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photos by Lexie Moreland – www.lexiemoreland.com
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words by Abby

Went to see the High Heel Race @ 17th last night. This is the first year I’ve actually
a) gotten there in time and stuck it out long enough to witness the actual race and
b) from a spot other than in the middle of the swarm, smothered under some tall person’s armpit.

These are both miracles, seeing that I’m both lazy and short.

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But this year was special. For Halloween I went as my favorite tranny, Deaundra Peek. In the mid-nineties, Deaundra had a public access TV show in Palmetto, GA, called “Meet Me at Odum’s” on which she taught us all how to make Mee-maw’s favorite vienner and grape jelly sandwiches, went “roadside boutique” shopping, and performed karaoke in an off-key drawl.
I love her.
As my companion summed it up, “It’s really a universal injustice that women can’t be trannies.” Perhaps no, but front line at the drag races gets me purdy close.

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There were fat chicks on roller skates, Hillary Clinton (…or was it Princess Di?), and naughty Condi with secret service details, a slew of elaborately headressed board games including Yahtzee, Twister, and Life. There were the Miss Americas in swimsuits and sashes, with Miss South Carolina looking like Buffalo Bill in a trannie-skin suit. There was Larry Craig on a shitter full of candy being wheeled around by the Minneapolis airport police. There were angels and devils, a cheerleading squad, gays playing ring toss on someone dressed as the Washington monument. There were old ones, young ones, big ones, little ones, green, blue, sparkly, furry ones. Flamers in every state of dress but on fire. And dc’s finest, wheeling in and out of the parade on Segways back and forth past JR’s.

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Fenty even showed up to pose with the ladies in his signature fedora.

As much as DC takes hits for being a town of socially conservative d-bags, it gives me pause when the mayor comes out for an event like this. That said, I imagine the diversity and vibrancy of other cities’ gay scenes could still bitchslap DC into next season.
Remember Paris is Burning? Where are your Balls, DC? Where is your House of LaBeija? Where are your banjee girls? For one night, they were here, they were queer, they ran like beautiful, adam’s-appled ladies, and one emerged triumphant. And it was good.


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waitaminute – is that Glitzkrieg, Glam Rocker from the Hinterland?