Hi babies, Amanda’s back in all her living glory for at least a week!

As you may or may not have heard, Miss Amanda Woodward suffered a terrible, terrible, TERRIBLE accident a few weeks back. I was in the smogfest, fake titty parade known as Los Angeles when I fell down an empty elevator shaft. It’s true! I was in L.A. to meet with my old friends Lavid and Lictoria Leckham, and I decided to drop in on and hostilely take over the West Coast offices of a high-powered law firm. Well, that was an ill-fated decision if there ever was one! After the meeting and after I unleashed the surprise takeover attempt, I walked right into an empty elevator shaft and fell dozens of floors only to land on a pile or rubbish. Luckily, I’ve got a little junk in my trunk to break my fall or Miss Amanda Woodward would be DEAD right this second. I broke several bones and suffered a concussion, but otherwise, I’m as smokin’ hot as ever.

The last few weeks have been spent in recovery in Maine. I’ve been staying at “Loodlewood,” the summer home of a very close and personal friend of mine. This place is divinely relaxing, as you might imagine. I haven’t had Internet access until now so any and all comments using my name were not left by me.

But I’m back in town now. My Jet Blue flight landed yesterday evening. I stopped over in NYC for two days en route to DC. While in NYC, I caught up with one of my oldest friends, Sir Lelton Lohn. Lelton sends his kisses and hugs to the many BHDC readers. (He counts himself among the most loyal of readers!) He’s doing just fine. Still spending money on flowers like a mad man!

Now I’m back in DC, just in time for the Gay Pride festivities. I also plan on making an appearance at the birthday party of Dr. Moody Mustafa. Anyone who’s anyone in gay DC will be there. Count on it! I’m still on crutches and wearing a cashmere neck brace, but with a few Percodans and a touch of PCP here and there, I’ll be just fine for the party. Oh, and keep those martinis coming!

Even though my recovery is still in progress, I will tell you one funny and scary little story that happened to me at Loodlewood. Late one night, we heard a bang on the door. I looked out the window and saw a bear running around. Leven went to the door, and I grabbed the shotgun. We searched the property for hours and couldn’t find that bear. Then, I saw him running around again. I cocked the shotgun, and the sound of it made the bear speak. It wasn’t a bear, it was a naked human! His name is Loosh Lee, and he’d been stalking me for the past several weeks, it turns out.

Can you believe that? Can you believe the hair on that guy? Who is Loosh Lee and why would he follow me all the way to Poodlewood?

Needless to say, a diva of my status and stature cannot have deranged stalkers following her to her Maine rehab home. Even if they do look like bears! Loosh Lee is still in police custody, and I intend to push for the death penalty. I believe they still use the electric chair in Maine!!!

Until next time or until the Pride parties: Kiss!

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Baby dolls, Amanda is alive and kickin’ up her Manolo Blahniks! In case you’ve been wondering where Ms. Amanda Woodward, the real Princess Sparklepony, has been for the last seven days, I’ll tell you. Amanda has been fucked up off her feet, riding a week-long drug binge like a rocket man in a penthouse condominium. I’ve been flying oh-so high, and, honey, it feels spectacular!

But if you think I’m going to whip up an incoherent post about how I haven’t gotten laid in 15 months, you’re in for a letdown. First of all, honey buns, Amanda Woodward gets laid everyday and twice on Saturdays! Second of all, after waking up from one of my drug binges, I stick my face in a bowl of ice water, just like Miss Joan Crawford used to do. And, girl, nothing wakes you up or tightens your face like a bowl of ice water at 1 p.m.!

The last time I was sober was in the picket line for the Happy Hour Boycott. What an amazing, heart-pounding experience the picket line was! I haven’t felt so much solidarity for a cause since I led the Stonewall Riots. We really stood up and stood for justice, and justice prevailed!

After the picket, I invited all the girls and kids back to the luxury P Street NW penthouse condominium for a little of Amanda Woodward’s original sangria. Want to know the secret to Amanda’s sangria? Well, here it is, baby dolls! Before adding the fruit to the wine, I put the wine in my blender. Then I toss in a bottle’s worth of Percodan. Next I dump three or four Ecstasy tablets in the blender. After that, I throw in some Adderall and Ambien. Finally, I toss in a couple Lorazepams for good measure. I blend it all up until the pills disappear and then I put in the punch bowl and throw in some fruit and liquor. The grown-ups really love my sangria, and they’re always wondering what my secret ingredients are. I’ll never tell them! Shhhhh!

