Like most women, I don’t enjoy being called a “hoe” or “bitch” by strange men. Usually, those names do not have a positive connotation.

But when you’re sitting at a table at the Funky Monkey in Orlando, Fla. and a man with breasts calls you a hoe, he just means you’re fabulous.

These men (women?) were much bigger hoes than I could ever dream of being. Their fabulousity oozed through their skin and was manifested through the sequins and glitter that covered their womanly figures.

Their makeup was an art form in itself-lashes for miles and lips that resembled the texture of a strawberry Creamsaver. Those men could have probably taught me a thing or two about makeup.

And they were certainly show men (or show women?). Each one came out and perfectly performed lip-synced versions of songs by Dolly Parton, Mary J. Blige and even The Cure.

One of the larger, more dramatic queens showed off her vocal talents with the song “Sweet Transvestite” and another more colorfully titled song that I wouldn’t like my mother to read about when I hand her a copy of this paper.

The highlight of my evening had to have been a conversation between one of the queens and a guy celebrating his 21st birthday.

She handed the birthday boy a shot of José and said, “Now when I start looking real, you know you’ve had enough.”