It was snowing on Lexington Avenue again; in fact, it seems to have been snowing all winter up there. Nevertheless, all the New Yorkers made it in tonight, a tribute to the human spirit to brave the elements in order enjoy the snow in a much different way. Ah, Miami. Not all could make it out. Lahoma van Zandt was photographed being helped across Lexington Avenue by her faithful Korean sock puppet seamstress.

Preparations for the Winter Party continued today but, more importantly, the social ramparts were being shored up in anticipation of the arrival of Countess Bedelia, of Trannsylchusetts. It has been discovered that she is being escorted onto the island by one of her favorite lackeys, Black and Tan Mark; a more likable sycophant no one could find. She continues to threaten us with drunken orgies and dancing in the streets. The nerve!

I truly believe Miami-Dade Counte Mayor Alverez is either off his medications or--more dangerously--expects the stupid people who elect him to believe the nonsense he spews. While pushing for grandiose ideas like the Port Tunnel and the even more questionable, planned, new baseball stadium in Little Havana--building a $490 million dollar complex for a privately-owned company--he sadly announced that he could give no more money to one of the greatest hospitals on the east coast, Jackson, because ``We know we have a moral responsibility to the poor and uninsured, but a cash bailout at Jackson is not the answer,'' No, honey; YOU are not the answer, and you barely survived a recall recently and we can only hope you don't get those graveyards again to vote for you.

On a lighter note, Anne from Newport is visiting for the week and--although she arrived with luggage full of drama to a household that needs none--we have been having a ball. Here, we were tearing Score apart, brick by brick.

And, it wouldn't be South Beach if City Hall wasn't filled with drag queens as it was on Tuesday. Once again, they were fighting for the right to continue the drag shows on Ocean Drive and, once again, The Commission did the Right Thing. They vaguely issued an order for both sides to calm down, with some time restrictions, but to "work it out". The commissioners are a hardy bunch not afraid to hold noble, or even there own ideas, out there. The show, and the game, will go on.

Jordan is our newest friend; we met him two Sundays ago at Twist and the conversation was the norm: he is a graduate student at FIU, we talked about strippers, drag queens, and drinking...the norm. At one point, Jordan was talking with Mr. Astor and I addressed him to no answer; I said, "Jordan...JORDAN". It was at that point (one half hour after meeting him) that I saw he was not looking at Leopoldo in the eyes as much as the lips. He was reading the lips; Jordan is deaf. I am always astounded by the ability of people to conquer disability; for much of the evening, I had no clue. Jordan was--up to that point--just another cute boy. Yesterday, we traveled to Miami to have lunch with this amazing person; he enriches lives like ours.

We made one of our rare late-night forays into the jungle Sunday night and I feasted with panthers. There were so many Chicks With Dicks that I was in drag heaven. They knew it, I knew it...angels fluttered around my head.

Golden Blonde was the first tranny I invited over the house for a pool party six years ago.

And, George was the best example of my theory that...

...a boy faced with a camera will always take off his clothes. For the sake of propriety, I stopped here, but we were on a mission and the night took off like fireworks.

Countess Bedelia foolishly thinks she has the upper hand on spy activity here, days before her arrival. The poor thing. With all that money, she thinks she can buy informants, way before we (Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish and myself) have already bugged everything from the bellhops to her soap bars. In addition, Ladies Who Lunch have taken up posts in disguises no one would ever question here on South Beach. Here, the Second Viscountess of de Banana con Papi outfits herself for front line duty. We have witnessed Bedelia's "way" of buying boys by knighting them on the spot for the day; Mamie and I have already bought the lower nobility to deal with Countess Bedelia. She will undoubtedly get away with her hooliganism again, but we will one satin-slipped step ahead of her.

Society was supposed to have to hold a meeting to deal with the anticipated arrival of The Countess Bedelia, but The Baroness Seitzinger high-tailed it up to Palm Beach and left Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish and myself to deal with everything. To make matters more confused, Mrs. Wilmerding (nee' Vanderbilt), showed up with the identical twin of her laid-back, easy-going husband. This presses the crowd into a frenzy. Even I went up to George and addressed him as Miguel; it was hot.

