The Miss-Adventure of Li'l Red Riding Ho

Previously on Confessions of a Male Bridezilla, our B-T-B was caught off-guard by his stunning announcement of being "scary and damaged." He was really knocked out of his size 10.5 Pradas when his new bachelor was willing to become a bachelor-no-more, sealing the deal with an orchestral kiss...

If there was one thing that our Bridezilla knew how to do, it was plan ahead. After the devastating mistake of not grabbing the phone number upon our first meeting, I was not going to allow Trevor the opportunity of making different plans with another gentleman. I had, at the end of our previous evening together, fortified our next rendez-vous with an invitation to Club Diesel for the next evening's Halloween party. Let us never forget that I have a long history of doing Halloween big and in style. And by big and in style, I mean in Drag. In the past ten years, I had gone as Britney Spears, Marilyn Monroe, Supergirl, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Batgirl, Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, Daphne from Scooby Doo, and a couple of other ladies of luxury. This year's chosen outfit was: Little Red Riding Ho...The slutty version of a childhood fairy tale character.

Let it be known, I have never half-assed a drag experience. We're talking beautiful wigs, shaved legs, and boyshort underwear from Victoria' s Secret that I ironed on hot pink letter to spell out "SLUT" on the ass...The process of getting ready took at least two full hours. Three, if I'd be taking smoke breaks at regular intervals, which I was. Here, however, is where our night gets a little tricky. I generally do a group theme for this special occasion, and this year was to be no different. You see, my friends and I were all going as storybook characters: there was "slutty miss muffet", with a rather large tuffet I might add. We also had Hansel and Gretel, so on and so forth they went. My Ex and I were still, to a degree, involved at this point. Bob was the "Hansel" of the group going, his best friend was "Gretel."

A bit of backstory is required for our tale to continue: For the previous seven years Bob and I had a difficult-at-best relationship. On my end, the frustrations were many, including and at times most certainly limited to, Gretel. I had a long standing suspicion the Hansel and Gretel had hooked up in the duration of my seven years with Bob. Though it was never confirmed, in the end it wasn't denied either. So, being forced to spend my favorite holiday, amongst other gay festivities, with the pair of them was not only mind-numbingly dull, but also extremely irritating. This occasion, however, it was welcome. You see, Gretel provided me the one essential tool that I was going to need if my ex and my new were going to be in the same gay bar on the same gay night: a distraction. Yes! Gretel was going to have to distract Hansel, Muffet, and the rest of the storybook crew long enough for me to bounce back and forth like a godforsaken beachball...in a wig...

So, let us start this festive day at 2:00pm. I was still dressed in standard gay male civilian clothes headed to a then-popular, now-closed restaurant by the name of Po' Boys...Not nearly as trashtastic as it sounds, I promise you. We were going to be throwing back a few drinks with a few of Bob's closest friends, err... co-workers; my former boss and co-workers to be exact. Let me set the record straight. I very much enjoyed the company of my former mates. They were fun gals who knew how to party the right way: get as smashed as possible in the shortest amount of time, say inappropriate things to all the right people, do daring and explicit actions to gain awestruck reactions, and go home by 7pm to pass out for the evening. Yes ladies and gentlemen, they were middle-aged.

While I was at Po'Boys enjoying the nonsense of these ladies in their natural habitat, I decided that I would have a few beverages to get the day started as well...5 BudLights and two Red-Headed-Sluts later, I found myself lit up like a Mirrorball at Studio 54. Now, anyone who has ever witnessed the beauty that is me intoxicated can attest: the very small communication filter that I have normally, begins to disintegrate at an alarming rate. Today wouldn't be out of the ordinary. As I witnessed the tragedies that were unfolding before me, I started hearing comments like, "If thish big bitch hugs me one mo' time, Ima gonn' take my fisht and bonk that bitch on the head." It was only after everyone turned and looked at me that I realized I had made the comment. And that I was slurring at 5pm. Clearly the night was off to one hell of a start. At this, Bob decided it was time to head back to my house so I could begin the getting ready ritual that would land us at an ETA of 9:00 pm to Sparky's.

Once I was home, I started the transformation of gay man to slutty fairy tale chick. On schedule, about two hours later the guests began to congregate. Gretel and Muppet had arrived donning their costumes and cheery dispostitions. With that, I started drinking. Heavily. Before we could go, I had to clip in a weave for Muffet so she didn't look like Dykes-Gone-Tuffet 2008. As I held the human hair attachments in one hand, smashing and clipping them into the back of her head with the other, I continued to partake of yet another alcoholic beverage: my nightly Pinot Grigio consumption was well under way.

