Girl Action

I attended the Girl Action Christmas Party in London the other night.

If you didn't know, that's a special lesbian club night. Now as most of you might know by now, I am both male and straight, but one of my closest friends happens to be a lesbian and she REALLY wanted to go. So that was that. I was going. Apparently. I have to say though, it was easily the best night I've had out in a long time.

The evening began when I got a frantic phone call at work telling me our prearranged time was now null and void and I had to leave right then and there. I jogged to her house and scoffed a bowl of micro-rice at the speed of light, switched into a nice shirt and some jeans, checked my cash and ID and then we ran. With 8 minutes to get to the station (about a 10 minute walk), we ran down the icy hill that led to the station slipping, sliding and skidding every step of the way. Derrie gave up and ran in the middle of the road towards the oncoming traffic. I opted to stay on the ice my feet flailing about like those of a newborn calf. But we made it to the train.

Next up we did the totally cool thing of crashing some poor gimps private party at the only pub we could find in the vicinity. It looked fine, had a few weird looking people inside but we thought 'why not? It's cold out here and Mel's not here yet' so we went in. We never saw the tiny sign on the door that said 'closed for private party'. Ordered our drinks. Sat down. Started drinking and chatting. All the while we're getting weird looks which is strange because the people giving us evil eyes resembled a group of drunken hunters gone out to a neon rave, somewhere between the 60s and the 80s. Within 60 seconds the girl at the bar had clocked that we weren't meant to be there and we were asked to leave. So I downed my 2 pints of cider and we bust a groove right outta there.

The night in the actual club was amazing though. For one thing, they had an amazing cocktail list and if you wanted something else they'd just make it for you. For another, it was just a pleasant place to be. It took me a while to get settled in because I'm not a club person at the best of time and it takes me a lot of time to get drunk enough to dance. So abandoning my cider and cocktails, I opted for shots. Many, many shots. Turns out, I have more fun in a lesbian bar than I do any straight bar I've been to. After a while I realised that no matter how many women I clocked there'd be no-one in the vicinity who'd give me a second glance. That's when all my little insecurities disappeared and I was left to feel good about myself. So I danced like nobody was watching, I drank like there was no tomorrow and I interacted with people.

The moments that stand out in my mind were the more surreal moments. Such as within 20 minutes there was already a naked women stood behind me being painted. Then, eventually, what with there only being a maximum of 5 men in the club - and myself the only straight man - the women learned that they could get away with using the mens toilets. So the second time I visited them I had to queue to get in there. Then when I did I was very aware of there only being 1 cubicle and 2 urinals and a large group of women behind and in front of me...I found this slightly intimidating to say the least. The girl in front of me was chatting to me, having a laugh. "Go ahead love, just go, trust me, none of us are interested - no offense". So I was all geared up to go, then this little voice at the front of the queue chimes in..."actually, I'm straight so...".
I of course, being me, panicked, made a joke and stood very still. Then the moment she'd gone I hopped over to a urinal. That might have been the scariest moment of my life. I've bungeed, I've been white water rafting, I've walked along the top of a glacier with holes deeper than the Eiffel Tower is high, but all of that was dwarfed by how conscientious I felt having my knob out in front of a large group of women.

Then there was the striptease act. Two tall, leggy strippers who performed a little show. We were dancing on the stage at the time so rather than shove us off, they just nudged us to the back of it so we had the best seats in the house and could get a good glimpse of everything going on. In all honesty I didn't really watch much of the show, I was talking to my new friend who suggested to me after watching one of them pour hot candle wax on the others face and chest that "it's blatantly your fantasy". I looked back over at the wax stained duo as they took turns to spit things into each others mouths. "No" I said. A short while later, I made my way over to the DJ to see if he had any Pendulum (he did not. Nor did he have the Morrissey track we wanted) and one of the strippers emerged from the door. She looked at me a bit surprised, than says "fuck me you're gorgeous!". I thanked her, a little confused that I was being hit on in a lesbian bar. She grabbed me and pulled me in close, she told me how hot she was under her fur coat. Then as if a light had gone on over her head she went "oh fuck. Shit. You're here. You're totally gonna be gay aren't you?". When she found out I wasn't she got very excited, grabbed my arse and asked me if I saw the show and how much I liked it. I was too drunk to process all of this. I've never been hit on in my life and here's some stripper groping me - I made my excuses and left for the bar. I still do not know why I did this.
Perhaps it is that moral code of mine which has prevented things like this in my life thus-far and so far I have only met one person who shares that code - at least I am not alone.

