I have never felt so comfortable about myself as I did in Manhattan. And it wasn't simply because I did not feel like the largest person everywhere I went but it was also because I felt that no one judged anyone else. I could have gone out in shorts and a bra and looked pretty stupid but felt comfortable enough that no one gave a shit what I looked like. It seemed that no one tried so hard to conform to anything and no one was even slightly bothered by what other people thought of them and the way they looked. There was no one that was SO trendy and no one that was SO pretentious. No one had the boy bint hair do (you know the bleached blonde mohican and short fringe - if a girl looks like a spaz in a short fringe then there is no way a boy can get away with this) which impressed me greatly as walking down the street in Aberdeen every second boy has this unflattering hair do and it is truly vile. There was no abundance of gel or wax, hair was just hair (but note, never fluffy) and clearly people did not spend 3 hours perfecting the squint quiff or pulled forward fringe. There is nothing worse than those who try so desperately to be cool and spend hours, often days aiming to get the cool look just right. If you can't get the cool look right just buy shoving on your clothes and mussing up your hair in two seconds then it just doesn't work. The binty girl look is equally bad and I didn't realise just how prevelant it is until we went to Manhattan, city of accidental cool. You certainly didn't see the beautiful girls over titling their smoking hats while squeezing into burberry knickerbockers teamed with a halterkneck top. The Manhattan girls looked hot but they weren't so made up with 8 layers of make up so at least you knew you would be looking at the same face the following morning. Natural beauty is so much hotter than those who try harder to be beautiful than a lesbo tries to pull straight chicks. I just hate how so many people piece together trend after trend and automatically thinking if they are wearing the latest gucci and clutching a [probably fake] luis vuitton then they really must be something special. Wrong. It doesn't work like that. Just because one thing looks good one someone else does not mean it will look in anyway hot on you and your flat ass. These are the same people that given a shopping trip to Manhattan would find themselves in Bloomingdales and Barneys paying all their currency for one bag and would not dream of scooting around the cool boutiques and getting a beautiful item that you could not get in your shitty home town. These people make me vomit. That's why I and so many others love Carrie Bradshaw. I may not appreciate her bum bag and poncho but her style is quirky, her own (or Patricia Field's) and she most certainly does not care what anyone else thinks. And so I must go face the hoards of 'I'm so cool' people of Aberdeen who wouldn't know true style if Miss Bradshaw smacked them round the chops with Patricia Field's entire wardrobe. Long live Hotel Venus you arrogant wannabe (but never gonnabe) pricks.
Atta girl... I haven't seen the video of this moment I never thought (though have surely dreamt about) I or millions of other people would ever witness but I was lucky to get the text messages early this morning detailing the event which gave me great mental images throughout the day. My number one girl and Lil Red's number one girl swapping saliva. Beautiful. I heard there were tongues an' all. I'm glad good ol' Madge chose to kiss my Britney first before gubbying her lips with those of mucky madam Aguilera. Though I don't think, judging by this picture, Christina is at all happy about playing second fiddle to Britney... She's like, 'o c'mon, do me first and do it hard and slow'. And again judging by this picture, Britney is hitching up her already almost chuff revealing skirt as though begging her idol to slip a digit as well as a tongue. Or maybe not but hey a lesbo can dream. Knowing Britney is not averse to lolling another girls tongue around in her mouth has probably made my life for some freaky reason. And knowing that is was Madonna's well used tongue she was carressing makes it all the more pleasing. Isn't this gay far too easily pleased?
And so I must go continue my quest for more photos which detail the insertion of tongue. Have a pleasant evening. I'm very sure that I will.
