My childhood Fabio dream crushed!

Ever since I was a small little boy growing up amongst the oranges and grapes of Griffith I've dreamt of having long flowing locks.


I've always thought boys with long hair, in particularly ponytails, are the coolest thing in the world. Do you remember 80's icon Fabio? I would've killed to have hair like him. I gave it a red hot go in my early 20's when I was also going through a bleached blonde phase - it all went horribly wrong, almost perm-like. I never knew I had curly hair. It scarred me.


I've finally built up the courage to try it again. I figured I only had 18months left to try as a ponytail on anyone over 40 is ri-cock-ulous! So since about Easter I've been growing my hair with great determination. This is hows me looks today!

I don't actually wear it like this, for dramatic pictorial effect!

I absolutely love it. Love it more than I can tell you. I am fully aware it looks crap but I could care less. I have long(ish) hair! At least 3 times EVERY day someone says to me "Oh, you're growing your hair?" which we all know is code for "What the hell are you thinking?". The more direct I come into contact with give me a "So when are you getting your haircut?". I happily reply I'm not, that I'm growing it so I can look like Fabio. 


I literally spend all day playing with it. I've become very comfortable wearing headbands when I am cruising around Man Pit. I have a selection and choice is based on mood. I've bought those giant pump action shampoo and conditioners (before a travellers pack would last me a month!). I have more hair products than I know what to do with. They have their own shelf...

So you can probably tell I am rejoicing in having long hair which is well on its way to becoming a long bob - a LOB!


But this is where the crisis hits! Last week I found a long grey hair. Over the weekend I found more! Now I think every time I look in the mirror I am more and more like Santa Claus. Now there are very clear rules in the Gay Men's Handbook. The moment you start receding or turning grey then the whole lot has to come off. A buzz cut. And you know what this means - THE FABIO DREAM DIES FOREVER!

Love you Fabio!

I am absolutely torn as to what to do. I've got 8 months till my 40th and in that time my hair could become spectacular. I have visions of an elaborate up-do with a glittering headpiece for the big night. But if I am to follow the Gay Men's Handbook, which I passionately believe in, then it is time for a Remington once-over.


My gut tells me hold off. My new headbands say hold off. My shelf of hair products shout HOLD OFF. So, for the moment, I am going to hold off. I'm gonna be a rule-breaker. No buzz-cut for me just yet. 


What do you think? Is this the right decision?

Nothin' butt Shits and giggles.

I have warned you before, I am prone to over-sharing….

Ever since I got back from ProBlogger in Melbourne on Saturday I have had the most ferocious diarrhea. Even for me a new benchmark. At one point I was at the toilet every 15mins. I had to sleep with a drop sheet.

And gut-wrenching stomach cramps. Horrific. Thought I was about to rupture.

I love you, and your Missoni mat

Now the reason I feel comfortable sharing this story is I bet every person reading this will know EXACTLY what I am talking about. There ain’t nothin’ pretty about diarrhea! And it needs to be discussed. 

Diarrhea makes you feel so disgustingling dirty. It doesn’t matter how much Cottonelle you use or how much Domestos you spray around you still feel like you’ve bathed in whatever you just squirted out. At one point I considered Pine'O'Cleen'ing my ass.

And the sweating, combined with the squirting, just makes me feel even more dirty and disgusting. More disgusting than it would voting for Tony Abbot. Or catching a glimpse of an erect priest. Or stuck in a spa with Paris Hilton and Pamela Anderson. Just revolting.

I’ve gone through 3 AirWick’s and 2 Dove Mens cause I am sure the smell still lingers long after the last flush. At one point, in the midst of gripping stomach cramps, I was dead sure it must have been smeared on me. Thankfully it wasn't. That would have been the end of me.

Thanks big guys, you got me through a tough time.

So here’s my theory on diarrhea – the actual dealing with the diarrhea makes having diarrhea so much more dramatic And ten times worse. And that you should be able to buy diarrhea kits at the chemist that come with lovely soft cleansing wipes, air freshener and toilet cleaner.

