I always post pictures of the West Hollywood Halloween Carnival. 2016 should be no different, regardless of how brutally beaten my spirit has been these past few weeks. There is no excuse to lag. Allow me to travel back to a much happier-if not-naive time, when people put their political leanings aside (most people, anyway) to escape onto Santa Monica Boulevard and witness the most unique, and largest Halloween festival in the world.
As you can see, I did not mess around this year, no differently than previous years. I told myself I was not dressing up, the same way I do every year, but who was I kidding? I need to just own it that Halloween is my thing.
Coming up with a costume idea that screamed CHARISMA, UNIQUENESS, NERVE and TALENT, was a challenge. I was lacking in the C.U.N.T. department, so I turned to my friend Alberto Reyes who is on point every year with his elaborate Halloween costumes (visit thebeastmasktermaker.com).
Alberto already had a plan in motion to dress up as some sort of white snow creature. A mask and a three-headed dragon made out of papier mâché with LED light elements were already in the works, and threatened to overshadow me for yet another year.
The mother of invention is one needy bitch. An elfin character from Lord of The Rings, or The Hobbit movies inspired me. The object was to create something expensive without the expense. We raided Alberto’s storage unit, where there were boxes full of Halloween crap stacked from the floor to the ceiling. I borrowed a cape, a wig, and other trinkets to complete my look.
Crown of Ice
Alberto made me staff of ice, that looked like Triton’s Trident. I own a crown of thorns that he elevate it into something majestic. He added these spikes made out of icicles, which I loved. He also added a pad of foam to protect my head from the thorns and he glued snowflakes into my crown of ice and added LED lights that gave me instant butt curl. A fluffy crown with lights and big snowflakes reminded me of something out of Disney’s Frozen. I was NOT about to be confused for Elsa’s guncle.
We squabbled over that crown. I like to dress the shit down to literally my bare bones, and he likes to pump up the volume until he explodes with glitter and feathers and wings and temporary tattoos and literally the kitchen sink, which works to his advantage when we hit the streets. Every year people die over him his look. I lean towards a more editorial look that can be underwhelming on the street, but look good in pictures.
I hate to be difficult and seem ungrateful, but needless to say, I stepped out that Halloween night sans any foam or snowflakes or Christmas lights on my head and I paid a heavy price. Those thorns dug into my scalp, so my head hurt like hell. My crown also snagged into my wig and scratched and clutched at anything that came near it. I don’t think it was ever meant to be worn. Did I mention my head hurt like hell?
Not ready for my close up
I have to give it up to Alberto. Our costumes were a huge hit. The constant grabbing and picture-taking made it impossible for us to walk. The flashbulbs were blinding, but I could only focus on cheap cellular camera phones getting bad angles under horrible lighting.
“Who are you supposed to be?” I was asked more than once, which is a Halloween FAIL in my book. People guessed I was Dead Jesus, Ariel’s dad, a White Walker, or an Ice Queen. I wanted to head-butt the bitch who called me Lady Gaga.
Confusion aside, we both made LA WEEKLY’s list of the best Halloween costumes that night, which didn’t suck.
This year’s West Hollywood Halloween Carnival attendance didn’t seem as large as previous years. I didn’t feel I was going to die of asphyxia in some human crowd disaster, but the costumes did not disappoint. I’m talking about crazy creatures, drag queens, superheroes, villains, Trump grabbing a pussy (of the feline nature), Hillary in an orange jumpsuit and of course, lots and lots of naked people. WeHo’s very own Dragorilla (aka Monsterella) was also out there with her uncut clit hanging out for everyone to see.
The drag queen dressed as Lil’ Poundcake made me happy, but the giant carnival style Pink Panther costume was the winner this year. She was simply amazing. The bitch was light on her feet and didn’t really stop for photos. I had to chase her down to capture her likeness.
So much has happened in the past three weeks. It feels like Halloween was three years ago. Anyway, here are some pictures of what I witnessed at this year’s West Hollywood Halloween. A big thank you to my friend Dan Mryglot for hosting and hanging out with us and getting some great shots of us on the street.
For more on the West Hollywood Halloween Carnival, visit http://weho.org/visitors/events-in-the-city/halloween-carnaval
Thousands upon thousands of people hit the streets of Downtown Los Angeles today in a peaceful, but very loud demonstration against hate to send the orange clown people are calling the president elect of the United States of America a reminder that the majority of Americans did not vote for him.
