The bitch is back from her Vegas hiatus and how lucky y’all must feel. Do I have stories (complete with photographic evidence) mapping my latest conquest of America’s glittery, deep-fried toilet? Of course I do, but there’d be no point in sharing due to a lack of originality. Vegas is the 15th most photographed city in the world and everyone comes home from it having drawn the same conclusion: If men had dicks as functional as their common sense, the city would never make a dime.
Instead, I want to share something that happened on the drive there. While I was finally achieving a long-dreamt milestone—driving onto the strip with the top of my well-deserved convertible down—I received a private tweet from my cousin, Gina, informing me that a spate of “real nasty things” were being said about me. She had attached a link with her message, but it didn’t work no matter how many times I tried open to it. I became anxious, not because I was worried about about any dirty laundry being aired (although I have plenty of that; I could start a newsstand with all my issues), but who could ever dislike yours truly?
After all, I’m the Queen of Everything. No, really.
Should any of you lucky ducks receive an e-mail from moi, you’ll notice that the byline does, in fact, read “Queen of Everything.” Yes, it is a vainglorious jab at how I present myself, but it’s also the truest thing you know. If you were unaware of this fact, welcome to my self-serving blog (aka reality). Shockingly enough, I did not give myself this title. My coronation was appointed by a former coworker. A Mormon coworker, so you know it’s theologically sound. After all, Mormons constitute the one true faith. It’s a joke, mom. Click the link before you call me.
In truth, said coworker dubbed me this with a twinge of sarcasm. She teased me about how I insisted on knowing everything and said that it was never enough for me to be right… everyone else had to be wrong. What excellent points she made. I can’t believe we didn’t remain close, well as she clearly knew me. But, rest assure, I am a good queen, kind and merry. How good? So good that I feed you:
Strata-0-sphere (like in Vegas, get it?)
- 1 loaf jalapeno cheese bread
- 1 lb chorizo
- 1 dozen eggs
- 1 cup milk
- 1 cup salsa
- 1/2 cup chevre or cream cheese
- 2 cups shredded Mexican blend cheese
Preheat oven to 350˚. Tear bread into pieces and place in the bottom of a 9 x 13 pan. Brown chorizo. You can use any type (even “soyrizo”), but I used bulk lean pork chorizo. Beat eggs, milk and salt and pepper (to taste) until well-blended. Add the chorizo over the bread, spoon on the salsa, dot with chevre or cream cheese. Add eggs and top with shredded cheese. This can be placed in the refrigerator overnight or popped right into the oven. Bake for 30–45 minutes, until center is set. This recipe is great for a holidays and large groups because it’s simple, can be prepared the night before and is very easy to double.
Luckily, my cousin’s tweet was fake. Someone had hacked her (and many other people’s) account and the message was a mass spamming. Or something else equally massy and nerdy. Either way, it’s what I said: Try as they might, nobody is actually allowed to dislike me.
So let’s make it official.
Lady Gaga calls her fans Little Monsters. Justin Bieber has the Beliebers. It’s only fair, then, that HRH has a designation for her flock. Hence, it gives you great pleasure for me to dub my collective “Subjects.” Maybe I’m too high on my own bullshit right now, but at least it smells like rainbows and puppy giggles. Feast, Subjects.