So of course I called my beautiful Doctor O who over the years has dealt with more embarrassing ailments from me than one poor man should have to suffer through. He’s poked, prodded and scraped near every organ in my body. I called Dr O cause he is the very best at dealing with my ‘boy who cried woof’ mentality.

I was certain he was going to tell me I have bowel cancer as this is how the darker, more vicious side of my mind works. I am rather fixated on cancer. A headache means I’ve got brain tumour. A grey hair means I’ve got cancer of the scalp. A toothache is sure to be gum cancer. Thank fuck, I’ve never had cancer. But I digress…

Turns out my ‘increasing susceptibility’ (yes, this kind of shit happens to me all the time, pun intended) to stomach bugs is due to the bacteria infection I had this time last year. Boring! That’s not even a time-off-work offense. What it does mean though is that I have to go through that whole testing process again, for about the 5^th time in as many years, where you have to shit in a bowl, spoon it into cups and keep some of it in your fridge. Lucky I don’t keep food in there.


I also have to buy some probiotic over the internet. Wow! That's v. cool. Combines medical supplies with shopping. You just know this discovery is gonna get me into trouble.

But be thankful people, the Imodium Advanced and Buscopan Forte have finally kicked in now. It’s been hours since I’ve done the crazy-poo-dash. Thank god!

Now I just need someone to come round and industrial clean Man Pit's toilet.

Big Gay Weekend!

To the uninitiated, Big Gay Weekend is a fabulous series of parties and events co-ordinated as a fundraiser for the wonderful people at New Mardi Gras. Some of you may remember Sleaze Ball, well that has been replaced by a 3 day extravanganza. The Gays must be increasing in their stamina.

Before I get dirty with the party details I need to address my Manscaping issues I wrote about last week – the contradiction of the full beard needed for one function with the clippered torso required for another. I may have had the beard but it did nothing to help my fit in at gathering of Bears. Clippered my torso for dance party but because of my flabby gut there was no way my singlet was coming off. Note to self: hair is neither here nor nair.

The Sculptor (who purposely does that in photos), 3GreggyD and McDimples

So who are the key player on this Big Gay Weekend? It was a gathering of Twitterati that’s for sure. We had visiting Melbourne Gay Royalty 3GreggyD who as it seems knows more about socializing in Sydney than I do, sad but true. He’s also more connected. He planned our whole weekend god love him. Staying at Man Pit with me (Little Sammy and I make him sleep on the floor) is ex-ex-boyfriend-come-beautiful-friend The Sculptor. The three of us were a posse the whole weekend.

The Sculptor and Little Sammy

Playing very important Special Guest Appearance roles were McDimples, Lucky Paulie and Murdoch. McDimples put in some hard, fast yards over Friday and Saturday night and left me breathless with his flirting abilities. Lucky Paulie had to work over the weekend as he is changing the face of Australian television so he couldn’t misbehave. Murdoch is a new Twitter friend, he came from nowhere on Sunday and BAM! he was all over it!

As you can see from the shot above, 3GreggyD, The Sculptor and McDimples enjoy a certain crowd so they dragged Princess St. Murphy to the Oxford to kickstart BGW. Yep, still don’t fit in! It smells. It’s overcrowded. It’s a fucking nightmare to get a drink. If there hadn’t been porn playing on the TV’s I would’ve wanted to leave much earlier. I didn’t even get felt up and I was wearing my best Japanese-butt jeans. But both my Melbourne visitors knew of another party we could go to – Commando.

Now this had me intrigued as I am sure one of them told me it meant you had to go Commando, as in no underwear. I held high hopes I was gonna be undie-checked at the door cause at least I could interpret that as some action in my lonely head. But alas, we got a bum-steer. No one checked my Kenneth Cole briefs as I handed over my cover charge. Commando that night started two trends that went for the entire weekend – 3GreggyD and The Sculptor know more people in Sydney than I do and gay men do not like wearing shirts. Especially in a 400m radius of a dance floor.