And so I am back. If you even noticed I have been gone for two weeks or so. There is so much to tell you about New York but when I am asked what I did, I generally say 'not much' because explaining to people who are far too interested in the arty and touristy things that I mainly just shopped, looked around and drank in bars sounds rather dull and yobbish. Although I just summed up my entire trip in 3 brief statements, there was so much to those 3 brief statements. It's not that I think I'm too cool to do the touristy things like sit on an open top bus or go in a 50 second lift to the top of the empire state, it's because we saved the tourist things for the last couple of days but of course when the last few days came around and we were still sitting on hundreds of dollars each we realised that we has not shopped enough and of course, we had to get our priorities right. It was the best 10 days of my life. I have been born for New York and I have defiinitely decided it's the place I will eventually live and probably die. It's just so cool. Actually it was pretty fuckin hot and I didn't tan one bit but hey what's a non change in skin tone between friends? It was like being in another world entirely. The people, the places, pretty much everything was different and for me, better. The gay bars I went to were so impressive. There was so much choice and I didn't feel they were pretentious in the slightest. My top choices were XL, Beige, G's and Henrietta Hudson's. Beige is an apparent celeb hangout but sadly the only celeb I spotted in a bar was the gay boy from Erasure, not exactly a dream celeb spot but hey I did see Lucy Lui, that I am 95% sure of and of course it made my week :-) Thanks to Beautiful Boy we met Mr Latino who showed us our way and who has also had the pleasure of making Britney's acquaintence on two occasions and who serves celebs daily in the vile Luis Vuiton (I am not disturbed that I don't think I can even spell his/her name) store.
I don't wanna bore you further with giving you a daily run down of my schedule in the city but can I just say, how scary was the blackout?? Not a suitable experience for persons of a nervous disposition I can tell you. One friend stuck on the subway while the other three of us walked 7 miles home. You should have smelt our non air conditioned top floor room that night. Four people's sweat, four people's over walked feet, one person's cigarettes... not a great combination I should say. However, despite 3 uneasy bodies and one over excited body (NB if ever in a crisis and you have a Beautiful Boy at your disposal, please feel free to make good use of this boy as he works wonders for the soul), we were not bombed in the night and were able to walk around Time Square with the lights out the following day which was bizarre yet oddly cool. And so we bought out 'we survived the blackout 2003' tshirts and carried on regardless as those not so beautiful people from the south once sung. My only major issue with that blackout now is the fact that due to there being no power, I missed my friggin gay roller disco. I would have been the bomb at the disco, skating with inverted legs with the glitter flying from me faster than you can say, 'down goes the lesbo'. Gutted.
Anyway, this post has been rather mundane and matter of fact because I am tired and the nine o clock starts are killing me but I am now the proud 'owner' of the gay section in my new work :-) so please, come buy gay books from me and make me happy.
Oh and tomorrow I get to meet Darius and I'm sure I am the only person in work excited about this. I can't work out what I have to be excited about. Is it his charismatic persona? His dashing good looks? Not bloody likely, dyke. Anyway, dreams of darius aside, off I go to fantasise over bagels and squeezy cheese and wonder why my 9th belly now flops onto my shoe buckle.
In two days time I will be in New York, sitting in gay bars with fishbowls in the restrooms and looking at unfamiliar faces for once. I can't wait. The fun begins tomorrow however with Beautiful Boy's birthday and the train journey to Glasgow. I should be packing my overly large case to accomodate my overly large clothes but instead I am doing my nails, straightening my freshly cut hair and writing my weblog. A girl has gotta make sure her priorities are right huh? This is my first holiday abroad with friends, and of course girlfriend, and I'm so excited that I am so gonna have to put a nappy on for fear of accidents. I'm also so knackered that I can barely comprehend anything that doesn't involve sleeping. This may be due to my usual two day hangover which is lingering around like an unwanted fart after Friday night's frivolity. I don't suppose tonight will be a night for much sleep either. I will try and write my blog when away but glitterqueer has gone hardcopy for the duration of my time away so I'm sure you'll get a look at that if you are lucky, or more probably, unlucky.
Other news worth mentioning. An baby was abandoned on mine and Lil Red's doorstep last night. Or in the early hours of the morning rather. Judging by the size of her she was very premature and she is called Baby Jessica and is very plastic. A certain Beautiful Boy and The Gentleman were responsible for our new synthetic friend who was left wrapped in a tea towel for me to stand on her squeaky belly when I blobbed my way to the toilet in a fuzzy, puffy eyed haze this morning. We have been given Baby Jessica in preparation for Baby Annabelle who is a new age Tiny Tears and burps and giggles as opposed to just cries and pisses when you squeeze her belly. It's all in preparation for when we can pop one of our own out. Considering Baby Jessica has been sleeping in a plastic bag in between being swung by the exorcist arms and being stood upon by careless feet, maybe it would be a better idea to get a puppy. Or maybe even a fake puppy. Oh well I hope Baby Jessica will enjoy New York as much as me and I hope customs don't remove her head to look for anything illegal. Maybe we will leave her at home after all. I don't want to not get into the country because of a suspicious pretend baby who has hair moulded into her eyelid-less head and wears polka dot.
