A few randoms for a Friday

1. There is a new manager at my local lunch bar EAT. He's lovely and I want to have his babies.

2. The sun is shining, it's actually quite warm and feels fucking fabulous.

3. I've been drinking all week and feel like I am about to have one big massive hangover.

4. A friend sent some photos of me he took in the year 2000 for his folio. I've decided I need a facelift so I can look like that again.

Flirt Off

I’m crap at recognising when people find me attractive. I’ve never been good at it. When I was much younger and new to the gay scene, friends used to have to tell me when someone was attracted to me. I just didn’t get it.

Since then I have had several significant relationships and many more insignificant ones (ahem, *cough*… ), yet still struggle with ‘reading’ when people potentially find me attractive.

Saturday night, I went out to an event called ‘Architecture Rocks’ with OBF (Other Best Friend) and his friend who was visiting from the States – BAMB (Brazen Americana Male Beauty), who is simply incredible in his ability to go after someone. He hones in on someone and within 15 minutes or so they are attached to his lips. Anyway, there we were standing watching some German emo band with a shirtless lead singer (who was kinda hot, as an aside) when I realised that a very attractive guy was standing next to me and staring. We’ll call him CB (Cap Boy). Next thing I knew he had asked my name and I had been told his.

After a while BAMB came over and asked why I had gone so quiet in addition to being bright red and I explained to him that I found this lovely boy (CB) attractive and wasn’t great at times like that. BIG MISTAKE.

BAMB decided that it was his responsibility to ‘bring us together’. So awkwardly, he started saying things to CB like ‘so you’ve just arrived in the UK?’ (CB was from NYC and had just arrived to start studying his Masters of Fine Art at Goldsmiths) and before CB could answer, BAMB was already saying ‘Ziggy here can show you around. He’d love that. Ziggy give him your number. So you like art? Ziggy is a member of the Tate – get him to take you. Ziggy’s free Monday, Wednesday and Thursday night this week – when are you free?’ … etc, etc.

And I have to say, that although all of this made me even redder and literally shrink from my normal 6’1 to around 4 foot nothing, I completely and utterly admired BAMB’s tenacity. He decided that CB and I would be a perfect match and did everything in his power (within that limited window) to make it a reality.

Of course, at the end of the night I skulked out without speaking another word to CB. I know, I know... I'm useless.

Defining Chavness

In my last post, I used the term 'chav' and didn't think about how I was potentially excluding anyone not based in England. Sorry about that. To make up for my exclusive behaviour, here's a definition from the fantastic Urban Dictionary:

11. Chav

Humanoid in appearance, but primative and animalistic in nature, chavs are fast becoming the bane of humanity. Now all but classified as a completely seperate species, chavs took the left of the fork on the road of evolution when everybody else went right. Today, chavs can be seen in almost every urban area of Britain. Easily identified by either their baseball caps, hooped sports sweaters, excess Burberry and impossibly colourful Nike trainers (male) or scraped back frizzy hair, earrings you could train a dolphin to jump through, cheap leggings and Reebok Classics (female), chavs hunt in packs. Unlike other species, chavs hunt for cigarettes and bus fare instead of food. Food is always obtained at fast food establishments such as McDonalds, or convenience stores (Spar, Late Shop). It is quite common for food to be thrown instead of eaten, with the chav preferring his / her fags and cider / Lambrini (charver cava). Chavs are normally hostile towards humans, particularly those who favour alternative music, whom they have branded "moshers" or "grungers". A chav's music collection is limited. Hip-hop and hardcore for the males, Britney and trance for the females. Dogs (the more volatile, the better), mobile phones, cheap or fake gold and "souped-up" (debadged) 1990's Vauxhall Novas are must-have accessories. Note: the above description typifies the average chav, but there are actually quite a few varieties. Be sure to look for them at any of the following locations: McDonalds, Burger King, Spar, Late Shop, Primark, TK-Maxx, any sportswear retailer or any local park (after 6pm). Examples of a chav's primative vocabulary are as follows:

Chav: Eeyar yo! Mosha! Gotta spare cig?
Brian: No, I don't smoke.
Chav: Wha' ya mean no, ya f*kin' mosha? Ah spark ya!
Brian: Go on then...
Chav: Yo Trace! (emerging from Mothercare) Pass us me mob so I can fone ya bruv!
Trace: Why, ya f*kin dick'ed?
Chav: So he can tune diss chav for me!
Trace: Got no credit, yo!
Trace's baby:
Trace: Shut it ya little fucka!

