- So real quick before i tell you the tale of Toilet Paper Fashion Show....Wednesday was national coming out day, I hope everyone and their fucking mothers are gay and shit, but the best thing is that the day before national coming out day, UMD had crazy christians on our campus, talking about how fags are bad and fags are evil and we all have AIDS and wear brown leather belts with black leather shoes ect ect. Well the crazy preacher got a dose of FAG POWER!!! the UMD pride alliance ALONG with the christian group on campus held a counter protest. God + Fags = Crazy chrisitan preacherman getting a whole lot of shade thrown his way. The wierd thing is, Is that he was all like, "Homosexualists (yes he called us Homosexualists, which is how I will now identify myself on census forms) are addicted to masturbation which is bad" UMMM the last time I checked, STRAIGHTS LOVE TO MASTURBATE TOO. There was some "Hey whaa happened" (A Mighty Wind reference) concerning UMD allowing this nut-job on campus, but I am all about free speach, bring on the crazies, if you have the balls to preach hate in front of fags, well more power to ya, but remember, I will cuss you out like a latino girl. Anyway, here is the link...
- Now onto better things... Namely my TOILET PAPER FASHION SHOW!!!!
In my family, my maternal grandmother, "Memaw" is queen bee. Bitch gots da monies, Bitch gots da powers. She is a proper southern debutante from Savannah that was moved to Southern Maryland by my grandfather, and she hated it. There was no real social scene outside of the Naval Academy balls and she lived in a crumbling plantation house in the middle of a 500 acre farm with no neighbors for miles. My grandfather traveled overseas 10 months a year for his job as an executive with Phillip-Morris (no lie: he was the guy that was in charge of crossbreeding tobacco so that it would become more addictive) So when he would get back from overseas, he would usually have gifts for my grandmother, one time it was a lacquered chinese armoir that he bought from some herion addict, another time it was stuffed front half of a tiger he killed himself (that classy bitch lived in my Memaw's dining room until he house keeper "accidently" left it outside during a storm). This sets up the environment she was surrounded by, a huge house full of glamourous shit and no interaction with people besides Lillian, her crazy housekeeper. This drove my Memaw a little Koo-Koo for Cocoa puffs if you get my drift. Bitch has been on quaaludes and mescline since JFK was in office. She had a fucking shitload of children to keep her company, Charles, my uncle who is incapable of love and ad a pechant for belting his dockers up 'round his titties, Marlena, my crazy southern baptist aunt who is incredibly racist, yet has an adopted mexican child and latino husband that "Speaka berry livval angles", Then we have my mother, Princess Di Doppleganger, Feminist Lawyer extroidinaire that let me pick out her power suits for court, and finally, Melvin, my no lie, mentally unstable uncle that lives in an old guest house on my grandmother's property with no electricity (he also takes great joy in shooting animals with a paintball gun, whomever got him that fucking gun was smoking crack).
My family always got together at my Memaw's for sunday night dinners before all the grandkids headed off to college. This was the time that the little project runway in me got to flourish. My grandmother has 5 bathrooms in her house, each one with a different theme, One is the swan bathroom with fucking hideous white birds all over the place, one is the bordello bathroom that has blood red peeling damask on its walls and an overhead light that has fringe on it like the lights at old Pizza Huts, one is the "helps bathroom" which is where Lillian takes dumps, the really cool art deco one with an andular toilet that makes it feel like you are tafing a dump while sitting on an anvil and then we have my grandmother's personal bathroom, the Pink Palace bathroom. While she was isolated on the farm, she comined TWO FUCKING BEDROOMS into one ginormous bathroom, it has a huge pepto bismol pink claw foot tub, pink marble counters and shower stall and pink tiles and pink towels and pink porcealin kitty cat figureines all over the fucking place, you sit down to take a shit, a fucking pink kitty is staring at you. Now if you had to take a guess, which bathroom would be my favorite...the pink one of course. Memaw is very particular about who sees or uses her pink pussy bathroom, as the gay grandson, and naturally a neat and tiddy pisser and pooper, i am the only grandchild that is allowed access to this room. My mom isn't even allowed in there, which is fucking awsome cause she gets so fucking pissed off.
