I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
Am glad (as of yesterday) to be rid of the double, massive wooden crutches and feel much better having to traipse around NYC with my new, lightweight albeit still uncool crutch. I really hope the 26 inches of snow have cleared up as I may be tempted to break the other ankle with a repeat performance of sledging into a fence. Because that really was one of my better ideas.
We're heading to The City of all things fabulous for a whole 8 days. How many gay bars can we visit in that time I wonder? We've no concrete plans other than seeing kt tunstall at the Bowery on the night we get there. Bad planning really seeing as we land only a couple of hours before she is due to play. We'll probably make it to the venue as she's bundled off into her tour bus to get it on with her
The only other thing we really wanted to do was go to TRL so we emailed in plenty of time and were more excitable than a poof on poppers when we received an email saying we could get tickets for 8th March. Oh who would we see?! What A lister would we get close to? Britney? Madonna? Angelina? And, more importantly, would we get our over-eager faces (sure to be red and bloated with excitement) on TV? Well our enthusiasm was short lived: we composed ourselves long enough to read the email terms and conditions. It would appear that at the grand old ages of 27 and 25, we are in fact too old for TRL! Oh the shame. Authentic ID is required, not to weed out the prepubescent cider drinking crew but to ensure that us mid twenties folks do not get our ageing faces on their show. Doubt it.
Anyway, so much to do, so little time! Still having a gammy foot is a complete hinderance when preparing for a holiday so everything takes double the time. Hmpf.
And so I go repaint my shoddy nails and drown in homemade soup. Yes, so much to do...
Having found an iota or self control at the weekend in regards to alcohol, not bad after 27 years
Baked brie... sweet, hot, delicious
Oakenfold ft Brittany Murphy: Faster pussycat kill
All the exciting homo bars to hit in NYC
Gay bookshops in NYC, we don't even have a gay section here, what a novelty
My limp, so unbecoming
Corinne Bailey Rae - please don't put that record on
The Brats on Brat Camp, all so lesbian
Diva Magazine, never fails to unimpress
My teenage acne, oh maybe that will help me get onto TRL?
2/23/2006 12:34:00 PM
However, after my stooker was so brilliantly sawn off ("again, again!") and I was wheeled unnecessarily around to X Ray and back in that huge chair, I was told that things were not looking great; I was to remain on the bloody crutches for two further weeks! I hadn't quite expected to be able to get on the dance mat straight away, or head to the gay bar to show off my special moves after such a long absence but I didn't expect to be walking like I have a very heavy table strapped to my foot and for my ankle and foot to still be bruised to buggery. Nor did I expect to look down and not recognise my ankle which is really the size of my thigh and fits in velcroed shoes only. It's all rather unsightly, disappointing and bloody sore but hey... what's another couple of weeks of continuing to get out of chores and getting lifts to work :-) Oh and at least I don't need to say goodbye to my new, upper arm man muscles just yet.
2/14/2006 12:41:00 PM
But you’ve no idea how much I’m missing gay dancing! After the accident my friends were fairly persistent in trying to persuade me to go gay barring it, with offers to heft my monstrous body down the steep stairs and to buy my drinks all night. I refused. No way was I being carried anywhere; I couldn't afford the chiropractic appointments they'd all require afterwards. Once I made it clear that in no uncertain terms would I be manhandled into the gay bar, the parties started in my new home. Well if the Fee can’t come to the party… the party comes to the Fee. This was really when it all went wrong. It became obvious that I was incapable of taking a back seat, especially when Baywatch, the dance mix, was on repeat. I could not just sit there, motionless, while the poppers were being passed about (common, I know). It was already clear that the parties were just not the same without me flinging my legs everywhere, astounding people with my surprising flexibility. I mean the party officially starts when I commence attempting the back bends and the splits... I don’t want to go into to it too much, for fear it may incite further chair dancing routines here in the office, but I’ll just say that the parties have now ceased; no one feels comfortable around me and music and my uncontrollable urges to do ‘Madonna arms’ in a sitting position. No longer do people appear at my door, wine under arm and cd in bag. And no longer am I allowed to flick through the multiple music channels while there is beer in the fridge. Oh the life of a chair dancer is a very lonely one.
Being excused from all household chores, you know because I did so many before…
Disabled changing rooms, oh so much space!
Having watched my entire DVD collection
My new, bulging upper arm man muscles
Being around drunk people while in charge of crutches… be afraid, be very afraid
Shopping for new books
My new, longer and flatter arse caused by over-sitting
Needing to be escorted to the toilet :-)
Having to transport things from room to room in a bloody bag, bum bags are my new favourite accessory... no, really...
PS Totally off topic - does anyone know where I can get a good (and cheap!) website design package? Preferably Dreamweaver or similar... have exhausted ebay...
2/02/2006 01:10:00 PM
Adventures of Charmin
Ariel Pay it Forward
Come to the Dark Side...
Dirty Little Homos
Fash Mag Slag
Het (aka Quickfit)
Hit the Jag Spot...
Knee Deep In It...
Life and Times of a Desperado
On Top of the World>