“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m sorry to bother you…”, begged a homeless man debuting his act on the N train this morning. (I know people don’t like when you say ‘homeless’. And I’d hate to offend any of my homeless readers. ‘Apartmentally-challenged’ is what I mean.) “…For those of you who don’t know me”, he continued, “my name is Luis Miguel Antonio Alfonso Alejandro Raymundo Emilio Estevez Christina Agamalaria Streisand Minnelli”, or something. First of all, I find it amusing (and a tad presumptuous) that those guys always begin with “for those of you who don’t know me.” From where might we know them, really? Their sold-out limited engagement peeing on the sidewalk outside Caroline’s Comedy Club? Or perhaps we caught them asking for spare change and sandwiches in the spot between Cameron Diaz and Maroon 5 on The Tonight Show? Secondly, if you’re gonna break into showbiz, Luís, you might want to consider dropping at least 12 of the 16 names. Stick with something short and catchy that your audience will remember. Like Cher. Or Madonna. Or I Just Shit Myself.
He went on to explain that he in fact lived on the train and asked if we had any food to offer him (which I thought was a little rude, considering we were guests in his house. I myself was feeling a bit peckish.) And I'm sure you can guess what came next...that's right....the concert portion; a less-than-rousing, A capella tribute to Mariah Carey, of all things, featuring her song "Hero". (I mean, let's freshen up the act a bit, Luís. Even Mariah wasn't doing that stale old bit back when she was peeing on sidewalks and living on the N train, after Glitter. Who manages these people??) He sang about seven verses (the original version contains only two) and then repeated the chorus about fourteen times - just long enough to last my entire train ride and save me the burden of having to listen to all that other non-homeless music I'd just downloaded to my iPod the night before. The chorus went something like this:
Luís: And then a hero cunz s'arooouuund
(actual lyric: And then a hero comes along)
Luís: With 'a stremph to carry 'round
(actual lyric: With the strength to carry on)
Luís: And you cash your fears and lies
(actual lyric: And you cast your fears aside)
Luís: And you know you can't surmise
(actual lyric: And you know you can survive)
It was so terrible that almost every passenger on the train, myself included, began to chuckle uncontrollably. There were even a few guffaws and I think one person farted. The whole experience was just mortifying. And now we're the assholes who laugh at homeless people. Anyway, I forget where I was going with this but I think it's that homeless people can be really selfish and needy.
And speaking of my relationships, I would like now to take you through a brief, avant-garde photographic slide show representing my current dating situation, present to future. (Boys, hit the lights!):
(Ma'am, please silence your cell phone during the presentation...)
(Wait..it's almost over...)
I think you get the picture.
I've been flooded with [two] e-mails asking about my luck with The Gay Millionaires Club which I previously blahgged about and to which I gave a gorgeous plug at absolutely no charge. Well, to clear up your burning itches, NO, I have not yet been swept off my feet by any rich hotties (and - by the way- how inconsiderate of you to bring up such a touchy subject when you can plainly see that I'm still very much poor and single.) In fact, despite an extremely promising evaluation with GMC, I have yet to be fixed up with a damn soul. I mean, I told them how gorgeous and young and broke I am (as though I needed to) and they said it would be a cinch to make me a match! But alas, here I sit...all alone, and in last season's Manolo Blahniks. Though, I suppose there is a bright side to all of this: The longer it takes them to find me a perfect companion, the older and richer and sicker he'll be when we're finally united. (Listen to me. I'm already talking like a woman in love.)
To be honest, I am getting a little antsy in the love department. It seems hundreds of my friends are getting engaged and married all around me. Even the gay ones (Yes, I've called the police.) I'm beginning to wonder, "When is it my turn? Don't I get a dream for myself?" You know what I want? I want what Jeff Bridges and Barbra had in The Mirror Has Two Noses. Remember that part where they're at the restaurant and he orders her the plate of extra salad dressing because he knows she likes extra salad dressing, and she gets all faklempt and starts singing "People" cuz he ordered her extra salad dressing? Maybe I'm confusing my films a little, but that's what I want! Someone who knows me like that; who gets me extra dressing; who orders me the extra shot of tequila for my margarita when we go to Dallas BBQ because he knows the Texas-sized won't be enough liquor for me and because it's only a few cents more; someone who gets me a second vodka tonic at Musical Mondays without my having to ask because he knows I'll inevitably spill the first one while trying to do the dance break in the middle of "Anything Goes". (Maybe all I really want is more salad dressing and cocktails.)
Anyway, after six years of living here in the Dance Belt, every Playbill I open seems to resemble a virtual scrapbook of lost loves and one-night-only's. I'm ready for someone to finally take second billing on my marquis, permanently! (Or at least sign a one-year contract with an escape clause, should I get a better offer.) The time has come. I know you're out there, you sonofobitch, and I'mma gitchya! Until that time...Please, God...grant me "a stremph to carry 'round."