NewFest starts this week and my list of films is already longer than my legs. Ten days of queer cinema and I refuse to miss a single one. Tell me which screening you're sitting next to me at.
NewFest starts this week and my list of films is already longer than my legs. Ten days of queer cinema and I refuse to miss a single one. Tell me which screening you're sitting next to me at.
Coming Out Day rally at Stonewall and my button's freshly pinned, heart doing its usual complicated thing. My parents still can't say my name, but a street full of people who can makes up for a lot — tell me the moment you knew you were you.
I've got hours before my set at Pieces and I'm dealing with the anticipation my own way. Tell me you'd take the stage with me.
Size Queen Fridays at Hardware and I've got eleven minutes between sets to put myself back together. Tell me you'd be waiting outside the dressing room door.
Fitting room mission in the East Village because Dos Leches at Club Cumming is calling and nothing I own moves like reggaeton. This little red number might be the one. Tell me it's coming home with me.
Trap Thursdays at Stonewall and I got here early enough to claim the wall outside. The dress started slipping before the music did. You coming in, or watching from out here?
There's a commando dress code at HUSH in Hell's Kitchen and I've been honoring it since the shower. Want to help me pick the part that goes over it?
A queer performance art night on 23rd Street tonight and my closet is still winning the argument. Tell me what you'd put me in.
Drag Wars at Pieces tonight and I'm frozen at the zipper stage of getting ready, still no top picked. Tell me honestly — do I even need one?
The burlesque festival finale is tonight and my feather headpiece is still missing exactly three feathers. Last-second sewing is basically a personality trait at this point. Tell me it reads showgirl and not craft project.