Of course, the entire town is waiting for the upcoming arrival of Leopoldo's twin, Freddie.

For a few hours, all the problems of the world were forgotten (except that of the ominous arrival of The Countess Bedelia).

Our beloved Lady Bunny is appearing in an off-Broadway production of When Joey Married Bobby in which she plays a big-haired free-spending small-town preacher's wife. In an interview, Bunny said, "The play is really fascinating because it has a gay marriage theme, but what it really does is poke fun at religious hypocrites -- something we should all be doing on stage and in every minute of our everyday lives! As people like Pat Robertson say that the Haiti earthquake was justified, and we have serious presidential contenders like Sarah Palin who are hoping, as George Bush did, for the end of days so that they can ascend to heaven. I mean, whoo! The heartsickness of politics right now." Oh, if you only knew Bunny, if you only have ever had the pleasure of seeing her perform, you would know how right she is for the part.

Although I view Lady Bunny as a class act in the vein of Lahoma van Zandt, RuPaul, Pia Zadora, and Mink Stole, she does have an "edge" to her that has to be dealt with, usually with chain mail. But, having followed her from gutter to gutter in our New York days, I can assure all that no one will be disappointed; some will be appalled, some hysterically amused, but not disappointed. In another published quote, she quipped, "It has really been fun to see [co-star and former Detroit Tigers pitcher] Matthew Pender, who's totally straight, and could not be sweeter, doing his straight-guy shadow boxing thing backstage. I didn't realize he was a pitcher for the Detroit Tigers, and it just so happens by some fluke that I am a catcher. Which I did inform him while on my knees twiddling my nipples." Oh, that Bunny.

The play is at Theater 80 through February 26.

We three dowagers had a conference call last night to exchange information (gossip), talk about other members of society (gossip), and praise each other for piety, manners, and maintenance of good standards (lies).
There has been a Wanted sign out for Mamie since last week. While I was temporarily distracted by big birds on the wall, she stole my premium drink tickets (about ten, that I recall). It was telling that she didn't deny it, but actually crowed about her coup.

There was also some concern about The Baroness Seitzinger's taste again. We couldn't agree on what appalled us more: The gaudy paint job on the Rolls, the pig hood ornament, or that she was dressed as if she was at Target looking for a date with a utility trucker.
So before we slipped into the morass of war, I pulled a Neville Chamberlain and got us all to agree to "Peace in our time"....or at least until Countess Bedelia leaves. The impending threat she poses to our positions must unite us as her well-known attempts to entice, cajole, and bribe South Beach society must be addressed. It's not that we fear her, but we can't be biting each other on the back while she swoops in with her winged monkeys and takes over this gullible town.

The last of the house guests and housemates left this morning. They will be attending two memorial services for our friend, one in LA and the other in NYC. (My money is on the NYC event to be the most interesting.) It was the strangest of weekends, a sort of House of Usher mixed with Coney Island. One moment the entire group would be thrown over furniture sobbing and the next indulging in anything they could get their hands on. I made my famous Mexican meatloaf, too. We had already made plans to escort Henrietta out on the town, so I suggested that everyone join in. When we awoke in the morning, some of the guests were still drinking, although at a much slower pace.
Leopoldo wore vintage Bob Mackie from the Sixties and Henrietta, well, she's just total vintage; Saturday night it was a chinchilla jacket with a beaded leather dress.

One of the Stations of the Cross upon roaming through Twist towards the stripper bar is the enchanting Karloz, who's actually from Columbia and who once told me his name was spelled that way because his mother was a hippie.

I can spot a new pretty face in a dark, crowded corner as if I had night vision goggles. While Henrietta and Leopoldo chatted with Karloz, I pushed my way through the crowd to introduce myself. When she said her name was Hera, I replied, "Like the lovely Greek goddess." She sweetly smiled and said, "I bet you tell that to all the 'girls'." I really don't.

Lloyd grabbed himself a piece of chocolate, too.

And, I have only two words to say about bartender Eric: Prison Fantasy.