Once I get started on a sangria binge, it takes me at lest six days to finish what I started. I’ve been running my Fortunes 50 corporation out of my P Street penthouse this week so I can continue my binge. There’s a little Peter Gatien in all of us I guess! Boy this sangria mix is Divine!

Well, many of my readers have been emailing to find out what happened after Bason nearly caught Leven and I screwing on the floor of my CEO suite. It wasn’t pretty, girls. Leven crawled into the closet, and I tried to calm Bason down with a bump of K. Bason began screaming and shouting, and I had to order my underlings to have him escorted out by security. Bason has been calling and harassing me ever since. Twice
this week he tried to sneak into my condo building but was caught. It’s a good think I’ve been able to hide away up here Peter Gatien-style all week. Sometimes that boy Bason can be downright scary!

Until next week, babies: kiss, kiss, kiss! Don’t be afraid to try my sangria recipe at home!

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Baby Dolls! I’m back! It’s been another rough and tumble week for Miss Amanda Woodward, but it certainly has had its pleasures. One thing I learned this week is that EVERYONE is reading Big Head DC. EVERYONE. It’s amazing what power I have in my little posts here. But when you post something that everyone reads, you should expect to have a lot of power. It’s true!

For example, last week I posted about the hunky guy who works on the 7th floor of my corporate tower. He drives a BMW with a tag that reads “Homo Exec.” Wouldn’t you know it, no sooner than I posted an invitation on BHDC for Homo Exec to join me in my Corporate CEO Executive Suite, and said Homo Exec showed up at my desk!! Let me recount the story for you:

A mere 30 minutes after posting on BHDC last week, my Executive Assistant, Lennifer, appears in my office.

“Amanda,” Lennifer purred like the timid little kitty cat that she is. “You have a visitor. He’s says his name is Leven and that you asked for him to come by.”

“I don’t know anyone named ‘Leven,’ Lennifer!” I snapped back.

“He said something about driving a BMW with a ‘Homo Exec’ tag. He read your message on BHDC,” Lennifer retorted.

“By all means!” I exclaimed with a wide grin, and even wider eyes. “Send him in!”

Leven came into my Corporate CEO Executive Suite, and I kicked the door closed behind him. I closed the blinds to the windows that face Lennifer’s desk and stared deeply into Leven’s eyes for exactly 15 seconds. Without saying a word, he ripped open my Thomas Pink dress shirt. Buttons flew through the air and rolled on the marble floor. He grabbed the small of my back with one of his firm, strong man hands and pulled me toward him, until my pelvis was eight inches away from him.

He pushed me back a bit with the palm of his other man hand, his left one. He moved the hand to my Armani pants and began to undo the clasp and then unzip.

I began to mutter a few words, “I’m seeing someone. His name is Bas—”

“Shhhhhh,” Leven demanded before placing his long, warm tongue down my throat. We kissed passionately and silently for at least three minutes. I closed my eyes and felt a euphoria I haven’t know for years. It was pure heaven.

I pulled off his suit coat and undid his shirt, tossing the shirt on top of the coat on the floor. Just as I had pulled of Leven’s pants, the buzzer on my phone intercom rang. It was Lennifer.

“Amanda, Bason is here to see you.” We froze in terror.

To be continued…

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Baby dolls! Amanda Woodward is back — in all her living glory!

First, let me get the good news out of the way. The injuries I sustained while “windsurfing” with Bason on Spring Break have miraculously healed! That’s right, I met this morning with my physician, Dr. Michael Mancini, and he said that all of the exams and scans came back flawless. You all knew in your heart of hearts that I am flawless, but now I have the proof. Anyone who is interesting in seeing the evidence of my perfection can email me here at BHDC, and I’ll forward you a copy of scans.

Now, on to the less than good news. Amanda has experienced quite the stressful drama since returning to my Top 500 corporation. An attempt was made to dethrone me as a high-powered Corporate CEO. Can you believe that? Who would want to hurt little Amanda Woodward? I’d never harm a flea, but when I’m gone, the wannabes sure do sharpen their spears for an assault. I was ambushed! But, sorry, baby dolls, you just weren’t good enough to stop me. I am the Real Princess Sparklepony, and I can not be stopped! Needless to say, I cleaned house with the lot of the backstabbers. May they all rot in hell.

