Ugly furniture and short pants do not an attractive proposition make

I feel kind of like Norma Desmond – back from obscurity and in the limelight once again, even if it is just a concoction of my own complete insanity. Mr. Demille…I’m ready for my blog.

Primarily, the last few months have been dedicated to developing and producing a spec pilot for a travel show, so I have a good excuse. If anyone happens to own a network or have a wad of cash they want to donate, please let me know.

These are the FlipSide Tales, and while when I started this thing I felt starved for story ideas, I’ve come to realize that weird things happen so often around us that if you just stop and look, you’ll be able to write for days and days.

But one particular recent incident is what made me miss this blog so very, very much. It is another one of those “only in LA” moments of other-worldliness.

My friend Chris had been raving about the Dreamgirls. These lovely ladies put on a show once a week at the bars down the street on Santa Monica where they do impressions and sing our favorite classics with fascinating costumes and tightly choreographed dances. But of course, as is fitting with West Hollywood, the Dreamgirls are not actually women but very slender and surgeried men. But boy can they dance.

Somewhere between the exact look alike Cher medley (I think he looked more like Cher than Cher does) and the lovely Kiwi baring his/ her “breasts,” the girls took a break to introduce some independent movie writer-producer-director in the audience who had made some boy-meets-boy love story called Slutty Summer, destined to live and die with the other independent fare in the Sunset Laemmle 5. He started giving away T-Shirts and calling for particularly slutty volunteers from the audience to come to the stage, and who should show his face but the infamous Bobby Trendy of Anna Nicole Smith fame.


Mr. Bobby Trendy with the equally classy Paris Hilton.Bobby Trendy’s garish furniture shop is actually just down La Cienega Boulevard from my apartment and I can confirm with all confidence that he was not being exaggerated or pushed over the edge on the Anna Nicole Show - Bobby truly is as ridiculous as the camera makes him out to be. Standing on the stage with the spotlight on him in his tight tank top and corduroy Capri pants, Mr. Trendy proceeded to make an ass of himself once more in hopes we would love him. And hey, a few vodka tonics and a couple Coronas down the line, what’s not to love? But apparently Bobby was also a couple drinks in the hole and on his way off the stage he decided to love Chris for a little bit. And that was Chris’ brush with fame. For then.

But when the show ended and we were standing outside the club (we being myself, Chris’ boyfriend George and his friend Alex), the illustrious Bobby Trendy showed his face once more. He made a beeline for Chris and instantly had his hands all over the poor guy. Meanwhile, George looked on in his charmingly sarcastic idiom as the furniture-peddling clown continued his act.

You will never see Bobby before 3 PM on any given day as we learned that under no circumstances will he rise from bed before that ghastly hour. Apparently he needs his beauty rest – and I’ll spare the scathing joke for now. From what I could understand at the time and can recall now, it also had something to do with the fact that he never feels well unless he passes the day in bed, and George wasted no time in discussing Bobby’s gastrointestinal processes with the diva. I don’t think Mr. Trendy ever realized he was being mocked to his face, and George did it with such an unwavering expression that I couldn’t help but feel like I was watching a scene from Fight Club in which something ludicrous happens and you just accept it for rote. But it just further goes to prove what a strange place Los Angeles is - when an attention hungry pseudo-celebrity starts hitting on your boyfriend right in front of you, the appropriate response is to make fun of him and encourage him to make an ass of himself to the point that it might as well be on the screen.

Bobby walked off into the distance shaking his hips as only a queen of velour and naugahyde furniture can do and we headed back to our cars. After an exciting Tuesday evening of amazing drag queen lip-synch on top of a shameless quest for sex from a fan, I remembered why I started writing all this down in the first place. You can’t make this up folks.