24th week, 16 weeks remaining
Spent my first birthday on Monday with my favourite person. We enjoyed a nice glass of nonalcoholic red wine and it was delicious. So was our meal at Au Lac which might be the most wonderful vegan restaurant in the world. Excited to see what my second birthday on Friday holds.
Okay so I’m throwing a big special 13th anniversary 3rd wedding housewarming birthday party rave! Here’s my Amazon wish list in case y’all wanted to buy us gifts シ My birthday’s not until October 12 and the party’s on October 13 but some of the listed items are from China so I want to leave sufficient time for shipping. This actually might be the greatest wish list ever created, I had a lot of fun making it. In fact I forced Dylan to look at it often while I made high pitched sounds and behaved excitedly. “Only you,” said Dylan. But take a look, because it’s just a sensational collection of items. If you know anyone who is even remotely like me, they’d be stoked to receive anything from this list.
If it’s true that dealing with many sudden and intense episodes of morning sickness , vomiting and nausea in the first trimester is a sign of a healthier more intelligent child , than this baby is going to be an athlete and a genius. I’m kind of thinking though that they tell women these things to make all the suffering easier. If it’s true though than yeah, I’ll fucking suffer. It’s just annoying that all the things I usually do or take to deal with feeling shitty are off the table so I’m up “shit creek” so to speak and all I can do is complain. For all of you who don’t enjoy a complaining woman shut the fuck up and let a lady air her grievances. If all she’s “allowed” to do is bitch about shit in order to feel better, than let her, don’t take that away from her too. Just listen, tell her you’re sorry she feels badly, and tell her she’s beautiful, even if it isn’t true. Because as somebody once said, all women need to keep living are water, food and compliments. Thankfully these bouts of feeling shitty are brief. I just scooped both dogs up in my arms, held them tight, danced with them, sang them a song, felt joyful and buoyant. Looks like I’m in for a fucking real rollercoaster of a ride, and so especially is Dylan.
At my 13th anniversary 3rd wedding weekend housewarming birthday rave, RuPaul will officiate, William will give me away and Bassnectar will dj. Gala and Anastazia will stand in for our parents, YO-LANDI will be Maid of Honour, Aquaria, Hungry, Kim Chi, Valentina and Violet Chachki will be bridesmaids. Devon will be Best Man alongside Dov, Chris, Chris, Stephan and Robb G. Feather will be the Ring Bearer and the Flower Girl will be Daisy. Dylan will wear a white suit by Rick Owens and I will wear a black gown by Gia Gelareh. Dinner will be by Morimoto. There will be dancers, twerkers, strippers, hoopers, silk workers and ballet. Illusionists will perform magical tricks and special friends will make special speeches so we can hear nice things said about us all evening. Musical guests will be ill.Gates, NIGHT NURSE, What So Not, Sean Paul, Dillon Francis, Skrillex, Congo Natty, Chopstick Dubplate, Dubconscious, Aphex Twin, Die Antwoord, Mr. Carmack, Diplo and MØ, and all the drag queens will put on a sensational show. This will be one for the books. Maybe not all my dreams will come true but at least no one can fault me for thinking too small or being boring. The world inside my head is exciting and beautiful, I don’t know if you noticed. I think the best way to destroy reality is to dream the drabness away. Imagination is the mother of invention and I’ve got dreams for days.
NIGHT NURSE is opening for ill.Gates on Wednesday June 13 2018 in Lexington, Kentucky. For those of you who don’t know, Dylan is ill.Gates and I am NIGHT NURSE. I’m going to play tracks that embody my signature vaginastep sound, romantic, experimental, memorable, and end with a couple bangers. Y’all should check it, it’s gonna be beautiful.
Daisy and Feather with daddy in the new studio.
Ever since I became a lazy motherfucker (aka married) I no longer prance around in 6″ stilettos and do death drops on a pile of speakers. Instead I wear running shoes and dirty sweatpants for like five days straight. Dylan’s gone from irrelevantly reassuring me that I don’t need to spend three hours getting all dolled up or wriggle myself into insane outfits since I’m naturally already beautiful to sadly asking me to take a shower at least once across a calendar year. But cake can’t be both had and eaten. Bed made, now lie!