Who is coming to my first Drag performance?

Now - I know most of you are entirely too excited at the thought of me prancing my sexy ass around in some stillettos and a cinched waist with this face beat for the GAWDS . . .

Sadly, I retired that look at my Aunt Linda’s house back when I was three. By the way, shout out to my aunties who knew I was a princess from the beginning. Secretly, I feel like my auntie was telling me “yes baby, you can be a drag queen too!”

If you can believe it, I am not actually fabulous enough to be a queen for real, but Bae and I went with my cousin and another friend to a bona fide D.C. Drag Brunch and it was #EPIC!

(Most of) these beautiful human beings were in their absolute best drag and gave us an epic, Rupaul’s Drag Race Style show. I mean - there were high kicks, lip syncing for your life, duck walking, splits, spins, twists . . . one drag queen backflipped and landed into a split right in front of our table.

I even got to see my first drag King . . . which was a little startling because of how this person literally performed masculinity to the tune of Ginuwine’s Pony. I have feelings . . . but for another post . . . maybe.

Most of these queens gave us life, but one or two could’ve called in sick. One young lady had a full beard, a torn up, shapeless jean dress and . . . wait for it . . . CROCS. This heiffa had on size 12 green CROCS and the audience was simply confused.

I mean, you could collectively hear the audience putting their dollar bills back into their pockets.

Now, far be it from me to judge someone else’s drag. Rupaul says “we are all born naked and the rest is drag.” Even my day-drag is considered by some to be a bit avant garde considering that most government bureaucrats try to look like Dockers models.

Story Time:

One day, I decided to wear a cute poncho to work and these women open-mouthed stared at me as I walked inside my building. I mean . . . their mouths were agape and they unabashedly turned their heads as I made my way across the campus. Because of a poncho. So from one queen to another, I try not to judge.

But . . . CROCS? Girl, what? She actually had me gagging with the refrigerator-sized jean dress . . . but I couldn’t get a kitten heel? A wedge? I was so shocked that I forgot to take a picture. It’s okay. I want that queen to know that I support her too.

Why? Because we have NEVER laughed so much or so hard in Washington D.C. This place can be downright dreadful, but this drag show had us cheering on a group of people too-often shunned by the kitten-heeled elite of the DMV.

It is therefore with great pleasure that I recommend the Sunday Drag Brunch at Red Rocks on H Street (they are not sponsoring this post . . . yet).

Peace and blessings,

Peanutbutter D. Cups

This is a Drag King - he had all the ladies a bit flustered by the end of his epic lip sync to Ginuwine’s “Pony”