I believe everyone has a list of things in life which we secretly want to do. One of those things, for me, was to perform in a drag show.

I really haven’t the faintest clue why. It sounded like a good idea at the time. To be honest, it wasn’t the first time I’d been in drag, and it probably won’t be the last, but never again will I do it on stage.

I participated in the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Ally Alliance-sponsored drag show at the Maintenance Shop on Friday night, and the experience has changed my views on drag shows — and women’s rituals — forever.

I became Princess Lemmywinks. My outfit was in a “white trash” motif — a cut-off tank top to show my tummy, a denim mini-skirt and black high heels. Erica, my friend and makeup artist, plastered makeup on me and made me shave my stomach. I apologize if you were one of a dozen or so men who came into the men’s room while this was taking place.

My respect for women was boosted through the experience. The amount of time spent on makeup alone is amazing.

I had no idea how complex of a process it is to get that right shade of pink on your lips. The nuances of accentuating the eyes and cheek bones will be a science forever lost on me. The question that naturally arose from this part of the evening was: Why would anyone in their right mind spend so much time putting makeup on?

It wasn’t just normal makeup either. Oil-based makeups are now the bane of my existence. The stuff would not come off. I was told baby oil works like a charm, but let’s face it — how many guys keep baby oil on hand? Sick jokes aside, not many.

The show was one of the most terrifying and liberating things in the world.

To be on stage and not be able to see the crowd helped, but before I went on, I was sure I would vomit whatever was in my stomach and/or pass out. Once it was time for me to grace the stage, I reverted back to my high school track mentality: Suck it up and go!

I had taken my glasses off to show off my pretty eyes, and the fact that I am too nearsighted to see who was looking back at me helped my nerves a bit. I couldn’t focus past my biceps, thank God. Had I seen the crowd, I probably would have passed out. I danced to the tune of Janis Joplin’s “Me and Bobby McGee,” not because it was a good song, but because I felt there would be a lack of rock ‘n’ roll represented, and I was right. Dancing to rock music isn’t easy, though.

I don’t recall the last time I had strangers stuff money into my body while I danced, but I must extend thanks to those who did. Those dollars funded my night at the bars Saturday.

Some of my friends had reservations about my participation in the show; some even questioned my sexuality. I wasn’t offended. The experience definitely isn’t for everyone.

I looked at this as an opportunity to expand my horizons. However, I was kind of disappointed I wasn’t hit on. I thought I was pretty hot.

The LGBTAA earned a bit more respect from me as well. The drag show highlighted the warmth it has for its members and conversely, also displayed the willingness of acceptance by the ISU community. It became apparent to me how open many in my generation are, and that by itself made the evening worth the hours of agonizing butterflies I suffered.