*link in the last post is fixed*
The Silverado club in Portland, Oregon is just about to close (somebody bought the building, apparently). A shame. It's got one helluva atmosphere.
Lastnight at Silverado, I met a trannie named Danielle Sugarbaker. She wore loads of pancake makeup and long black drap-ey clothing, and kept offering me her huge press-on fingernail hands.
Danielle begged me for a drink, which at $1.75 I could afford. When I handed her a rum & coke, she responded very grateful because she was in the "final stages of chemotherapy" for the rabid cancer that was consuming her. No wonder she was so drunk. I hugged her and held her hand and offered kind words of encouragement.
Soon, another kid at the bar comes over to me. I mention Danielle Sugarbaker and her cancer. "This week it's cancer," he says. "Don't believe a word that Miss Sugarbaker tells you."
He goes on. "Last week Miss Sugarbaker told me she just had surgery on her ankles, and I looked down to see she was wearing 6 inch heels!"
At this point, Miss Sugarbaker comes over to offer me her big hand again. "I just got out of a chemo session this afternoon," she says, yanking out a strand or two of her long hair to prove it's falling out. "Yes, I'm dying."
The kid on my other side just rolls his eyes. "Miss Sugarbaker also says she's a millionaire, but she doesn't even own a car." And come to think of it, a millionairess wouldn't beg for a $1.75 cocktail.
I'm entertained and baffled and horrified all at once. So is tragedy the latest ice-breaker? Cancer the new pick-up line?
Bottom line? .....Don't believe anything Miss Sugarbaker tells you.
Mykel - Mykel, age 4 Macon, Georgia (1996) I was a very quiet kid. I never liked wearing suits, but I remember loving the setting of this wedding reception I atten...
4 days ago