Bunny was so afraid to enter Confessional at The Limelight that night. She had told 4200 lies, laid with a dozen married men, spoke badly about just about everyone, coverted everthing that was not hers, and was--well- just not good. But just before entering Confession, she did the right thing: she decided to admit to only one sin of lying--about everything else. She always was one step ahead.

I remember at David Leigh's wedding at The Roxy, Andromeda and Olympia gliding by me whining, "Always the bride's maid, never the bride." That's all they kept repreating. I have a video of RuPaul accepting the wedding vows and announcing David and his boyfriend man and "wife".

Don't worry, this is just my sister-in-law, Johnna. Had the throw of the dice been a little different, we would have made a great couple. As it turned out, we traveled around the world together in the 90's, soaking up everything we came across like an Agnes Gooch sponge.

Richie Rich and Michael Alig at the infamous Disco 2000 nights at The Limelight. Richie would go on to become a well-known designer; Michael would go to prison for murdering and chopping up his drug dealer. It got scary when you realized that both the murderer and the murderee had been guests at your home.

Perhaps the first photo of the legendary Lahoma van Zandt. Stepping out of this bathroom, she embarked on a decade of entertaining fans like me who couldn't get enough of her antics.

Lahoma would later be made Queen of Manhattan and rule the city with an iron fist--or, at least, a pair of plastic mules.

I'm feeling nostalgic with the departure of my sister, and I think of Lady (Nancy) Astor--a relative, but a far, far removal from "the" Mrs. Astor. Lady Astor used her money and influence more than any other person in the first part of the 20th Century to promote and effect women's rights in Great Britain. She was the first female, sitting member of Parliament, and served for decades. My favorite quote of hers was, "I will not admit to being over 52, even if it does make my two sons illegitamate."

A sad day for all. We all attended the farewell dinner for my dear sister, du Barry. Of course, she gave it herself, cooked it herself, and was the light of the table; so like her. Back to Newport she goes for another summer of event planning and cool weather; we'll be baking in the sun (but loving it, actually; there's even less clothing worn here in summer.) Gone will be the long dinners with astounding gossip, real silver, damask napkins, and fine china. We will all be left abandoned to my grill. I will try not to disappoint du Barry until she returns in October. Bye, bye, Countess.

I would, indeed, say that I religiously attend Edison Farrow's Friday nights at Jade, and I might almost admit to genuflecting every now and then in front of Ebony Excel on his right, but there is not one bit of evidence that they had anything to do with the selection of the new Pope (even thought white smoke was seen coming out of Edison's VIP talble days before it came out of the Vatican; you figure it out.)

Who WAS she? She passed by to quickly and so slyly that, without the camera, I might have thought it a dream. Another shot from Jade.

Daisy D., Edison's host at Jade, looked to me like the sinister spawn of Joel Grey and Lucille Ball.

Perhaps "Hell-o" might allow me to finally post pictures for Edison Farrow's famed Friday nights at Jade. I would begin with the incredible crawl up the stage of Ebony Excel.

Europe and South American fought it to the bitter, bitter end, but Argentina won. My sister, du Barry, nearly fell in the sand in remorse. When I mentioned that The Palace was the building on the left of the one in the background and had two full bars, she suddenly came to.

This was the star of the day at The Palace, unless you consider.....

...THIS regular, who is so sweet and--if you can believe it--unassuming.

Polo ponies charging up Miami Beach; how more can exiting coult it be? We will soon see, that is for sure.

Michael came all the way from Lugano to attend the polo matches and then The Palace. He represents the extreme client base we have: he was gracious, well-educated (a neuroligist), and--just what we are about--FUN. He had a good Sunday afternoon, as we all did. The Palace rules the town.

"Hello" is taunting me again with offering the possibility of a picture post. When I find out who runs "Hello", I'm going to have them taken behind the barn and shot. Meanwhile, this is a picture of me on the left (moi) and my sister, du Barry, on the right (her). We were leaving the polo match between Teams South America and Europe on our way to The Palace, where all countesses should be.

