Notorious Sainted Glamazon About Town

With cameras flashing like a Hollywood premiere, Sandra O. Noshi-Di’n’t and I entered the GayVN Awards this past Saturday night along the blue (yes, blue) carpet. Rather than asking who I was wearing – an original Cockatielia pink floral kimono that made me look big as a house, thankyouverymuch - one inquisitive journalist asked which of the night’s nominees I was there to support. ‘’I’m not here for any of the porn stars,” I blurted before I could stop myself, “I just want to see if Janice Dickinson is as much of a bitch in person as she was on the telephone.”

By the time we made our way into the lobby of the Castro Theatre, which housed the March 28 11th-annual gay adult entertainment awards, this year presented by NakedSword, I already regretted my big mouth. After all, though people have asked about my experience with Dickinson for weeks, ever since I contributed a recent cover story and interview with the self-proclaimed “World’s First Supermodel” to another area publication, I’d managed to keep my responses diplomatic.

“She was my most difficult interview to date,” I conceded to most. To others, I simply said, “She had a lot going on.” Now, with cameras rolling, I’d managed to sum it up in one tasty soundbite. I guess the cat was out of the bag.

The truth is, Dickinson was a bitch to interview. After calling me more than 40 minutes late the first time, we were “disconnected” repeatedly during our conversation, though it was once hinted to another interviewer awaiting a call following mine that the former America’s Next Top Model judge had actually hung up on me because she needed time to “compose” herself. While we were speaking, Janice’s answers were short, rushed, terse and often condescending. Of course, this all made it particularly rich when she told me the key to career longevity was to do something kind for another human being every day.

Dickinson proved even more (unintentionally) humorous when she called back to finish our unacceptably brief interview on the day of my deadline.

Mind you, this only happened after I informed her all-too-sweet and equally frustrated publicist that the diva was contractually obligated to provide sufficient material for a cover story.

“Didn’t we already speak?” Dickinson sniped when we were put back on the phone “We did,” I informed her, “But we talked for less than six minutes.” “We spoke for 22 minutes,” she corrected, albeit erroneously, “I timed us. I have an egg beater in my car.”

An egg beater. Really? Don’t you mean an egg timer, Janice?

All that aside, I was still kicking myself as we waited for the festivities to begin. Sandra and I mingled with the legendary Gina LaDavina, gorgeous Michael Martinez, whose Wunderland drew more than 1,200 as the event’s official afterparty, sexy DJ Andre Shannon and Heklina, who was fondling anything with a penis, pulse and perky ass-cheeks. I snapped photos with the absolutely adorable Wolf Hudson, who returned from his new L.A. home in hopes of collecting one of three awards for which he was nominated, and stunning Matthew Rush.

After a hilarious opening routine from Ugly Betty star and San Francisco native Alec Mapa, I was quickly bored to tears. At one point, Energy 92.7 FM morning show personality Greg Sherrell asked if anyone in the audience wasn’t nominated, and with about a dozen nominees for each award, and a seemingly limitless number of categories to be nominated in, it seemed like a valid question.

Being far from a porn aficionado - there is exactly one “adult film” I watch with any regularity – most of the faces filling the rows around us were handsome but unfamiliar. It made it incredibly hard for me to pay attention. (Especially with Collin O’Neal providing a running, and frequently less-than-friendly, commentary behind us.) Of course, Sandra not only recognized most of the performers, particularly her beloved Collin, she also provided me a brief overview of their career “highlights.”

“This is so surreal,” she once whispered, her distinctive, nasal voice cutting through the darkness, “We’re surrounded by people I’ve masturbated to!”

Though it was a mental picture I could have gone a lifetime without, making it even more troubling was the fact that just seats away, tucked between myriads of gay adult film stars, was comedian Bruce Vilanch. Though I knew it wasn’t what she meant, the thought of Sandra rubbing one out to Broadway’s multi-chinned Edna Turnblad nearly did me in.
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The image was gratefully eradicated when I was called to the lobby to meet two of the event’s coordinators moments later. With only 15 minutes before her scheduled entry, the supermodel was M.I.A. As people had been buzzing all evening long, it was now a very real possibility Janice might no-show, and if she did, I was to be her replacement.

When Dickinson did turn up, late as usual, she refused to take the stage until organizers scoured the Castro for champagne. “At the after party, I noticed why her nose is so big and her waist so thin,” the same inside source told me. That explains plenty!

When she hit the stage, she was speaking so fast she was barely comprehensible. Bouncing all over the stage in-between wiping at her nose repeatedly and making bizarre comments, Janice required Greg Sherrell to step in and help her read the names of award presenters. In short, she was a hot mess.
Taking a cue from Heklina and Donna Sachet, both of whom beat hasty retreats as soon as the lights dimmed, I snuck out. Though I would have really liked to stay to see if my buddy Wolf won at least one of his awards, I couldn’t take watching that slow-motion trainwreck any more. In all honesty, it was almost easier to think about Sandra and Bruce Vilanch.

At least that idea, no matter how disturbing, was mildly entertaining.

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