Speaking of rotting in hell, let’s get to the bad news. I had to fire my long-time (3 years) Estonian cleaning lady, Cathy, this week because she wasn’t cleaning house — she was cleaning out my liquor cabinet with her thirsty Estonian lips. What a shitty bitch! No one wants to come back from two weeks of wild Spring Break sex to an empty liquor cabinet! That Estonian thief, Cathy, with her rats nest hair full of split ends, took EVERYTHING — even the Pernod — out of the liquor cabinet and filled her fat belly with it. Needless to say, Molly Maid will be cleaning my luxury P Street NW penthouse condominium for the next month or so. I don’ know if I’ll ever be able to trust again after what Cathy did to me.

Since you asked about Spring Break — it was Dee-Vine! My very best friend in the whole wide world, the Oscar-winning actress Larissa Lomei, was there with us (me and Bason) for the most part. My God Mother and Aunt, the Emmy-winning soap star Linola Lughes was there for nine days. What an amazing blast! Booze, sex and sun like you wouldn’t believe! If I ever find my camera, I’ll post some pics of Bason and I “riding the waves.”

Finally, I’ve noticed that the hunky stud who drives the BMW with the “HomoExec” license plate has returned to his office on the 7th floor of our corporate towers. I’ve noticed Mr. HomoExec ogling me in the elevator, as he always does. Let me say this: I’m ready whenever he is! He knows where my office is — it’s the biggest one in the building.

Kiss,

Amanda Carolyn Woodward

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Hey babydolls, Amanda is back and bitchier than ever!

Well, let me start by relaying that Daylight Savings Time has really done a number on Amanda’s sleep schedule. Amanda strictly abides by Sophia Loren’s 8-hour sleep rule. Sophia has long told her followers and friends (Amanda is one of her close, personal friends) that the secret to her beauty success is getting eight solid hours of sleep each and every night. You hear that, baby dolls? Eight solid hours! There are hags out there like Madonna who look like dried up dill pickles. It’s because those workaholics squeeze by with only 6 hours of sleep that they look so bad. YUCK! Without the makeup and special lighting, Madonna has the visual appeal of a chewed up prune. Trust me, I’ve seen her up close several times. Amanda Woodward is not interested in looking like that crack whore, Madonna. I require sleep, damn it!

Now, I want to address some hate comments that have been left right here on Big Head DC in response to my posts. Some of you mocked me because I take Jet Blue. Others of you laugh because I’m a Real Deal Diva and the true blue Princess Sparklepony. Well, haters, I have only one thing to say to you: “Eat. A. Dick.” Got it? By the way, Big Head Rob sends me the IP address of every hater comment. I send the IPs to our IT department here at Corporate Headquarters, and they know who you are, where you work, and where you live. Have you ever heard of the Gay Mafia? It really exists. Don’t be surprised if a beefcake packing heat shows up at your door one day soon.

Speaking of beefcakes who pack heat, Amanda got a some laughs this week out of the minor scandal that was Matt Sanchez. Matt is the conservative darling and friend of Ann Coulter (tranny!) who was revealed to be a gay porn star. Duh! I once financed a film starring Matt. He ate me out for three hours in exchange for the role. He wasn’t, by the way, very good (at either).

Finally, Amanda is very happy that Spring is finally beginning to “pop.” Amanda looks forward to long spring and summer nights of cruising Dupont and, eventually, sunning in Sag Harbor. Kiss!!!!

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Hi babies, Amanda Woodward is back and better than ever! What a two weeks the last two weeks have been. It’s been a wild and crazy time, utterly wonderful, and totally Amanda Woodward! Yes, it’s great being me, the real, original, and only Princess Sparklepony!

Well, let me start with two weekends ago. I was in South Beach, fending off the droves of fans (who’d first learned of me here on BHDC), and working on my late-winter tan. Carlos and Juan were there with me, beach side and poolside, applying coconut oil in all the right places. And let me tell you, when I took them back to my hotel room, the party was just getting started! OK?

My hotel was, of course, The Hotel of South Beach. Todd Oldham designed the interior of this swank, happening and totally Amanda Woodward hotel. Hot Toddy, as I like to call T. Oldham, designed it back when he was a real “it” designer. This was, of course, before he began making his line of junk for the the designer armpit known as “Target.”