- I hope that clears it up for everyone... but if not, check out the informative ChavScum to bring you up to speed!

Chav McQueen

Well, the exam is over. That's about as much as I can say about that for now - until I get my results I'm keeping my lips zipped.

After I'd finished I wandered down to Hoxton, saw the Gary Hume exhibition at the White Cube; had a big coffee and some banana cake at a uber-cool cafe in Hoxton Square and then met OBF (Other Best Friend) at his new place in Shoreditch. It is so cute, and I haven't seen him looking so happy for ages.

We wandered back to Hoxton Square to a cheapo noodle bar for dinner (after a couple of beers) and sitting near us was Alexander McQueen, dressed like a complete chav. What is it with him? He has to be one of the brilliant designers of the moment, producing some truly incredible stuff - so what about his own appearance?

Maybe he's just going through a phase... ".... um, Mum, I have something I have to tell you.... I think I might be a Chav."

Yaoi of the Week

As my mind is literally swimming with detail as I approach my exam date (tomorrow)... I decided to post my semi-regular 'Boyfriend of the Week', thinking it would be something relatively simple.

Problem being, I couldn't even bear to think about anything remotely sexual right now.

So instead, I'm posting a Yaoi looking dude which I think pretty much sums up my current emotional state...

Psycho-Babble

My weekend consisted of study, study and more study. I have my Psycho exam on Thursday and am actually pretty nervous about it. The devil is in the detail in this case - or the details. I have so many theories flying around my brain.... if I can remember which theory belongs to which theorist it will be a near miracle.

Psychology has so many 'labels' it is untrue - and to remember them all is a near impossibility. Oh well - as my lovely friend NS (Non Smoker) pointed out - the statistics aren't looking too bad. Even if I guess most of my answers, there is a likelihood I guess a number of them correctly.

Let's hope that's the case ....

Mum, please don't read this post

I read an entry of the fabulous Zuzula's blog today which actually make me laugh so hard I cried. I'm hoping she doesn't mind that I'm sharing with you the passage (excuse the pun) that particularly appealed:

"... Neither of them have ever called me Cuntface though.

And when you think about it, what an interesting term that is. Can you imagine if you actually did look like a cunt? Might be a bit embarrassing. Especially once you started throbbing with excitement. Wouldn't go down too well at important meetings or family gatherings. And what on earth would you do with your hair?"

Glittery Gays

NS (Non Smoker) was kind enough to invite me to see a play - "Love me, Dorothy!" Tuesday night which was a lovely thought given my parental absence. It is always so much fun to see him - we have a lot in common, but are both so evil that the conversation never becomes tiresome.

The play was, in short, truly hilarious. But not really in a good way. It was like one of those films where it's so bad that it is actually brilliant. NS felt the need to apologise to me the entire way through, but there was no need - I laughed so hard a little bit of wee came out.

Lines including 'my lady garden needs tending' really cheered me up. Check out this fabulous review.

Afterwards we decided to wander over to Trash Planet for a post mortem, and awkwardly, at the front door (there is a long stairwell to get up to the actual bar) there was a glittered gay sitting in a wheelchair having a conversation with the doorbitch (an intimidating and rather large lesbian wearing some type of odd red spacesuit) who appeared to not want to let him in. NS and I were obviously suitably upset by this and had a brief conversation (between us) about carrying him up the stairs in his wheelchair, before deciding that it wasn't particularly our business (maybe it was the Nazi lesbian doorbitch's presence...).

Shortly after we sat down to our first drink, we were surprised to see GG (Glitter Gay) making an awkward journey up the second stairwell by foot and realised that he was obviously well known by the lesbian doorbitch we had previously (and probably unfairly) labelled a Nazi.

He gatecrashed a group of poofs sitting near us and worked the room like a well known celebrity (aka prostitute), literally draping himself over one of them. We couldn't help but wonder if the wheelchair had been some type of initial prop.

The whole thing felt like a scene from a Todd Solondz film to be honest. Which of course, thrilled me no end.

