Weekend update

Sunday with the Glamour Lesbians: brunch on a porch with little dogs; endless conversation about how next year, really, they will look around for a better place (you wait too late to make your reservation, girls, you end up in an attic at the Ptown Inn; that's the way the world works).

After a while, Mr. Muscato and I escaped; we were Men with a Mission. We had to achieve a dream that has haunted us since last summer:

Cupcakes at Relish. Until you've had them, you simply do not know the heights to which a humble buttercream can climb, the nirvana that can be achieved with a deceptively simple white cake.

We would have had six, but we had dinner reservations with the Girls. We ate, and ate, and ate. And it was good.

Then, having run the gauntlet of the busking cabaret performers, all shilling for their acts out on Commercial Street, we ran into a familiar face: the remarkable Lea DeLaria, taking a break from her stint as "Madame Delphina" on One Life to Live (is just me or is life in general getting quite surreal?).

So we went to her show.

And it rocked. She is, of course, not only the most foul-mouthed woman to hit the stage since Wendy O. Williams, but also an increasingly interesting jazz singer.

The combo is amazing, if occasionally a little neck-snapping. It's certainly the only show I've seen recently that combined a hilariously graphic routine about fisting and an impassioned rendition of "You Don't Know What Love is." The show features a surprise entrance, a lot of truly funny material, and an incredibly tight trio backing her up.

So it was quite an evening, after quite a day.

As Monday dawns, the GLs have departed, the morning has proven gray and rainy, and Mr. M. and I trying to decide how we can we spend the day most lazily. I suspect that additional buttercream may well be involved.

Life is good.