my talent. Even today, I roll my eyes at that. Listen… hear them rolling.
I’ve seen queens come untucked, kings come unbound; neither are a pretty sight. If you’ve never been privy to a king’s binding coming undone, count yourself lucky. Imagine a king, with a decent sized chest, up on stage, open shirt, rocking out, then POP! It’s a boobie! If you’re lucky, the king notices and at least attempts to hide it behind an arm or a shirt, but it has happened that they don’t notice and suddenly you’ve got an entertainer kicking Nickelback’s ass with a pendulous breasticle blowing in the breeze. Most kings have learned to laugh things like this off. Which is what you absolutely must do! Throwing fits and beating yourself up over something like this accomplishes nothing. I mean, you had the best of intentions and didn’t mean to come undone on purpose… at least I hope not.
And it could be worse. You could have packed your costumes for a show, not even thinking about the fact that you haven’t worn at least one of these costumes for several months. In your oversight, you become delusional and assume that you are the same size you were several months ago. If you’re anything like me, that’s a bunch of crap. In my head, I’m still the 50 lbs less than I am now, an idea that is quickly stomped into the ground the second I try to squeeze myself into a pair of pants without the benefit of silicone lube, Crisco or lard to help with the squeezing. This is when panic sets in. You have no other outfit except for the shorts and t shirt you came in. You HAVE to get into these pants! Meanwhile, everyone in the dressing room is giving you odd looks while you try to surreptitiously wiggle your way into pants that are a good 4 sizes too small. Shit, if the chicks at the mall can do it, so can I! You try to suck in your belly, lay across a pool table or the floor, as you maneuver the pants up over your thighs. Yes! They’re on! Almost! Now how the hell do I button these damn things?? Seriously, how can you NOT laugh at things like this? It’s comedy at its finest. God forbid there was a microphone and a video camera backstage at a show…
One more snafu for you, so that you really do understand that, in the end, it’s just drag and if you lose your sense of humour about it, then you may as well pack up and go home. Take yourself too seriously, and in the end, no one wants to be around you because no one wants a Debbie Downer around.
Ok, so while in Modesto last year I decided to do something different and tape. WHY I decided to do this, I don’t know. I STILL don’t know. I must have been drunk. Or something. Regardless, I taped rather than using my tried and true binder. It was a gorgeous day, 82, sunny with a breeze. Gunner and I had a half hour set, so we alternated numbers: him then me then him, etc. It went great. The crowd dug us. Did I mention it was 82 and breezy? Guess who overheats… Yep. This ginger king. I ended up stumbling over to the tent, throwing up all over the place and then sitting on the grass, unbound, trying to keep my boobs from falling out of my shirt, while a gay prison nurse (yes, really) put wet paper towels on the back of my neck, my ankles and my armpits, and fed me fruit. FML. Not embarrassing in the least. I mean, seriously!! Who does that?! And I managed to throw up once more on the way to the car! Ugh.
But we laughed about it.
And that, dear readers, is the moral to my fables. Whether your pants are falling off, your bits and pieces decide to come untucked, your music goes on vacation or you end up sitting on the ground being fed grapes by a gay prison nurse, remember to keep your sense of humour. After all, it’s just drag and life is too short to take yourself too seriously.