This is the 5th Anti-Trump protest in Los Angeles thus far. The number of people who attended vary from 8k to 14k depending on the spin of whatever news outlet still has your ear (not the first time the media fucks up their sum of the people—don’t get me started). It was a massive crowd. There were a lot of female voices, and young people, and of course the rainbow flags protruded out of the sea of heads. People mostly chanted “Not My President,” which was heavily borrowed from the right, when they protested the coronation of our first black president four years back and then four years after that.
I couldn’t get my friends to go with me to this rally, so I ended up going by myself, which sucked ass, but I’m glad I went. I know this protest does absolutely nothing to change the outcome of 11/9. I’m in the stage of grief where I’m starting to accept that the damage is done. But it felt good to get out there and be a body in a large body of bodies and contribute to the message that the majority are not happy with what happened last Tuesday…to put it mildly.
Being out today made me so grateful that I live in California. It gives me some badly needed hope that we’re all going to be OK. We are going to stand up for each other. And we are not going to be so naive going into this depressing presidential cycle.
I’m happy I caught these snippets in history. I’m grateful to everyone who took the time to make signs, took the initiative to bring their children, and screamed at the top of their lungs, ’til they were hoarse. I’m happy to share these photos with you and encourage you to share them with whoever you see fit.
“No Trump! No Hate! No Rape! No KKK in the USA! No Trump! No Hate! No Rape! No KKK in the USA!!!”
I suited up and showed up accordingly in my red semi-sheer tank top with The Hiss Fit.com stenciled across my tits for a cheap shot at self-promotion at a Gay Day at Disneyland on Saturday, October 1.
I didn’t know what to expect. I had never been before. My friend Dan got me a ticket to celebrate his birthday, so I was ready to get down with a cluster of gays and witness whatever it is that gays are supposed to do when they take over a theme park.
Were gays supposed to bust out into some flashmob dance moves? Take over Fantasyland and create their own t-dance? Or put up a curtain and create a dark room in the darkest corner of the Pirates of Caribbean ride (I’ll say it again and again: If there’s a gay, there’s a way)? Did I think gays would hi-five each other, exchange a secret handshake or give each other a hug and squeal with delight every time they saw a flash of red turn a corner? I guess not. Not really. My point is, I didn’t know how to behave.
A Gay Day at Disneyland is sort of redundant in every meaning of the word gay, whether it’s in the happy or homo sense, or even when you talk about it being gay in a bad way for those who like to hate on this happiest place on earth.
I’m sorry, but Disneyland is SOOOooo gay.
Turns out, Gay Day at Disney really is just another day as far is Disney Inc. is concerned. The real link to the events is a weekend called Gay Days in Anaheim, which are three days packed with a kick off party, pool party, gatherings, live performances, celebrity appearances, group photo ops, scavenger hunts, private meals, and much more at Disneyland and the surrounding areas in Anaheim. At a cost, of course.
According to folklore: Many, many years ago, Disneyland used to have a private party one night of the year for gays and lesbians. I believe it was called Gay Night at Disneyland. When the event was canceled in 1998, Gay Days Anaheim was born, which is based on a similar theme in Orlando, Florida that is known to attract over 100,000 gays and lesbians from around the world each June. Like the Orlando event, Gay Days Anaheim is a “mix in,” meaning gay people force themselves upon unsuspecting straight people, who have no choice but to mix with the gays, because how could they know that the day they chose was marked red? Yep, the park is open to the general public. Also like Orlando’s Gay Day, everyone wears RED shirts to identify one another for a show of numbers.
So unless you sign up for Gay Days Anaheim (which we didn’t), you show up in your gay color and that’s pretty much it. You stand in line and ride the rides, you acknowledge this homo and that homo over there, and you try to stay out of judgement and restrain yourself from giving a queen the the side-eye and screaming, “Bitch, that’s not RED! That’s MAROON!”
And speaking of wearing red, you can’t help but pity the straight fool who showed up at Disneyland wearing a whorie red shirt that day.
We met one while we waited in line at The Haunted Mansion. He was a youngish dad with his wife and two daughters. He was kind of sexy in his red shirt. He leaned into me and said, “I never wear red. Ever. And of course the one day I decide to wear red is the day when red is gay. I called my gay bud and he was making fun of me.”
I thought it was hilarious.
Dan was not impressed.
I thought the guy was being friendly.
Dan thought he wanted to make it clear he wasn’t gay, like it was a bad thing.