With the last swallow of the bottle finished, we grabbed our baskets, cameras, and cigarettes and flew out the door across the street. Carrie D was also partaking of the festivities, as she, her girlfriend, roommate, and some other friends were getting ready for their Halloween showing as well. A couple of pictures, a couple of beers, and a couple of bongs, we were off once again. This time we were on our way to Sparky's for some pre-Diesel excitement.

Sparky's is always a sight to behold as there is a very unusual mix of clientele that gathers at this particular locale. Now, Peoria has its' beautiful homes and neighborhoods with beautiful views and beautiful lawns. Sparky's was smack-dab in the middle of just the opposite. Let's see. To the left, is the bar that has had 4 shootings in two years, to the right you have the bar where my friends were held-up at gunpoint in the rear, and across the street you have the local Ministries services that will tow your car should you park in their lot after 9 pm. Class, with a capital ASS, but nonetheless, it is where all the gays commune prior to the ride down the hill for more debautchery. We had everything. There was the spiderwebs strewn across the ceiling, drag queens doing "I Put A Spell On You" and then there was me, socializing amongst my acquaintances, gathering compliments on my fabulous choice of costume.

After about an hour of playing nice with the potpourri of people, I retreated to the bathroom to reapply, piss, and text Trevor inconspicuously. It had been nearly a whole day since I had spoken to him so I wanted to ensure that he would still be making an appearance.

HEY. WHAT TIME WILL YOU BE AT DIESEL?

> ALREADY HERE. WHERE'S YOU?

(BANG! BANG! BANG!) "Hurry up, Red. A bitch has to urinate!"
One of our drag queens was obviously tired of waiting for me to unoccupy the bathroom so her own urination could commence. I took it upon myself to politely respond, "Ok, Bitch! Hold on to your Gold L'Amy Stillettos!" I exited at my leisure as I quickly texted Trevor back.

BE THERE IN A SEC

> OKIE DOKIE

As we hadn't been at this establishment very long, I needed a reason to get my group to vacate and head down to Diesel without looking like there was an agenda. As a fairly logical person, I generally do not find myself looking for signs. However, on this night, I received a spiritual cue that was unmistakeable. Just as I was beginning to frantically search for an excuse to leave, my good friend Troy began fighting with his on again, off again beau. While I wasn't overly involved in the situation, what I can tell you is this...A shiny, glimmer flew passed my head and the next thing I know there was a shattering sound immediately to my right. It seems the beau of my Troy had had enough and hurled a shot glass across the room that managed to catch Troy across the temple. The glass then shattered all over Troy, the vending machine, and the ground. You may be asking yourself how this was a sign. Well, Troy and beau were escorted out of the bar. Carrie D was his ride, leaving with him and the rest of my party wanted to follow her downtown. Not proof enough? Here's the kicker...Troy was less than 3 feet away from me when a full shot glass collided with his skull, and not a single drop of liquor splattered on my cape, my basket, or my toule...God wanted me to meet Trevor that evening and still look fabulous! See, it was a sign. Best of all, I didn't have to concoct an excuse to depart the lovely bar known as Sparky's. It happened all on its' own.

This is where the story gets interesting. Trevor knew that I'd be dressed as Li'l Red. What he didn't know was that Bob would be with me, along with the rest of my usual entourage. Upon entering the dance club, Muffet and I immediately walked on the dance floor and began to "dance it out." We wanted to get lost in the music and in the upcoming hours, we both knew that there was definitely going to be some pent up energy. Li'l Miss Muffet had know about Trevor from the moment that the tryst began. She had been there for all of the sordid details of my affairs and was well-aware that it was her mission to keep Bob and Trevor as far away from one another as possible. Not only did she accept her mission, she ensured its success. After about 15 minutes of dancing it out, Trevor texted me once again.

> I SEE YOU.

WHERE?

> AT THE BAR.

Sure enough, he was sitting at the bar with a lady sailor. I sauntered up and greeted them both. Trevor had come as a fratboy, which really ment that he magic-markered some greek letter on a white tee shirt and threw on some jeans. Amanda, who I'd come to find was another breed of faggis haggis from his repertoir, was a delightful lady full of witty jokes and vodka. She and I got along marvelously. We all talked for about twenty minutes before heading out to the back porch for the remainder of the evening.

