Tragica Revisited

There's this drag queen that lives in Salt Lake City. I think she calls herself Stacey. But the rest of us call her Tragica. In fact, one time my friend Spencer ran into her in the men's room of a club and, in his drunken stupor said "Oh, hey Tragica. Wassup?" If I remember right, she did a double-take, spinning on her 4 inch heels, blowing the bleach-burned, rat-nest hair out of her mascara-smeared eyes and looked at him like she wasn't sure where that name came from. Then she staggered off to continue her performance on the dance floor, much to our delight.

One thing about her though, she doesn't give a shit about what people think. At least it seems that way. Why else would a construction worker by day - slash - transexual by night wear fish net stockings, pink poodle halter tops and a faux vagina under her miniskirt and wag her tail on top of the box like there's no tomorrow. Maybe there's a lesson in there somewhere. I think sometimes we spend too much time worrying about what other people think rather than living our lives in a way that makes each of us happy. You go Tragica!