Is it blasphemous for a drag queen to admit being completely over the annual LGBT Pride Parade and festivities? It's a question I've been asking myself since Sunday, when I realized - at least for me, and quite possibly for me alone - the event lacked the charm and appeal of years past.

It’s entirely possible that I fell in love with a woman last night. Anyone who knows my dating history might find this less-than-surprising, as it has significantly lesbian tendencies, but I never thought I’d find myself completely infatuated with real lesbian – until I met L.P..

With my drag daughter Sandra O. Noshi-Di’n’t, I ventured out to 12 Galaxies to catch the New York-based singer/songwriter last night. It was my first time to the venue, located at 2565 Mission. It’s surprisingly spacious, accommodating and has unexpectedly fabulous acoustics, which was particularly important because I didn’t want to miss a note of L.P.’s breath-taking vocals.

My friend Martha introduced me to L.P.’s music a few weeks ago, and I was initially hesitant. Let’s be honest. Lesbian musicians carry the somewhat well-earned stereotype of leaning to the side of folk, spoken-word and other artforms for which I’ve traditionally had little affection. Boy, was I surprised when I watched the YouTube video for LP’s new single “Good With You”!

Combining insightful lyrics, blazing guitars and a voice which is at once unique yet familiar, and above all else powerfully expressive, L.P. is genuinely an artist with tremendous potential. Whether or not radio embraces her – they absolutely should, but that’s another story – I certainly have. In the days leading to her concert, I watched her “Wasted” video (from the 2004 opus Urban Sprawl & Alcohol) and added her latest track “Stupid Muthafucka” as my MySpace profile song.

Given its hype, I initially refused to watch American Idol. Something about me always resists societal pressures, at least temporarily. In this case, it was just long enough to miss the crowning of a superstar -- Season I winner Kelly Clarkson.

Later, I became an Idol junkie. Between Simon’s scathing (frequently dead-on) commentary, Paula’s obvious lapses in sanity, sobriety and, quite often, consciousness, and let’s not forget the actual talent, the show unquestionably combines must-see TV moments and must-hear performances. I was glued to my TV in shock and dismay when spastic, silver-haired Joe Cocker knock-off Taylor Hicks claimed Season IV. Season V winner, today’s undisputed country queen Carrie Underwood, brought sweet vindication.

And don't overlook the ‘upsets.’ Every time Chris Daughtry racks up another gold record, I want to say, “Told ya so!” Remember Season III, when amazing LaToya London was sent home to Oakland in favor of sweet-but-forgettable Jasmine Trias? How can anyone forget eventual Dreamgirls Oscar-winner Jennifer Hudson, eliminated seventh that same year? (No, seriously, how can we forget? It’s mentioned every time she is!)

I’m still appalled by Idol blatantly screwing Season VI finalist Blake Lewis, whose reworking of Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name” remains the franchise’s most original and brilliant piece of music yet. While I was fairly certain Lewis would not win, his fate was sealed when forced to perform “This Is My Now,” that stink-bomb ballad obviously written with Jordin Sparks in mind. For shame!

While I couldn't tell you a thing about Season VII, because I didn't watch, the Idol moments I remember least are from Season II. In fact, I barely remember the season at all! Do me a favor, will you, and not tell my new friends, Season II finalists Trenyce and Rickey Smith?

Boy, am I glad I made it to last night’s San Francisco stop on Jay Brannan’s “Fat Is a Feeling…Not a Shape” concert tour!

Having never seen Shortbus, the John Cameron Mitchell movie which brought the openly-gay performer to national recognition last year, I wasn’t familiar with his film or musical contributions. After catching his show, obviously, I’m much more in the know. Yet, as amusing as I found the New York actor/singer/songwriter, he’s not even the reason I’m glad I made it to Bottom of the Hill.

Call me crazy, but I believe things happen for a reason and, in turn, can kick off a whole series of unforeseen events. When you are able to sit back and enjoy the domino affect, life makes for an interesting adventure. At least that’s consistently been my experience, and last night supports the theory.

Yesterday when I bought that brand new bottle of Spirit Gum – the sticky substance which allows me to make my eyebrows just perfect -- I had no idea it would inspire me to get in drag for a concert I wasn’t even that inclined to attend. Being painted like I was straight from the trailer park opened me to conversations with people I might never have otherwise met.

In an interesting turn of events, that landed my drag daughter Sandra O. Noshi-Di’n’t and me at Orphan Andy’s for 2 a.m. cheesecake and a chat with Tomas, the new friend we rescued from a potentially tragic hook-up. But really, that’s getting ahead of the story. After all, for the 100, maybe even 150 – probably more – crowding Bottom of the Hill last night, Jay Brannan was the highlight of the evening.