Friday, 24th March, 2006

Old Skool Crossdressing

tranny underwear

I am, as you well know, a happy-go-lucky trannie, One Who Is Unafraid™ to stand up and boldy declare to all and sundry that "I am a transvestite!".

Well, not in the midle of town on a chilly Friday afternoon, anyway

What I mean, I guess is that whenever I do go out (albeit in the safety and confines of Canal Street), I'm not doing that "walking through town nervously trying to pass" thing — I'm like "Yes, I'm a tranny. What's wrong with that?"

So anyway, I had to go into town just there, to sort a few things out. Nothing major — car tax, post stuff to Becky , buy some odds and sods, that sort of thing. But I couldn't be arsed to get changed, so I just pulled a pair of jeans and a jumper over what I was wearing and headed out.

Walking down Market Street, I couldn't help but feel a little frisson of excitement — a "Hee hee, no-one knows I'm, wearing panties and stockings under my jeans" kinda thing.

Heh, get me. "Back to my roots" and all that

will that just make people mistake me for a Goth?

It depends how pale your face is Loz

I love that linky-favicon madness you have up there...

Heh — I'm not sure about it yet . It's part of my 'hard-coded' blogroll thing. I've written a wee bit about it on the about page.

Productive Afternoons

link becky funny

I, as I've said over and over again, don't work on Fridays. This leaves me lots and lots of time to either (a) swish, (b) procrastinate, (c) recover from hangovers, or (d) tweak this site.

Today was a (d) day, and I think (she said, tentatively) I've actually managed to make the "remember me" thing work (No doubt you'll all prove me wrong )

Let's see, however, what some other people — people with actual jobs have been up to today...

Hmm, Miss K is still wondering about where Spring is, Karol is in a state of bliss, Kath is still resting on her "I got on the second page of Interestingness" laurels (that's nothing hon — I was at the top of the first page a while back ), and Becky is...

OMG THAT'S THE FUNNIEST THING I'VE READ ALL YEAR

Speechless. Utterly speechless

Confused now.

Yeah, me too — When I was testing it earlier with MSIE, sometimes the left-hand comments looked weird, and sometimes they didn't. There must be something odd going on somewhere — something is making something else too big or small.

On the old version, you had a list of today's subjects at the top of the screen

Funnily enough, I was thinking about that earlier — I was tempted to put 'today' in the right-hand column, but that would break the 'past- present-future' thing I've got going on.

*hugs*

Do you fancy a night out in Leeds sometime soon hon?

3.14159

photo

Little known fact: My passport number is pi to 7 decimal places (nearly)

Tequila? Shit — you're a better girl than I

The one time in my life I ever hit the tequila bottle hard enough to cause a dent, was a New Year's Eve sometime back in the nineties. For some inexplicable reason, I decided to tag along with some friends to a (quote-unquote) 'Mexican Bar' to knock back a few lot.

I'd about eight double whiskeys sloshing around inside of me, and now I was knocking back tequila.

Needless to say, I actually spent the first few seconds of that New Year talking to my good friend Ralph over the big white porcelain telephone. I remember having a chat with his friend 'Huey" too.

On The Subject Of Booze

story booze vomit

I drink wine. We all know that, I presume. I also have the inclination to knock back a few wiskeys every now and again, and — when I'm feeling festive — I'll sidle up to my old friend "Guinness"

Because I Am Irish™

(Oh, and also, if pushed, I'll resort to cider — if everyone else around me is drinking pints.)

But it wasn't always this way — I used to be more eclectic in my choice of beverage...

I went (as I suppose every underage teenager does) through a period of drinking all sorts of odd things. These days, I guess, it's easier to find your Poison of Choice — you just go either for (a) White Lightning (if you're a chav), or (b) some hip, marketed-to-teenagers alchopop that pretty much tastes like Fanta to start with.

I remember specifically my first drink — vodka. Neat vodka. When I was six.

(Long story that I might have told a few days ago, so I won't repeat it)

...but equally, my first-time-drunk was also with vodka. And it was my first time of wearing women's clothing in public (school uniform — another long story).