So ultimately, after much deliberation, I have decided that lesbian bars are way better than straight bars for me because I'm not self-conscious, I can drink and dance with style. I meet people, I have the nerve to talk to people, I am more like the me in my head. I had a night I'll remember for a long time and that's a good thing to have.

I also learned that when all you have in the cupboard is sweet chili rice, a pita bread, an egg and some salad cream, a tasty meal can be concocted.

A hidden gem

Today I reeled off a list of some of the things that make me just that little bit more fucked up than the rest of you. I do this every now and again because people will say things like "I don't know how anyone could not like you". I usually point out that it's more than fair and that in fact most people dislike me (which is fine because I inherently dislike people upon meeting them and I need to be shown that they are in fact likable).

So I point out that have been told I have Manic Depression but I refuse to take medication. That I have a list as long as your arm of things that cause me distress, that I have mild OCD, that I have difficulty trusting people, that I have had to deal with eating disorders and I can't use any toilet unless it has a flush mechanism (I don't know why). People smile awkwardly when I tell them these things and then they act differently around me, as I'm sure anyone reading this will. But today, for the first time I reeled off my list and my friend turned right around and said 'that's great. Those are all the reasons I like you. You're not boring. There's nothing more boring than the people who aren't like you'.

I have never been prepared for that.

It's rare to find a friend who is that willing to accept you like that.

Realising that you've got a friend who is willing to import you peanut butter to cheer you up when you're down, who puts up with all your bullshit and still helps out, who doesn't give a flying damn how fucked-in-the-head you are; is like finding £50 in a pair of old jeans, the best feeling in the world.

It's times like this that I take note and think 'that's it, they're suck with me for life now'.


In a good way

Christmas is knocking on your door

Ho ho ho!

The days get darker, the air gets colder and the wallets get emptier. That's right, it's December once again and Christmas is knocking on your door. So draw the curtains, turn off the lights and pray it passes by.

Most of my life I have been the 'bah-humbug' misery-guts who hates Christmas but this year I am surrounded by a tide of people who hate it as much as I do. For years I have been picking up on little faults with it and whilst most people are saddened by the stress and the lovely recession that burst through the door and kicked the tree over, I myself am still concerned about a few things.

Santa.
At this time of year, parents don't simply acknowledge, but advocate an elderly, obese man who 'sees you when you're sleeping' and hands out sweets and toys to children. So essentially, this guy's got webcams in all our houses watching the kids and then once a year he drops down a chimney and plies the sleeping youngsters with gifts. That sounds pretty strange to me.

Santa Claus doesn't even have anything to do with Christmas. He was invented by Coca-Cola and based on jolly old Saint Nick. For those of you who don't know - Saint Nick was at the time, one of the other names for Satan. Satan - Santa. Spot any similarities?

On top of this, the Santa you go and see at your local stores are always portrayed as living in a grotto. So.....a cave then. He's a troglodyte.

So in summary, once a year, on the birthday of Jesus Christ (if that's your belief) we are basically inviting a cave-dwelling, gin-soaked devil into our homes while we sleep so he can give our children gifts and sweets? This concerns me on many levels.

I can't be the only person who sees a problem here....

So this year lock your doors, barricade the windows and brick your chimneys up.

Because this year Santa's shitting down your chimney and touching up your wife.

The reflection in the mirror

I look into my bathroom mirror these days and I see something reflected back that isn't always myself. I'm not schizophrenic or anything along those lines, sure I have some issues but nothing that major.

But sadly for me it is a fact that my reflection is a far better semblance of myself than I could ever be. The mirror, or any reflective surface for that matter, portrays me in a different light. I thought I was imagining it but then my friends noticed it too. I have been told that I look far more dashing in mirrors and train windows. The soft focus perhaps?

I am not a 'looker' by any means, but neither am I a monster from whom the village people flee or attack with torches and pitchforks. But I sit here examining my reflection in my monitor and I see a glimmer in my eyes and a flicker in my smile but neither are there in my daily life.

Perhaps there is something laying dormant within, perhaps it is in fact the confidence I so desperately seek. Has it simply been suppressed all these years?

I look into the screen.

My reflection has a nicer smile than I do.

I was told recently never to smile at people because I look bad when I do.

I envy the reflection in the mirror.