Sunday, November 10, 2002

Jeez, it's been... millennia... since I was sexually harassed whilst shooting a wedding such as last night's fiasco of Manhannite Diva Bride & The Hatfields & McCoys. It was my drag queen diva pal/florist who pointed out that the families were Hatfield/McCoy combo to perfection. All started out swell when Bridey called to see if her 90 folks at church could be photographed on the front steps of the church after their (let us not forget the pussy-flagellated guy/lawyer she bagged who bought her a yellow diamond and diamond-encircled wedding band, that, Diva Bitch told me, earned her a spot at the stove for the duration of her life, cooking him dinner) 530PM service. Uhhhh, I began, flabbergasted, have you seen the light at 630 these days? Thinking, suddenly, I'm dealing with an ADD type and ohno.
Then she asks for me to be at her mom's house at 330PM for getting ready shots. But you're getting married at 530, that's way too early. I relented, was greeted by sister/co-Diva Bitch at the door in bathrobe and proceeded to wait a good 45 minutes for the gals to get their bridal day shit together.
And the weird uncle sexual harassment thing happened approximately 7 unfortunate and interminable hours later in a hallway dotted with relatives and friends as equally redfaced loaded as this geezer who inquired Yours Truly thusly: Has anyone told you yet tonight how beautiful you are? (To which I'm choking back vomit in my throat) Give me your right hand. I with much trepidation handed over the hand which he stroked roughly along his left cheek. Several relatives, including co-Diva Bitch are watching as he yells And I don't leave whisker brushburns. I'm still disinfecting my hand.
Thank goodness for the filmmaker chainsmoker and occasional wedding video guy who I've worked with before for the humorous breaks where we'd chat about how fucked up the crowd was and how we'd never touch weddings again if all weddings were like this one.
Afterwards a quick change in the car and sped off to music, mayhem, a party stop and more mayhem.
Shared the wedding horrors with three drinking buddies at the nearest of favored watering holes and slargled down a few or more scotches before I felt like my most Perfect self again.
Liquid refreshment, liquid therapy, liquid forgetfulness.
In two nights I'll be shooting GWAR again and I abso-freakin-lootly cannot wait. All my little concert promoter pals were asking if I'd be there, as they know I completely dig that spectacle.
I am the smart photog in the pack who comes donned in clear plastic garbage bags - one for me, one for camera/flash. One time I shot GWAR and forever after that one particular flash was impregnated with their red faux blood. Another time I went the rest of the night with dried red/blue/yellow smears of their 'bodily fluids.'
Spectacles, what life is made for.
What life is made of.
What photogs thrive upon.
Water cannons of fluid love.

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