Actually, thinking about it, most of my Really Good Stories™ somehow involve drink The Eddie Story, the 19th Birthday 1 & ½ bottles of whiskey story, the Gluepot story (I could go on) — they all start with the words "I'd been drinking"...

But there's one particular story involving drink, that I'm not in the slightest bit proud of.

...

Right. I think it's a unanimous human condition that each and every single one of us have One Drink That We Cannot Stomach™. You might have had an odd experience with a glass of Malibu as a teenager, and now you retch at the stuff. Or maybe it's Pernod? Or maybe it's Captain Morgan's Rum?

Who knows? But I bet each and every one of you has it.

For me, it's Archers. This being why:

In 1989, I was a double bassist in an orchestra touring Germany. (Like how I slipped that one in? How cool am I?!) On that tour, we discovered several things — the two most noticable being Apple Schnaps, and Strawberry wine.

I know, they sound horrible — but really, they were lovely. And every single town that we stopped in seemed to have the two of them on tap

I remember a lot of things about that tour — it's where I had my "falling asleep in the middle of Barber's Adagio for Strings moment" (think "Platoon"), it's what keeps coming back to me whenever I hear REM's Nightswimming (naked, on the Rhine) — but I remember specifically discovering the wonder world of German spirits

When we got back to Ireland, a few of us had started getting together at a friend's farm each week, trying to recreate those heady days — through the medium of booze.

(Months later, BTW, we discovered that a nearby Off Licence sold Apple Schnapps — but we ddn't know this at the time)

One day, one my way out towards Ballynahinch, I stopped at an Offy, and tried to find something remotely similar. I couldn't find our beloved fruit produce, but found, instead, Archers Peach Schnapps, and Concorde Peach Wine.

I figured it would be at least similar

And, to a certain extent, I was right. Initially, all of us quaffed the stuff, thinking we'd found a way to rekindled that unbridled drinking-lust that we'd had the summer before. The Concorde — whilst not tasting exactly like what we remembered, was kinda like the strawberry wine. And the Archers almost hit the spot.

"Almost". See, that's the problem. Whilst the apple schnapps hit exactly the right spot, the peach schnapps hit a spot just a little to the right — exactly the same spot that you try and reach with your fingers when your trying to make yourself yakk.

And obviously, it had the same effect.

This, I feel I should point out, was a sudden occurance. Up until this point we'd all been sat around, drinking merrily away, noting (with great self-congratulatory, um, congratulations) that we'd found such nectar.

Really, it was all going so well.

Then, out of the blue, the sudden dark realisation that Things Were Not Quite So Well™ jumped out from behind a curtain, and kicked me in the stomach.

"You OK?"

"I think [burp] I think, erm [retch] Oh God..."

To this day, I have very limited memories about that moment. I sorta remember the sprint. I sorta remember being glad I'd made it to the bathroom. I remember intently the sentation of a brown shag carpet rising up to meet me.

But what I remember, most of all, is a rainbow-coloured stream of peachness spewing forth from my stretched gob straight onto that brown shag, as I held myself up by clinging to the edge of the toilet seat.

...

This is why I don't ever drink Peach Schnaps. I imagine (I'm prepared to be proved wrong though) that each of us has a similar story of some drink that made us puke when we were in out 'formative drinking years' and that we can't even smell again.

What's interesting, to me, is that I have thrown up on just wine in the past. Probably about twice. (It's not a pretty sight BTW). But yet I still keep drinking the stuff.

Actually, on the same kinda subject, remind me to tell the story some time about my night of Guinness and peanuts.

Aye — not a great one (not like the year after...)

True, I was home by 11, but what you all missed was the sight of me yawning in technicolour as the clock struck midnight.

but still not at home

I bet your wife has learnt how to work your firewall

Either that, or one of the cats has

Actually, I bet it was one of the cats — I can just imagine Minky's Magic Dribble™ landing on your router and reconfiguring ipfw in ways she can't possibly comprehend.