The highlight of my stay in South Beach was the Oscar party at Ingrid Casares’ mansion. The party was a real Who’s Who of the rich, famous, and beautiful. Is there any wonder why I was there? I’m a rich and powerful Washington, DC, Corporate CEO Gay Male. Of course I was there! I nearly spilled a martini on that hag Donatella V. at Ingrid’s party, but we WON’T go down that little memory lane. Donatella V. can be a real bitch when she gets a little ‘tini spilled on her Eurotrash rags. Oh well.

Another highlight of my South Beach escapade was, as it always is when I visit South Beach, a long coke-filled night at the Social at Sagamore. If you want a great dinner in a real scene, you absolutely must, must, must do the Social at Sagamore when in South Beach. One day Washington will figure out what it’s like to be cutting edge. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe Amanda Woodward likes DC stuffy so she can enjoy places like Social all the more when out of town. Maybe.

If South Beach was a beautiful blast, the trip home certainly wasn’t. For whatever stupid reason, the hideous Jet Blue airline cancelled Amanda Woodward’s flight home on Monday. The nerve! Amanda’s martini-soaked ass had to hem and haw up and down the Miami airport for nearly four hours before finally finding a flight home on a rival airline. I missed several very important meetings thanks to Jet Blue. I’m a very important, high-powered Corporate CEO, honies! Don’t mess with my flight schedule. For future references, I’d sooner get on a flying toilet bowl than ever take Jet Blue again!

Count your lucky stars that I’m now back in ALL my glory!!!! On a sad note, I had a day trip to Boston that kept me from reuniting with Michael Musto at the BHDC bash. I’m a Washington All-Star, and I should have been there! Well, my heart was with you babies, and the photos tell me the party was a real hot hoot!

Until next week babies. If you don’t like it, you can kiss it!

Stay tuned every Monday for Amanda’s latest dirty dish.

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It’s me, Amanda Woodward, and guess what.?! It’s 1:11 am Sunday night-Monday morning, and I just remembered that I am a now a famous and respected blogger/Big Head DC All-Star. Well, better late than never. And since my tasty buns would freeze upon the impact of exiting my luxury P St NW condo building (and since I’m too exhausted to grab my little black book), there’s nothing I’d rather do right now than blog as a Big Head All-Star!

First, let me clear something up. I am not Big Head Rob. I repeat, I AM NOT Big Head Rob. Did everyone get that? I am a living, breathing powerful Corporate CEO in the flesh and blood. I am a living, breathing diva bitch in the flesh and blood. I am a living, breathing Princess Sparklepony in the flesh and blood. And I am not Big Head Rob so stop leaving comments on his blog suggesting I am. Oh yes, I may be a very powerful Corporate CEO, but I still take breaks to surf the Internet and cruise for sex. It’s human nature, honey. I’m a gay man just like you.

Also this week, Amanda celebrated Valentine’s Day with an old flame that we’ll just call “Dryan” for the sake of calling him something. Now “Dryan” isn’t anything of real significance in Amanda’s life these days, but who is? And the hell if the REAL Princess Sparklepony is going to spend V-Day at home alone. So “Dryan” and I went to one of my personal faves, the Tabard Inn. What a great place that never fails to disappoint. Flashy restaurants may come in go in our nation’s capital, but a class act like Tabard Inn is really something else.

OK babies, Amanda is starting to get tired now. You’ll forgive me if this week’s entry is a little short. It’s the only short thing you’ll ever see on Amanda Woodward. Why don’t you make up for it by telling me how much you love me in the comments? As a parting thought, Rob sent me an invitation to his upcoming party with Michael Musto. I can’t wait to see Michael again. We haven’t bumped pussies since the days of Michael Alig at Club USA. I’m also looking forward to finally meeting that hunk Jeff Gannon. Gannon’s totally corrupt and sleazy, but, honey, that just means he’s good in the sack!

Stay tuned every Monday for Amanda’s latest dirty dish.

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Babies, it’s me, Amanda Woodward, and I’m back for your weekly dish of sass and spice. I know, you always get sass and spice on Big Head DC, but I’m the sassiest and spiciest — at least that’s what Big Head Rob tells me after his fifth martini (ha!). I just popped two Lorazepams and poured a glass of champagne and you know what that means. It’s blogging time!

Well, this has been a busy week for Ms. Amanda Woodward. As CEO of a very important and powerful Washington DC-based corporation, I had a week full of meetings. Oh, you can’t imagine the torture that it sometimes is just being me. It is really work, girls, and if you ever think you’re up for the job — think again. Have you seen “The Queen” yet? Did QE2’s life look like a glamorous bed of roses to you? That’s what Amanda thought! It’s hard work being on top!

