I purchased a detox programme from Fresh and Wild (where a salad costs a tenner!) and I have to take two tablets in the morning and two in the evening. It's meant to purify my liver and gut. Food seems to pass through me a lot quicker since I started the programme....have I been sold expensive laxatives?!!
Anyhoo, that's as far as my health strike is going. Roll on February when I can have a guilt-free Pizza Hut delivered!
XXXXXXXX
[ 1 comment ] ( 1 view ) | permalink | related link |
( 2.9 / 190 )So, July 1st....London joins places like NYC in the 'no smoking in public places rule'. I think it's time to give up.
I've smoked since I was fifteen and it's a filthy habit. i love a ciggy, especially with a cocktail, but it's wrecking my health I'm sure. And no one likes snogging an ashtray!
I'm not sure about the best way to stop....patches? Gum? One of those inhalors that look like tampons?
My Mum thought I gave up years ago until she saw me in Heat with a fag in my hand. I got a right ear-full on the phone! I was even hypnotised for it a few years back which did nothing to help the habit. It took place in a therapy center which had the builders in making loads of noise, so I did manage to get my money back. Sadly, but ironically, the lovely hypnotist lady died of cancer a year later, although I don't think it had anything to do with the lungs.
Oh Marlboro Lights....we've had some good times together, and maybe have a couple more months to look forward to, but you've got to go, you fuckers.
[ 1 comment ] ( 1 view ) | permalink | related link |
( 2.9 / 224 )From Boyz magazine, Nov '06.
I'm going to tell you a tale of woe that probably harks true for most drag queens out there. But before I begin, I want to make one thing clear – this ain't a call for sympathy or a sorry cry for help! I simply have to get something off my chest (which is flat, by the way. I'm a boy in a wig and a bit of slap after all, not a woman-wanabe).
Boys. Can't live with them, can't live without them. Before becoming a fully blown pantomime dame/ Barbie doll rip off/ Circus clown, I couldn't keep my legs shut. New in town only half a decade ago, the city was my sex toy to manipulate and rarely a week went by when I didn't have some sort of sexual conquest to gossip about to my friends back home in the countryside. I didn't need a boyfriend when there were so many hotties out there. Emotional attachment was for pussies. Then I discovered dressing up in moonlight hours and all its fabulous add-ons and I quickly became a self-confessed drag-addict. Here's where the problem began.
In my experience, it's rare to find a gay guy who is entirely comfortable shagging, or dating, a guy who likes dressing in high heels and wearing false nails for a night on the dance floor. Not that I'm saying it's impossible – a couple of gender-benders I know have held steady relationships for longer than I've been legal to drink shandy. Lucky bitches. I just can't seem to lasso myself a perfect partner and keep him. Considering I'm currently on about three nights in slap per week at present, perhaps they think I won't have time for dinners and cuddly nights in front of Corrie (which sounds like bliss to me). Perhaps they are scared I'll get a sex change (never gonna happen), that I won't have time for them with all my grooming and carousing (I only dress like this when I work, duh), that their friends will freak at them for dating a tranny (even my past flat mate suffered some stick) or that I'm just not man enough (listen – it takes a REAL man to handle six inch platforms, itchy wigs, scratchy false lashes and being slagged off by the Daily Star and 3AM Girls for hanging out with C-listers and being a 'Pete Burns wanabe').
Before I end up sounding like Carrie from Sex and the City after a mammoth makeover in MAC, I'd like to point out that I'm actually not a bad catch. Ok, so I'm not a pumped-up gym bunny with a sixteen inch cock and a mortgage-free house in Hamstead, but are any of us? I have the fortune of being alright looking without a coat of face paint, my bank balance is healthy, I've got a fierce pad and a wicked sense of humour and my friends are great. But will a man ever see past a bouffant wig and silly outfits?
Of course, there are several alternative routes to dating that I've passed on after trying them out. Gaydar ain't for me. Like ecstacy, I've tried it once and hated it. I know online dating is the future but I feel a bit awkward and I'm always asked why I shave my eyebrows or why there are wigs in the bathroom cupboard (the nosey fuckers should let me fetch the lube). Similarly, tranny fucking can be great for some people. I've had the odd fling with a hot 'straight' guy or two after meeting them at a straight club but why would I want anything more than a bit of hanky panky with a guy who only wants to see me in my full get-up? Like I said, I'm a MAN! Hear me roar!
I don't want to sound like Billy No-fucks. I've had a fair few good sessions and even a couple of mini relationships over the course of my drag life, one of which saw me too-ing and fro-ing between here and New York for a while. How glam. But right now I'm at that stage where I want to settle down with a hot lad to call my own, at least for the first half of each week when I have my 'tracksuit-and-telly-time'.
So, to conclude, most gay guys I've come across don't think hard enough about what could be behind a platinum blonde, finely painted and (only very slightly) collagen enhanced mask. If there's any offers out there, the guys are Boyz have my e-mail address. But I'm not willing to fork out my hard-earned cash. Some of my best pals are on the game but I'm not that desperate….yet.
[ 4 comments ] ( 78 views ) | permalink | related link |
( 2.8 / 245 )Back
Archives