We'd all been having a solid conversation when the need for renewed drinks occurred. We went inside to order new ones when the twin, Taylor, back from school, walked in the bar. Seeing that the twins would be occupied with one another for at least ten minutes, I took my opportunity to hijack myself back out to the deck where Muffet, Gretel, and the rest of the crew were stationed. As expected, Gretel was keeping Bob so busy in conversation, he hadn't had time to notice the twins that were occupying my attention. With that, I checked into a boring conversation about shaved chests, the latest A*Teens CD, and Muffet's pseudo-crush on a local lesbian. After a few ridiculously cheap excuses, I left the group and made my way down twenty feet to where Trevor, Taylor, Amanda, and a new friend, Katie were chatting.

Making sure to keep one eye on Trevor and one eye on Bob, I was driving myself a bit batty. I had to come up with a way to get one of the two parties out of there...ASAP...It hit me: Muffet was the key! I grabbed her tuffet and dragged her down to meet the boys and their hags. After a quick and stifled introduction, I sequestered her into the bar where I told her she was hungry. She told Bob this information and that in-turn made Hansel and Gretel hungry. From that would spawn a trip to the local Steak-n-Shake for some late night snacking. Being a marionette puppeteer was simply exhausting. Another quick coat of lip plumper in the mirror and I ran back to Trevor to watch the masterpiece unfold. It was like organized crime, or gay theatre, whatever.

As my plan went down, all was unfolding completely as expected, until the snag. After all, what's being gay without some dramatic snag in the fishnets? It might have been the liquor that was slowing my synapses here, but it, in my scheming, had never occurred to me that Bob would expect me to leave with him, as I had arrived with him. DAMN!

I saw his head begin to turn looking for the disappearing red cape. I took off the cape, threw it in my basket and bolted into the bar in hopes that he'd simply forget I'd been with them at all. Because that never works, he found me and informed me that we were leaving. That was it. At this request, my satin hand gloves came off.

"Just go. You're hungry. I'm not. Nor am I nearly drunk enough to leave with you!"

Harsh. I admit that now. Looking back on the evening, it could have probably played out a lot more smoothly, albeit less story worthy, had I pre-planned some of the nights events. Po'Boys liquors were however, catching up with me and the shear exhaustion of being a tennis ball caught between the two was winding me down.

With that awful display in front of a bar full of queens savoring the taste of a public outburst, Hansel, Gretel, and Miss Muffet found their way to the nearest trough for some late night munching.

As the night wore on, 2am hit and I was waiting for my opportunity to make out with Trevor. It came in the form of an invitation to drive me home. I stumbled out to his shiny red pick-up truck and directed his vehicle to my house. We parked out front and the making out commenced. Now, bare in mind, to the casual observer, this was simply the "hot-n-heavy" going on between a fratboy and a slutty college girl. The reality was that a newly-gay hot boy was making out with the self-proclaimed queen of Peoria, in drag. It never dawned on my that my SLUT-Emblazened panties could, at any moment, be caught down around my knees as Bob had yet to arrive home. Luckily, I had fate on my side. You see, I lived across the street from one of the foremost after-hours party throwers in all of Peoria. It wasn't unusual to see random people making out in trucks outside of our house, which is what Bob must have thought when he arrived home and went to bed.

With our final kiss goodnight, I got out of the truck and bid him farewell, just like in the fairy tales...Sort of...

Here is where the mood of our story goes a little dark: the next day, I informed Bob that it was completely over with no hope of a reconciliation. He said he knew that it was coming, and asked me who I was leaving him for. I told him I was leaving him for me. And that's the truth. I was. The reality was that I had broken up with Bob in my heart a long time ago. It wasn't his fault. It was mine. To his credit, he was exactly the same person that he was when we had begun dating all those years ago. I was not. I had changed. Somewhere between bottles of Pinot Grigio and tabs of EXTASY, I had discovered a real life person who wasn't long for this world if he continued on this path. Never for a second did I jump from one relationship to the next. I cannot allow anyone to think this as it is not true. Trevor was not the cause, not even the catalyst, for my break up. He was simply a gift for doing what was right. Right for me, and right for Bob. I picked myself up off of the dirty floor of which I had been living. I brushed the dirt from my clothes, and I reached for the hand rail that had always been there for me to pull myself up out of these depths that I had fallen in so many years ago. The light that greeted me upon my realization was bright and harsh and unforgiving. It needed to be. It needed to be the hardest thing I'd ever done. If it were easy then it would not have been momentous, or even memorable. That was the day I stood on my own two feet. I realize, now, how unfortunate that was for Bob, how sad it must have been to be sacrificed so that I could get better. But I couldn't die for him to live. In the end, he is better off without me. And I am better off without the person I became with him, because of him. For the life we shared together, I say thank you. But mostly I say goodbye.

After it was over, I stepped out onto my porch. I inhaled the exceptionally warm November morning air, and I thought to myself: Finally... I can breathe.