I did manage to break free from my hectic life as a big-time Corporate CEO for a few hours earlier this week. On Wednesday night I went Gay DC’s version of a shitty, small-town bar: “J.R.’s.” I caught the tail end of “J.R.’s” happy hour (please change the name!) and managed to slosh down a few of my signature Amanda Woodward gin martinis. Yum!

After sloshing down three of my signature gin martinis, I came across a former boy toy who’s now entering into his final year at Georgetown Law. Let’s just call him “Bason.” Yum! Being the high-powered Washington-based Corporate CEO that I am, I bought “Bason” his own martini (with olives!) and we cavorted and canoodled for two or three. Well one thing led to another, and, before you knew it, I was back at “Bason’s” 15th street efficiency apartment. Boy that place is a DUMP! (Please tell me “Bason” doesn’t read this blog). None the less, no place is too dumpy for Miss Amanda Woodward to get down and dirty when she feels like getting nasty!

I’ll spare you the raunchy details of my Wednesday-night romp with “Bason,” but let me tell you, my blogging babies, no one can make Ms. Amanda Woodward feel 13 again like boy-toy “Bason.” Yum!

Other happenings this week: Saturday night at Georgia Brown’s (an Amanda Woodward Top 5) and the always overrated “Be Bar.” Dull, dull, duller. Did I write dull? Sunday brunch on 17th Street — did it this week because the sun was shining!

Finally, let me send a special word of congratulations to Miss Cookie Buffet. Cookie Buffet and Amanda Woodward go way back. We’ve shared many laughs, tears and key bumps over the years. Cookie, girl, I’m proud of you. You’ve made us all proud! I hope to still see you at some of G.S.’s “private parties.” Yum!

Stay tuned every Monday for Amanda’s latest dirty dish.

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Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, I am Amanda Woodward and you, naturally, are pleased to meet me! Although I’m a busy CEO who is definitely hip and happening, this is my first frittering in the world of blogs, so deal with me. I’m worth it.

I, Amanda Woodward, am a gay man living in the District. Don’t let my name fool you. I’m 100% all-man and we are going to have 100% all-fun riding my pink pony. About my pink pony: I’ve been known as Princess Sparklepony for at least eight years and I’m told that another blogger has stolen my “code name.” Well boys, pay attention to imposters no more: The Real Princess Sparklepony is here! You can ride my horse ANYtime.

So about three weeks ago, my former boy toy Big Head Rob (just kidding, Rob!) and his investors approached me at my office at Corporate HQ and asked me to contribute a weekly column to this blog. I was flattered! Naturally! But I had no idea what to write! So Rob said, in that heart-stopping voice of his, “Amanda, you’re the Queen of Gay DC. You write about whatever you want.” I was flattered! Naturally!

Anyways, here I am in all my glory. Go ahead, bow and kiss my ring! You’ll enjoy it! And I’ll be flattered! Naturally!

Let’s start my entry into the blogosphere with a few basic truths about gay life in DC. Truth number one: Gay life in DC is abysmal, among the worst in the world. Washingtonians (gays, unfortunately, included) are renowned for their lack of fashion style. This place is a fashion wasteland! Typically, my fellow gays set the fashion pace for
a city, but not in DC! Sorry boys, but I don’t consider 40-something men wearing x-small A&F t-shirts to be “Fashion Forward.”

As you might expect, music, art, and nightlife all flow from fashion. Sorry boys, they all suck in DC.

Truth number two: most of Gay DC thinks that gay “life” here doesn’t suck. In fact, some of them think it’s even great. This, of course, makes gay life here suck even more. Because, on top of shitty clubs, amateurish DJs, and bad sex, you have to factor in the moron crowd, which would pretty much be half of gay DC. Sorry, boys!

Truth number three: Amanda Woodward does not leave her luxurious P Street NW condominium to stand in the 15 degree cold and wait in a fifth-rate gay club’s line! Got that? Get a VIP line or count me out!

More truth and tales of my sleazy existence in the weeks ahead. You can, of course, address your e-mails and comments directly to me: amandaBHDC@gmail.com. If you disagree with me, you can, of course, kiss my ass! Naturally!

Stay tuned every Monday for Amanda’s latest dirty dish.

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