all dressed up and no place to DANCE!

There are very few sentences I've written on this blog that fill me with such an overwhelming sense of 'having it all' but here we go... "This past weekend, I took a road trip with some friends to Shreveport, Louisiana."

Yes. That is equal parts jealousy and pity you are feeling. Just go with it.

This picture vaguely captures the glamour of this establishment.

The trip was short, sweet, and full of ridiculous people watching. There's nothing that boosts the self-esteem faster than walking through a casino. Even after loosing $70 faster than a semi-balding woman can light a Virginia Slim while simultaneously feeding her social security check directly into a Wheel of Fortune slot machine, I had developed some sort of freakishly bloated self esteem that is best reserved for reality television or the porn industry. Also, I had been drinking vodka.

I was determined to continue to drink back my losses. Unfortunately the cocktail waitresses were kind of slow. So, my drinks came out to about $35 each.

My friends and I got ourselves together and headed to a charity event which was pretty much just more drinks for me, but free this time. Then we blew that Popsicle stand and headed to what Shreveport considers a gay bar.

This is where my luck continued to fail me.

Drag shows in most gay bars are spectacles of glitter, duct tape, drunken bachelorette parties, and some of the most stereotypical gay music you've ever heard. This place, however, was exceptionally terrible.

I'm about four years shy of my restaurant and hotel management degree and my only experience in food service is one summer in high school waiting tables at the Cotton Patch Cafe. But, a note for any owner or manager of a gay bar of any kind: homosexuals love to dance.

This bar was so borderline pathetic, its tiny dance floor doubled as its drag show stage. Now, I could see this working if the show was 30 to 45 minutes, but these queens dragged this spectacle out longer than a slow-motion explosion in a Michael Bay film.

That self-esteem I had mentioned earlier (AKA drunkenness) was in full swing as my friend and I decided we would debut our routine we had choreographed an hour earlier... in the bathroom... of the bar!

In middle of a performance of Madonna's iconic 'Vogue,' my friend and I decided it was our time. I use the term 'performance' loosely because she was wearing a white pants suit with gravy stains.

We were hitting the 1s and the 5s and already anticipating the receipt of the proper accolades from our peers, when we were pushed of the stage and flipped off by the Madonna-wannabe. Lucky for her, we were ready to leave anyway too drunk to put up a fight.

One very sleepy cab ride later, I opened my eyes to my friend paying the driver and carrying my other friend to the lobby. Dance or not, I guess the night was a success.

Epilogue: We may have left half a case of beer in the fridge, my toothpaste, and my friend's car keys in the hotel room. But, I would have hitch hiked all the way back to the El Dorado Casino had I forgotten this little gem:

It is a wig. I did not scalp Kate Gosselin.

On a semi-related note: I got to see a REAL woman that knows how to own a REAL stage: Sia. Late last night, as I was sitting down to watch Skyline with my roommate, my friend text me saying their extra ticket for Sia was mine for the (free) taking. Being that I only knew like 3 of her songs, and only like 2, I was hesitant.

I decided to go and am now Sia's number one fan of ever. 'Breath Me' live was practically a religious experience. I was crying, some woman gave birth to a mixed-race baby, and I think the people on the front row went blind.

Unfortunately, in order to be Sia's new BFF I think I have to become a lesbian, because boy-howdy that crowd was full of them.