* random photo of Leigh Bowery simply there because I think he was the most fabulous glittery gay of all...

Tag-Head.

Right, before I start this tag, I have to apologise to Dabich for not doing hers months ago. Sorry, Dabich. It was right in the middle of my parental visit and I just didn't manage it! Hopefully my answers to this tag by K~ will compensate?

I know – that soon I may melt.
I believe – that fireflies tell the truth.
I fought – against the evil of botox. (did I? no, actually I just made that up.)
I am angered – by people who fart in small places.
I love – food.
I need – to decide what I want to be.
I take – prozac. Not really. I just drink lots of gin.
I hear – traffic go past my apartment all night.
I drink – lots of gin.
I hate – ignorance.
I use – bone china when I drink tea.
I want – my own Totoro.
I decided – that I’m an atypical gay.
I like – people.
I am - myself.
I feel – displaced a lot of the time.
I left – my family in Australia.
I do – kiss boys.
I hope – to not go mad.
I dream – about people I know and don’t know.
I drive – people a bit crazy.
I listen – most of the time, unless someone bores me.
I type – fast. Go speed racer.
I think – too much.
I wish – a lot.
I compensate – for my misbehaviour.
I regret – my psychotic episodes.
I care – what happens to my friends and family.
I should – be more positive.
I am not always - sober.
I said – “please sign my tit” to Gene Simmons. (not really but I wish I had).
I wonder – what will happen to the world.
I changed – my underwear this morning.
I cry – at the most ridiculous things and inappropriate moments.
I am – Ziggy.
I am not – David Bowie.
I lose – my keys quite often.
I leave – my sanity at home from time to time.

I think I have to tag others now... but how many? hhhmmm. I tag:

Ryan who loves cybersex
This Monkey who Twinkles
The Bohemian of all Lady Bohemians
The Man who Muses Middle Age

please let me know when you've completed it...

Virtual Pants

I'm feeling very sorry for myself today as I waved the parentals off yesterday - back to Australia they go. It has been a fantastic two months of lots of travelling and good fun - we finished their trip in the Highlands of Scotland which was just incredible.

During all of this I was trying (via some dodgy internet sites) to arrange a few dates so I would have something interesting/amusing to blog about and something very strange happened. It turns out that two of the guys I was 'chatting' to had actually dated one another previously. Both of them got very pissed off with me for 'cheating' on them - um, hello - we haven't actually met (!?!?) and so both of those dates went down the drain. Which is fine by me - apart from the fact that it is potentially 2 good dating stories I've now lost!

One of the guys actually sent me a message saying 'you've been caught with your virtual pants down buddy'. I mean, really. Puh-lease.

Dancing of the Poles

Well the weekend is upon us again and what with audits at work, flirting online with my prospective dates and entertaining my parents by taking them to Sunday in the Park with George by Sondheim (amazing!), I've had very little time to blog about last weekend.

My parents, F/BF (Flatmate/Best Friend) and I went to Cornwall over the Bank Holiday weekend and spent four days down there. It was beautiful and we did a variety of exciting things including an evening of theatre at the Minack, which is the most beautiful open air theatre I have ever been to, set in to the side of a cliff face, overlooking the ocean.

We were lucky enough to be staying in a converted fire station in a Cornish village near Penzance and Land's End; the attic room F/BF and I shared had a pole supporting the roof which we obviously utilised with some impromptu pole dancing. Even my mother joined in. Unfortunately we only captured F/BF and myself on film...

Boyfriend of the Week

Thom Yorke.

Point 1: Genius.

Point 2: Two new albums out soon - one solo, one with Radiohead.

Definite Boyfriend material. Fact.

The Gay Diaries of Bridget Jones

So anyway, I'm pretty much bored of reading my own blog. It's repetitive and needs a kick up the arse (excuse the pun).

So I've decided to go out there and have a few dates to spice things up. I need some stories, and let's face it - the most exciting ones are always when I meet some weirdo off the internet.

Here's a couple of my personal favourites:

* The autistic sadmasochistic nerd

* The groping ethnocentric wanker

I wonder if I'll be able to top those? As soon as I've been on some dates I'll let you know...

Che cosa fai?

Sun, Sea and ... more Sun?