I like to go to the bathroom a good 5 minutes before i actually have to use the bathroom so i can soak in the atmosphere. Pink soaps, pink lotions and pink mutha fuckin toilet paper. Now as a young- clueless - about - my - sexuality child i would see this toilet paper and the words "DIVA FASHION SHOW" would pulse through my head. I would make sashes cause i would be the first Ms. America with a dingdong, so i needed a sash, I would make turbans, haltertops, really slutty short skirts, and wedding veils (for my impending nuptuals with Mr. Hulk Hogan). I needed no thread, I would just tuck the ends into my undies or twist the ends together to make shit stick. This was my little secret, well mine and my crazy uncle's, cause he walked in on me one time, but no one would believe him anyway because he's a functional retard. But one time, my Memaw was wondering what was taking her little gay grandson so long in the bathroom, so she came upstairs and walked in on me prancing around with a powder scented - pink crop top with matching flapper-esqe skirt. I was such a flaming mo when i was young. Well to my shock, she wasn't pissed off, she was so excited...she immediately grabbed one of her hair pieces and clipped it onto my head and marched me downstairs to show me off the the family. As i was thrust into the dining room where my family was eating, i could see the looks of "holy fuck" spread across my family's faces. My grandma made me prance around the table and told me to stand up in her giant bay window like a fucking christmas tree so she could see me better. She thought i was Oleg Cassini, my other family members thought i was a pre pubescent tranny.
Well it was about 3 weeks since the dining room fiasco, and my mom got a call from my Memaw, she wanted to know if I wanted to compete in her "Crazy rich white lady talent show" at her "Crazy rich white lady methodist church". I guess my mom was still steamed at me because she couldn't take dumps in the pink bathroom so she said "Sure, Cornelius would love to". Oh my god. Not only was i going to my tranny freak show flag fly in front of a bunch of Richoldwhiteladies, but i was going to let my tranny freak flag fly in the house of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. The talent show / tard-fest was only two weeks away so my grandmother commanded me to be all underaged indian sweatshop child and make a fucking ballgown out of pink, blue, and white toilet paper. I was going to be modeling a very queer patriotic evening gown. Of course i secretly loved the idea but i was taught to hide this joy because normal boys don't make evening gowns out of toilet paper, suck in their cheeks, and strut their stuff down the middle of a methodist church. Well guess what bitches, that's what this boy did.
I was third in line for the show, sandwiched between the 5 year old flautist grandson of some old bitch and the tap dancin' fag grandson of another old dowager slut. I am convinced that church talent shows are like church choirs...finishing schools for burgeoning homosexualists. Seriously, when was the last time you went to a talent show and someone's talent was hitting a baseball or fingering a girl. It's all tapdancing, baton twirling and "Ace of Base" songs (I sang "I Saw the Sign" at another church talent show, but that's another story). So after little "Frankie the Flute Playing Fag" got shuffled off stage, it was DIVA'S turn. The church organist pumped out from what I could discern was a "very jazzy version of His Eye is on the Sparrow" and i marched my shit down the isle. It took me to the end of the runway before the gasps were replaced but confused applause. I was a heretical success. My memaw met me when I came off stage and she gave me the biggest hug. She loved it, and she loved me. That is why she is my favorite person, it was that day that I knew no matter what, she would always love me. I could skull fuck a kitten then kill it and serve it to an autistic child and Memaw would be all "How thoughtful of you". Bitch loves her some Cornelius, and Cornelius loves him some Bitch. I found out many years later that she entered me in the fashion show as a big "fuck you" to the other Oldrichwhiteladies because they didn't allow her on some committee cause she is a fucking loony bat. My gown was a big middle finger (made of toilet paper). Many years later, when i finally came out to her, she was not suprised, she could care less, and thats why i love her, bitch is all about me crapping out some kids though.