The Tease

"Hello" is taunting me again; it let me post two photos of the polo match and took the privilege away. Is there some higher authority I can protest to?

Well, words can not quite describe the total excitement of seeing a polo match on a beach. Sand was being kicked up, the horses sliding in it, and my sister, The Countess du Barry screaming like a bitch every time Team Europe can close to scoring. Everyone then, naturally, went to The Palace for the birthday party. I have to thank Doug and Henry for all that champagne; it was way to kind, but that's them. Of the fifty or so guests, not one was even heard to whisper that I was actually in my forties. Of course, I had 60 Bulgarians with poison-tipped umbrellas listening to every word. The Palace was packed and wild, as always.

This was one part of a brother pair on Team South America that beat Team Europe. With so many Brits visiting and so, so many Argentines living here, the crowd was screaming wildly at every move like this.

I have been to exciting polo matches in Newport, but nothing--dear friends--could beat one held on a beach. It made us gasp, and few things are still around to do that.

I'm Pig-biting Mad

"Hello", that friendly little site that allows you to post photos, has now decided to stop me from doing so. I'm trying to figure it out, but it doesn't look good for the near future. As for today, I am hanging out at The Palace with the usual gang and, of course, the luscious tourist boys (we are located right across from the 12th Street Gay Beach). At 4 PM my sister, The Countess du Barry and I will attend the first polo match of the day, the runner-up match and then The Palace is being so kind as to host my birthday party at 5. There is no reason for me to draw attention to things like birthdays, but there is no reason for me to stop ANYONE from using it as an excuse to drink. The would be against the law here.

Now, here's something you don't see every day (even on South Beach). Polo teams parading up Ocean Drive for a weekend of matches right across from The Palace. How wonderful.

The mallets held in the air; so regal. I also like the image of the typical South Beach local on the bicycle in just a swim suit in the background; so casual.

There's only one way to keep Ms. Bees Kness quiet, and this is it. I know it may seem a bit draconian, or even a bit sexy. But, it is the only way to keep her quiet.

It is very, very late into the night at The Copa; three exciting entities are showing the stress of the evening. Constance, Suzanne Bartsche, and Joey Arias are showing the signs of a long evening and, yet, being so kind to pose for one, last photo. They are troopers.

The early days; obviously Andy couldn't believe the glamorous vision he saw before him in the form of Lahoma van Zandt. The boy with his arm around Andy is not all that bad either.

There is an event this weekend to make the mind spin. On Firday, at 4PM the polo teams of Team Europe and Team South America will parade up Ocean Drive and, the next day, they will commence with tounaments of two days of matches on the beach. I will be there!

We are all looking forward to the Parade up Ocean Drive. The rivaly between Europe and South America is so intense. The polo field is on South Beach between 11th and 12th Streets; how convienent: The Palace is at 12th and Ocean. Get ready for a memorble day.

I thought I came across a photo of Ms. Bees Knees, but what I did uncover was a box of old "porno" photos (male and female), some dating back to the 1930's. God only knows why I spent so much time collecting nonsense like this, but it is very amusing. Hmmmm, I think this IS Ms. Bees Knees on second thought.

Couch photos were very popular.

Well, there is this, too. From my most beloved friend, ex-drag queen, now major magazine editor, sobered-up mess, adored philosopher of useless knowledge, storer of long-lost tidbits of information, squire to long-gone stars, shoe-shine to minor Broadway wannabees. manicurist to those who whould never mattered, but had a story to tell, someone who mixed up Sylvia Plath with Sylvia Miles, a girl who would wait in line for the right hot dog by the wrong hot dog seller, another photographer of the nightlife who would show up at the Times Square McDonalds for a Michael Alig Outlaw Party at midnight with the only competing video camera, and then host an all-night vigil at her Ninth Avenue brownstone to monitor the cracks in the walls and the troll in the basement, I give to you the one and only, Lahoma van Zandt. Google her if you really want to see something. Thanks, lvz for all the many years of true friendship; that is something few people ever get to enjoy and experience. I will forever be blessed by it.