I thought he had a sense of humor about him looking like a big gay.
Dan thought he was secretly gay.
Whatever the case, aside from this young lady who offered me her french fries at California Adventure (inwardly I was offended—“Do I look hungry bitch?”–0utwardly I say, “yes, thank you…” just to be polite), that straight guy in the red shirt is the only man who went out of his way to speak to us that entire day.
Anyway, I had a real blast. It’s Disneyland! How can you not?
Of course, it would’ve been nice to see every employee at the Disney park wearing a red Gay Days shirt, but there were still a number of employees walking around the park with rainbow props and offering to take people’s photos, as if to say, “We see you. We acknowledge you. We love you. And we love your money. You disgusting, DIRTY homos.”
Just kidding about that last line.
For more on Gay Days in Anaheim, visit: gaydaysanaheim.com.
It’s been two months since the Orlando murders at the Pulse gay Nightclub in Florida. And it’s been just about that long since I last posted on this here hiss fit.
The blood from the murdered 49 was probably not completely dry yet when we woke up on Sunday, June 12, to get ready to celebrate Los Angeles Pride 2016. Outlandish outfits that had been planned for months were good to go, gym bodies had been meticulously sculpted and ready for a big reveal, and if we’re going to be for reals here, some knives were sharpened and aimed at Christopher Street West (CSW)–the non-profit organization responsible for putting pride weekend together–because the LGBTQ community was not happy with CSW for a laundry list of reasons. You know the drill, people were mostly up in arms about the jacking up of ticket prices from $25, to $35 at the festival gate and–insult-of-all-insults–this year’s Pride was branded as a “music festival” to cater to millennials, which made some older gays feel too old for Pride. Pride was also being called the Gay Coachella, which I guess that’s supposed to be a really bad thing. Bitches were not having it.
I for one, was mostly annoyed by the return of the VIP section at the festival, which is the exact opposite of inclusion and blatantly meant to separate the upper crust gays from the lower undesirable ‘mos, which I find so damn disgusting at a pride event. I know how these VIP sections work. I bet half of the bitches who walked around with their VIP badges didn’t pay the $150 to get it.
All eyes were on CSW, ready to dissect any misstep during Pride weekend. But then there was the horrible news of yet another mass shooting in America early Sunday morning. Then there was the update that it took place at a gay in club in Orlando FL (we would later learned that it happened during a Latin themed night). Then there was the body count. Then there was the alarming news that a man had been stopped in the city of Santa Monica with bombs and guns and semi-automatic rifles while on his way to West Hollywood for the LA Pride parade, and the whole thing felt like the 911 attacks, where it was one thing after another and all you could do was brace yourself for more horrible updates.
We all know how it went down, but I post this because despite the horror, there was absolutely no question; the massacre of these young people who were killed during a Saturday night of dancing would not stop Los Angeles Pride from happening. Yeah, we were sick to our stomachs with grief and we were nervous. I decided to leave my dog at home in case I had to make a run for it, but my partner and I were hell bent on going despite the warnings from friends and family who thought we should stay at home—and I know plenty of people who skipped the event, because they were too heartbroken or too scared, but thousands, upon thousands of us put our best gay face forward and showed our enemies who want us dead, that we are not afraid.
So yes, we attended the Pride parade in West Hollywood. The police presence was massive, and although I didn’t see them, I hear there were snipers camping out on rooftops to keep an eye out in case of a terrorist attack. It was definitely one of the strangest Pride parades I have ever experienced, because on the one hand it was a party as usual, but on the other hand, the Orlando signages–most of it handmade at the last minute–were everywhere in solidarity with the Pulse victims and their families.
And nope, I didn’t make it inside the festival grounds after the parade this year, because I’m no millennial, but I don’t have to be one to tell you that Carly Rae Jepsen was like sooo four years ago and also it’s like, why pay $35 to get into the festival, when I had already experienced the party for free that Friday night (grin)?
Anyway, for the past many years I like to go out and take pictures at La Pride and post them here for your viewing pleasure. And this year should be no different. I know it took me two months to do so, but in case you have forgotten, let me remind you that this is how we show up in the face of the most vicious and deadliest acts against our LGBT existence in U.S. history. This is what it looks like when you attack us, try to scare us, and snuff out our light. We set aside our differences, we let SCW off the hook (for the moment anyway) and we celebrated our pride in complete protest of the heinous crime. Yep. In your face.
Of course, the next day, we would mourn for our dead.