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How I became a Gay Diva

I'm officially a fag hag home wrecker. I feel horrible and swear I didn’t set out to be one. In fact, it was really more of an unexpected consequence…. Yeah, yeah…. said the guilty cat who swallowed the canary.

You see… last week as if from the head of Zeus, a random idea popped into my head. For my friends and family this is not an unusual occurrence, and is followed with either a gleeful or fearful response as most of my idea executions involve other people.

I thought it would be fun to do a photo shoot dressed as Frank N Furter from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” as part of the “Why should kids have all the fun?” campaign for my show “The Other F Word.” (

I have no idea what triggered the idea, but it sounded silly and a nice diversion from the mundane tasks I had to do. I went to Amazon Prime and ordered the necessary wardrobe while singing “I’m a Sweet Transvestite.”

Two days later the outfit arrived. I immediately tried everything on, although I couldn’t quite figure out the garter belt. I looked ridiculous and was ironically miffed that I didn’t resemble Tim Curry. I always believed that it wouldn’t be hard for me to be a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman, but I looked more dorky boudoir than drag. But it was self-amusing and I have no problem humiliating myself.

I called up one of my gay friends and asked if he wouldn’t mind taking the photographs. I figured as a married woman that was a safe bet as the costume was provocative. As my friend has known me for years, he said sure without any questions or judgment.

We had a quick bite and caught up on life. I then changed into the outfit, applied makeup, put on the wig and we did the photo shoot .

The photos did not come out exactly as I had imagined. I looked more Goth than campy, but no harm no foul no regrets. We perused the photos, deleted the hideous ones, and while they uploaded to Dropbox, I threw my jeans and t-shirt back on, wiped off the make-up and left to meet my husband and daughter for a Summer Stage concert in Central Park.

That night I was in a deep melatonin induced sleep when the phone woke me. I shook off the disorienting grog and got a tinge of concern when I saw it was my grown son. But anxiety turned to annoyance after he apologized for losing track of time and we quickly ended the call.

I then noticed that I had missed a text. It was from my photographer friend and was desperate. He included an angry text from his boyfriend and asked me to text him to explain. Explain what? I was totally confused so went back to sleep.

The next morning when I was lucid I learned that his boyfriend – whom he was breaking up with – went through his computer, came across the photos, did not recognize me and went into a jealous rage.

After I felt bad, I’m ashamed to say I felt good. While I didn’t look anything like Tim Curry, I do believe I channeled Frank N Furter that day and while I wasn’t a home wrecker, I wreaked a little alien havoc. Perhaps I am a sweet transvestite after all…

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