The Lady Is a Tramp


by James Tuttle

Gentle reader,

Lady Gaga’s been staring up at me from a Vanity Fair on the coffee table for a couple of weeks now so I was planning to catch up on some light reading when I got home from driving up and down California to celebrate Christmas Eve with my parents (and thirty other close family members) then to have Christmas dinner at Scott’s mom’s in Palm Springs, all the while distributing so many presents that my friend Cynthia thought they were props when she saw them under the tree last week.

If Alejandro Corzo-Suarez was in Vanity Fair, I'd be more inclined to read it. (Ph: Nikolai de Vera)

After a long day of negotiating the hordes of Beverly Hills bargain hunters, though, that shit wasn’t happening.  You know that sleepy feeling you get after seven or eight dry martinis?  Well, I felt like that before I even finished my first one.  I took that to mean that I was just too tired to read about “The Royal Romance You Don’t Know” and flicked on the TV when, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but the fabulous Tanisha from Bad Girls Club!