Remember this, when Donna Douglas appeared at Disco 2000 on my birthday and Lahoma van Zandt made her sign the invite? Well this Sunday will be another birthday; I guess I will be now in the "matured forties". Who knew I would ever last this long? I do, however, love every, single day and every, single person; always have.

Tonight I stopped by Twist to extend my greetings to two of the most lovely beings on South Beach, Miss Ebony Excel and our favorite bartender in the world, Andres. Very, very nice people asured of themselves, comfortable with themselves, and happy with their reflection in the mirror before they leave the house!

It was the best decision I have made in a long, long time.

I seemed to have a few hours off today from duties at The Palace and decided to re-read Alexander Chee

Super-popular, super-nice FOX anchorman Craig Stevens stopped by The Palace today with his dog, who not only was bigger than Craig, but signed the Amex slip.

Palace owner, Doug, with Scottie and Leo. Well, gentlemen, don't we look a little toasted for four in the afternoon. Oh, I'm sorry; I forgot I'm in The South, where drinking begins at one and ends at none. So sorry.

Happy Rockefellor and Michael. What a gorgeous body, Michael.

God, what a boring party at the Versace mansion; there is no need to even go into it if I'm home by midnight and sober. There are laws against that on South Beach. But, I did speak with an Italian aviation expert there who told me an interesting story. In 1942 a summit was held to discuss the situation on the Eastern Front (with Russia) between the Germans and Italians, who were bum-rushed into the battle with no weapons or experience. On the flight back from Poland, Mussolini wanted to demonstrate his prowness at having a pilot's license and demanded to fly the plane carrying Hitler, Himmler, and von Ribbentrop. No one could object, but when the request for a co-pilot was made, Hitler was given the choice between an Air Marshall of the Reich or a twenty-year-old air trainee. Hitler said, the Air Marshall sat behind a desk all day and he wanted the boy, but the boy was to NEVER take his hands off the co-pilot wheel. Unfortunatley, they made it back; but--you know what--I would have chosen the 20-year-old any day for anything, too. This is from from collection of Mussolini postcards.

Tonight I am going to a birthday party at the old Versace mansion (a half block down from The Palace). They don't take kindly to cameras, so I have devised a wig with a mock sea battle setting in which a camera will be mounted. Let's hope it works, for all our sakes.

I don't want to make everyone crazy, but please meet Palace regular Aaron. Sweet, charming, unpretentious, although obviously in possession of a great presence. Come by on a weekend afternoon, and I will personally introduce you to him.

Edison Farrow (sobesocialclub.com) and Ebony Excel at their posts: DJ's, hosts, and down-right good people giving their all to make everyone happy. Mrs. Astor has to make a long, gracious bow to them; there are few who work so hard to make so many happy.

In times of lust, men forget who they are and where they are from. Edison's parties personify this; they are elegant and depraved. I love Edison and all he has done to re-create the atmosphere that was all that South Beach was about.

...and what brings them to their knees?

...yes, it is demons like this that drag men to the depths of hell. (and, they like it.)

Daisy D. trying to look so innocent and virginal; we weren't born yesterday, Daisy. In fact, we weren't born ten thousand years ago. But, you always look good, put on a great show, and--shucks--any drag queen with a nightly show on local Fox has GOT to be be doing something right. (And you do it right!)

I can't breathe a word of it, but I am trying to steal Thom away, al least for part time. Lordy!

...and, then in The Latin Room, all sorts of sexy, manly dances were going on to a great Dj and a live Brazilian drum band. It was too hot for Mrs. Astor, although she managed to make a few new friends using her fluent Esperanto.

I am having a light breakfast at The 11th Street Diner this morning AT EIGHT AM and in walks this vision. No attitude, let me try several different angles. What a town.

Everyone has always wondered about The Pool Boy; here he is, perfection of all sorts. Raul is intelligent, cuddily, witty, and delightful. Perhaps we should do some naughty pictures some day, Raul.

Copa at 3 AM: All hell would have broken loose, Satan would be spinning, no such thing as Friday morning existed, and we got a rather good idea of what The Inferno was like.