Anyway, I hope to be around soon with tales of Fee in the city so now I go to attack the forest that is my legs. I could be sometime.
Reasons as to why OUT is the worst gay night club in ScotlandBritainEurope The World:
Every song is mixed in with about five others
It is over crowded and it is hotter than the sahara
The only air conditioning it has is a portable fan
You wake the following morning with other people's sweat stains on your clothes
Men in tapered white jeans
You can't just get a glass of tap water, you must buy a bottle
The pattern on the carpet is busier than the combined sex lives of all its inhabitants
If your hair is longer than an inch you must be a fag hag
If you aint got a cock or don't want to snog the barmaid you don't get served
Half the bouncers are about as gay friendly as a straigh man's arse
There is always a butch crying in the toilet
Too much poppers which equals too many loose arseholes
The hot boys are always with the dogs
Monogamy seems like a foreign word
People in wasitcoats
No toilet roll
Lesbos freely skidding the bowl hence the lack of roll
Floor punch dancing
Over priced door charges
The tunes are older than Thora Hird's wrinkly ass
The knob in the mini skirt. fat knees
All the bleached blonde hair. So '98 boys
A lack of common curtesy
High waisted jeans and no shirt
Many vile naked bodies
People starting fights for no good reason
Too many straights thinking they r better than anyone else
Far to many GAP employees
No nice decor
No hot dancers
They allowed (and paid) the Fastfood Rockers to play
Lesbos get their boobs out when Kelly (who?) Lorena plays
A general all in all lack of character and atmosphere
Jesus, the list could go on and on. I'm sure many of these issues are prevelant in many places, not just Aberdeen's ONLY freakin gay club but I am sure that nowhere even comes close to rivalling OUT for being the World's Worst Gay Club. If you think it does, you really should go to OUT and judge for yourselves.
Maybe I should counteract all that with positive factors about OUT.
Reasons to be Cheerful
It serves alcohol
I can smooch my girl without getting a punch
Now i remember why I loath public transport so much. Not simply because the people I meet there are shell-suited, hairsprayed common slags but because it seems impossible to make a ten minute journey last only ten minutes. Yesterday I had the bus journey from hell. Having become bored with my work earlier than expected and persuading a J Bo to meet me for a liquid lunch, I was first forced to wait 25 minutes for an 'every ten mintues' bus. Hair huge from the wind and nipples erect from the only chilly spot by the bus stop, I finally got on the bus. Of course because it was late I was not permitted a seat to myself and had to share my reading space with fat elbows and greasey hair. And obviously because I had said to J Bo I would meet her in ten minutes the bus would proceed to stop at every stop and let on a further 15 people each go. And then of course my reading flow was rudely interupted, not by fat elbows digging even further into my crotch (some people have no respect for personal space), but by a maniac in a boiler suit trying to clamber onto the bus whilst hurling obscenities and scratching his bollocks through his piss smeared overalls. Smart. Bus driver yells and gesticulates frantically, man gets off, bus driver goes to pull away from the kerb and maniac shoves his hand in between the door. A further fight ensues and a further ten minutes later we are finally allowed to drive on. So now I am about 40 minutes late. Can anything else, aside from the missing every green light, go wrong? Because I want and need beer, of course it can. I am some stops away from The Bo when a shiny new car thinks he is smart and pulls and in front of MY goddamn bus. One emergency stop later and we are thrown embarrasingly forward to cries of 'ah' 'fuck' 'we're going to die' 'i just want a fuckin beer'. Oh the shame of me finding myself with my face in fat elbows mammoth tits as after the throw forward I am thrown sideways violently back. She smells like stale cum with a hint of four-week body odour. As does my hair now. Of course because of the trauma we have to vacate the bus and walk the remainder of the way to our destinations. One sweaty, pissed off hour later, I finally get to meet J Bo. All I wanted was a friggin beer and instead I got fat elbows on my crotch, an abrasied knee and worst off all, wind swept hair. Life is so not all good. Nor is public transport.
And so I go to tame these wild locks before getting wasted as tonight is my leaving night.