I'm flying to the Cinque Terre in Italy on the weekend for a week in the sun with the parentals.

Hoo-fucking-ray.

This is our view from the terrazza apparently...

It's a hard life.

Me, Me, Me, Me, ME

Today is all about ME. So Happy Birthday to ME. And here's a few of my favourite cards. (sent to ME).

Peaks, Boyfriends and Butts

I took the parentals to see my friends in Sheffield over the weekend, and while we were up there we took a visit to Chatsworth House. I've been there on numerous occasions, but Moors e' Papa loved it. On the way back, my friend took us through Castleton, what a view! I was astounded by the scenery, which is never a good thing to be whilst you're driving.

I also just noticed that my last post (Chanel, Dior, Chanel, Dior) was my 100th post. 100 posts? Craziness. Can't believe I've written that much crap.

Thirdly, I have a new Boyfriend of the Week. Jon Thor Birgisson - the lead singer of Sigur Ros, and a self proclaimed gay.

Although I may have some stiff competition from Ryan McGinley.

I seem to recall reading an article he wrote in Butt Magazine about scoring Mr Birgisson.

DAMN YOU MCGINLEY.

Chanel, Dior, Chanel, Dior...

Somehow I stumbled upon this blog today - which is no longer only a 'blog' but really now a 'brand'.

In Bryanboy's own words:

"Adventures of the new-moneyed classless bitch from hell. Vulgarity is the new discreet. Trash is the new exclusivity. I AM THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT. I MEAN, FRUITCAKE. I'm planet earth's favourite third world faggot and the land of the brown, l'exotique and the natives has never been this *burp* chic."

This boy is a genius. I think it may be the best website I've ever seen. I may have to send a photo of myself in with "I LOVE BRYANBOY" written on my backside.

Clean Feet

I finally caught up with Foot Slave Master (FSM) last night, I'd been dying to see him since I returned from Australia. Foot Slave Master (FSM) is not his real name, but I'm using that alias for a reason.

Recently, this particular friend has accidentally become a Master to a Foot Slave. How did this happen 'accidentally' I hear you ask? Well that's the funny bit. A friend of FSM's has recently gotten in to the foot fetish scene and one night when out drinking with FSM thought it would be a laugh to get one of his 'slaves' to start worshipping FSM's feet. So that's how it begun.

The bit that surprised FSM is that he is quite enjoying the role. When we discussed this last night, I wasn't that surprised - I think it is an issue of power. All of us have secret (or not so secret) yearnings for power of some kind I think. Either to have more or less of it.

I once knew a girl who worked part time on the reception desk of an S&M dungeon in Perth to support herself financially through university. Whilst she was working there she became more and more intrigued by what the 'mistresses' did and decided to give it a try. At first she found it slightly amusing, but after a while, really started to enjoy it. Her 'mistress' persona became more and more significant, until one day, she felt like she was losing a sense of who she really was. The 'acts' she was prepared to do became heavier (in many people's perception, downright nasty). It scared her, so she gave the gig up - even though financially she was earning more than she ever had (and probably will again!)

There is obviously a significant market out there around this sort of behaviour, which begs the question: how many of us want to control or be controlled?

Cheeky Monkey

I went out with Twinkle Monkey on Tuesday night; we hadn't had a proper catch up for ages and it was so good to see him.

A comment he made struck me afterwards though: he reminded me (just in the course of our conversation) that he continues to see most of his ex-boyfriends (including me!) as friends now. It made me realise that of my ex-boyfriends, he is the only man I manage to maintain a friendship with.

Why is that?

* My first boyfriend (of 3+ years) vowed that if I left him he would never speak to me again (and has kept to his promise).

* My second boyfriend (of about 10 months) I saw a handful of times after we broke up and he maintained that he was 'in love' with me, so I decided to make a clean break completely and have never really been back in touch with him since.

* My third boyfriend (of around 2 years) was cheating on me with half of the gay community in London and lying to my face for the duration of the relationship, so I don't really want to talk to him again for fear of punching him.

Or at least, those are the reasons I use to justify the fact I don't see any of them.

The one I miss most, bizarrely, is the first boyfriend. Even though our relationship had significant flaws, I miss him a little. Perhaps that's because he still holds the power over me by choosing not to speak to me?