It will just be Mr. Astor and me for the next week as everyone attends the services; God-willing, it will be a quiet one. It is only days before Countess Bedelia arrives for Winter Party and takes control of the town away from Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish and myself.

La Casa, the Castle Zamoiski, Le Petite Maison Astor suffered a slight stroke Thursday when news came in from New York that one of our dearest friends had committed suicide. I was out with Mr. Astor when word came to go home and get our housemate away from the telephone until our other housemate could make it here on a special flight. We zoomed home and I did the unthinkable and said, "Why don't we be wild and crazy and leave our phones at home?" I had mine, of course, but it worked and we proceeded to Do a Sherman and march to the sea, burning everything we came across. It worked, that's all I can say. Sometimes things don't make sense.

With the screams of joy barely gone from The Super Bowl, the mayor had to call a hastily-put-together meeting of the gay Business Enhancement Committee , City officials, the press, and the police after a tourist noted two policemen beating a handcuffed man, called 911, and then was beaten himself (and arrested on an obvious absurd charge of breaking into a dozen cars). Nothing makes this city cringed than bad press, especially about tourists being badly handled by police. The officers were pulled off active duty, both men released and charges dismissed, but the news made it finally into The New York Times, the ACLU filed a lawsuit, and suddenly the mob grabbed their pitchforks and the mayor announced that before anything, "We shall talk".

The Chief of Police announced to the group that he was immediately taking two steps:
Detective Juan Sanchez, the department's spokesman who is gay, is now liaison to the committee.
Capt. Jennifer Elmor, a lesbian, will become head of Internal Affairs. She succeeds Capt. James Hyde, who is retiring.

With the gargantuan Winter Party weeks away there must be a lot of nail-biting because nothing would make Ft. Lauderdale happier than to grab the major part of that event.

You can give someone power and they may be decent or nasty, but the real problem lies with the fact that the vast majority of municipal employees live way out in the suburbs and can not relate to Beach, it's parties, and it's tourists. The mayor lives here, the commission does; they all HAVE to live here. This is so sad; when you see the town filled to capacity like last week and don't hear of any problems, except about police beating two gay men. And, in this case "bad press" is not "good press". (That's good, old Thomas Barker in the cap, by the way.)

The town awoke with a hangover the size of Montana today. Everyone kept talking about how drunk everyone else became yesterday.
People were dancing in the streets singing, "When The Saints Come Marching In", drag queens did cartwheels, and cute boys did what they do best. But the reason I came out was the call from Mamie. "Mrs. Astor, you MUST come to Ocean Drive; there are two drag queens you MUST meet!" No protests would be tolerated, so I hopped in my Harrier jet and flew out. "Wild" would be an understatement of the highest order; "Reckless" would be a better term, but nothing can really sum it up except it is Super Bowl madness.

Mitzy and Missy made our day. They had driven down from Palm Beach for the festivities and when I took this photo I mentioned that Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish had coaxed me out of bed and that it was worth the trip. Mamie noted the droll on my lips.

Within a short time, we became fast friends and even mutually knew some drag queens back in Provincetown.

I am continually amazed at how much things have changed in the gay world and the best example was this couple from New Orleans, a grandmother having a drink with her gay grandson. We thoroughly enjoyed the time we spent with "Red" and her adorable, little boy.

And, just as Mamie and I rolled out, we met another set; my, my how times have changed.

Why do I always find a lonely boy sitting on the sidewalk when the entire town is going bloody crazy with the Super Bowl.

Then I run into boys whom I ask, "Who is the top??".

And, then, the answer was always there: It is called "Bumping Pussy". Sorry to offend some, but it is a lovely fact of life.

And....our, new, best bartender friend: Roberto. What can you say, except, "Come over for a pool party". I hate to sound so shallow, because the pool is not.

Or,you can't stop the eternal, Charlie....

Eddie wan't some drag queens, too, but he will forgive me.......

We went to Latino Night at Score and were not disappointed. However, I had a small problem with our, dear friend, Jonathan. He told me that he wished he could dance like all those Latino boys, and I turned to him, looked him in the eye and said something like could only come out of Glinda, The Good Witch. I said, "Jonathan, there is nothing stopping a white boy like you from going out there and swiveling your hips. It's alway's been there: That ball bearing in your hips that you don't know you have." Follow me.....and off we went doing the Meringue, the Husltle, and probably even the Macarena. God, it's good to be back!

