This one time, back when I still left my apartment, I went out to this club called Tunnel. Now, if you are familiar with the New York nightlife, you will know that Tunnel is akin to the burning pits of hell, or if you are feeling particularly generous, purgatory.

The reason I was there was because my roommate, and pseudo-boyfriend (aka PLF) was DJing there. My old buddy Larry Tee was DJing before the PLF and he had hired a few drag queens to promote the event. Apparently the lure had worked, because there was no on in attendance other than drag queens and a few stray Pat Fields employees. Although I was wearing awkward 5 inch platforms and a miniskirt, and was clutching my faux purple alligator purse, I could not compete with these ladies.

They pranced up and down the dancefloor, not dancing, but in a strange ritual that these almost-women call "doing runway."

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, drag queens do not dance, they cavort up and down the dancefloor pretending that it is their runway, and they are supermodels. The soundtrack: Flawless - The Ones. If you haven't heard this little ditty, check out the lyrics and realize what a masterpiece it is.

I really don't have anything else to say, except for the fact that there was one of the worst snowstorms in history that night, I broke my shoe, and ended up waiting outside the club at 5am with the PLF's records in the snowstorm, in my miniskirt, waiting for the PLF to trek east to find a cab. Plus the fact that a security guard stole my purse. Thank god I don't leave the house anymore.