It's Just Not Me...

You will remember my dog, Weenie who you photographed a couple of years ago at the dachshund fest in his hot dog bun- he was so proud to wear! Ever since that photograph, i have been reading your blog on a weekly basis. On October 1st of last year, Weenie passed (unexpectantly from cancer and I, too, had to hold him and say goodbye) I can tell you that it took 5 xanax and i still walked out of the office and could not work for a week! Then, this past October, I sold my beloved home in Surfside and moved to Jackson MS- I miss Miami Beach so much but two things have helped me a great deal- one is my new pup (who you met and read her fortune), Vienna, and two is having your blog to read and keep up with the beach news/ fun!!I tell you all of this becasue i can truly say that i know exactly how you feel about Kiki and miss him. I read about your loss and cried when you wrote about it- remembering all the pain i felt. I could never imagine loving another doxie the way i loved Weenie for his 10 years but i can tell you that i do indeed love Vienna that way and she has taken a lot of my pain away- and you are so lucky to have your gorgeous husband to be there with you!!Anyway, sorry for the long message but i wanted to know that you have helped me and i really enjoy your writing!! If i can ever be of any help to you- i am here!!xoxo

Well, what do you know?. (Nothing, really, but I will pontificate). We had a day without drama. I don't now how that happened, but it was a wondrous day with Mrs. Styuyvesant-Fish, Countesss du Barry (now von Cartier Baroness de Vermont), Princess Zamoisky of the Zamoisky palace; it went on and on and on, as it always does. I guess it will always. Life goes on, but it is always so easier with friends like Countess Bedelia and my, dear friend, Ed from California (where is that? somewhere out West?)
My beloved housemate, Terry Zamoiski, sent me a precious, little message about a palace named after his anointed family. The poor thing doesn't know that I have researched his noble, Polish family way beyond his wildest dreams. I know how much--in the final weeks of Imperial Russia-- Nicholas II depended upon the Zamoiskis to support his final days. In a way, after Russia had bludgeoned the Poles, He came to depend upon them for support that had evaporated at home. He wrote to Alexandra, Stavka. 13 February, 1916.

MY BELOVED SUNNY,
The courier has not yet arrived. I have finished with my papers, and therefore have more time for my letter.
To-day is the regimental festival of my Uhlans - they are resting somewhere in southern Galicia. In honour of the day I have promoted Zamoisky to be Wing-Adjutant (A.D.C.). I have inherited him from Nicolasha; he was attached to him as orderly.

"Nicolahsa" was his uncle, beloved by the army and the people and dismissed by a poorly- prepared Nicholas II to take over the operation of the Russian Front. Poor Nicky was doomed to refer to loyal and talented people like Zamoiski as "inherited". He would die because he did not appreciate "inherited" people. We were out with Terry Zamoiski tonight, acting like fools with not a care on our mind....."War?.....What war?????"

Ok; that's enough. I had a long chat with my doctor followed by one with Leopoldo and both have conviced me that I am dragging myself down to a breakdown unless I get a grip. So, no more obsessing. The dog is dead, there a people who need help, and there will be no more shrines to dead animals. As Peter says, "It's ovah, doll."

I am not fully prepared for the initial "book-signing" tonight at Twist at 7 PM, but Queen Henrietta ordered it and we will fall into file. There are only fifty copies of this legend, but I believe 15 will do for tonight. It was always supposed to be her 69th birthday in March, but who really argues with Majesty?

I am still strapped with KiKi issues; I am grateful for understanding friends like Countess Bedelia and my precious Ed from California. I think every hour: How do you go on? You report nonsense, perhaps: Like: The Palace put in a call to the mayor's office at the hight of the drama there yesterday between the police and code enforcement. She sat down for a drag lunch and announced on a bullhorn: "I'd like to see who arrests me." This is a town of drama that takes away from some very basic elements that pull your mind from what makes you breathe and drags your heart to the gutter (where it began). I miss KiKi so much.......