Commando was cool, the music was brilliant. But the best bit was the Ball Pit. It brought out the inner child in us all. Frollicking in the Ball Pit is just like you would imagine, hilarious. That is until I thought I thought I lost my wallet. Luckily my jeans were so tight nothing was coming out of those pockets and it was a false alarm. Phew! How could I rack up more debt if I didn’t have atleast 2 credit cards with me?

Suitably drunk and super-confident we strutted our way up Oxford and hit the Shift. The first gay bar I ever went to was the Shift in 1995. I think some of the same crowd is still there. If ever you want a snapshot of the sheer diversity of the gay community step into the Shift one day. You can say a lot of things about this place but ‘dull’ is not one of them. I love and adore it, but I think maybe for all the wrong reasons.

Something very strange came over McDimples at the Shift – he got his sex-face on! He was like a MAGNET!!! He was being showered with love and affection from someone different every time I turned around. It was some phenomenal flirt-work, the likes you rarely see. Now if he was putting notches in his bedhead….???? Me, I’m still finding my feet. There was one (far too) young boy from Mississippi who I gave a whole new meaning for Mississippi Burning due to my facial hair. Weirdest part of night was towards the end when our Melbourne brothers turned to us and say “We’re going for burgers”. What the…? Is that code for something? Apparently not, they went for burgers. McDimples and I kept drinking, that’s how we role in Syd-er-ney!

Saturday is a blur. 3GreggyD and The Sculptor dragged me out of bed for lunch where we told our war-stories from the night before, quickly organized a dinner for that night and then they put me back to bed. Satyrday night, Una’s for a schnitzel is a life-changing experience. It is my favourite meal in Sydney. It is heaven on a plate with gravy. Although we kept choking on our food cause we had some funny stories to share. Lucky Paulie was finally able to join us and thank god he is as Twitter/Grindr/Scruff obsessed as the rest of us – we love our phones (RIP Steve Jobs!). I hurt from laughing!

McDimples, Lucky Paulie, St. Murphy & 3GreggyD

My beautiful Schnit

Una’s was followed by gay-casual drinks at the Green Park. Everyone was still mocking me for my diarrhea story from dinner. We were now sitting on stools. I can’t help my bowel condition! Had one of those moments when the pendulum could have swung either way – home now or out till lunchtime tomorrow. Commonsense and the return of daylight saving prevailed and we tucked ourselves into bed at a respectable hour. Such good boys, almost angelic.

Sunday was the big one! Daywash.

I love a crowd of any sort, always have. Make it a gay crowd and I’m even happier. Make it a gorgeous gay crowd heaving to the dance-version of Adele with no shirts on and I am in absolute HEAVEN!!!! I hadn’t realized how much I missed dance parties until the moment the first bare, incredibly toned, torso took to the podium. Papa was home!!! It’d been 4 years since I’d been to one and that will not happen again. Just unbelievable fun. Fun fun fun!

3GreggyD and The Sculptor were in brilliant form. Again, they knew more people than I did. At one point I was completely surrounded by boys from Melbourne and Brisbane. It started at noon so no excuse for anyone to have a shirt on (except me of course!). My $2 Thai singlet worked a treat at this quasi-summer event. A prominent Melbourne gayer gave me a corsage of a body-loofer from the overhanging clothes line and I also acquired a hot pink tutu to complete my spectacular dance outfit. And dance we did. Lost count of the amount of times I heard Adele on steroids.

The spunky and hilarious Murdoch was backing up from the night before, left his friends at home on the couch and came and played with us all day. See, Twitter does good things.  We’d become friends online and had only met so briefly only the week before. He is now my dance-party buddy and we’re planning for the next. He’s very tall and can see everything so he was like my own personal telescope.

3GreggyD, The Sculptor and Murdoch

We all moved from room to room doing our best So You Think You Can Dance impressions, we’d wander off and then come back to the group, we socialized with strangers and caught up with old friends. It was truly joyous. I literally loved every second. EVERY GODDAMN SECOND! My little heart sank when it finally ended.

We shuffled our way back across Hyde Park for a much-needed costume change before the after-party, Splash. I forgot to feed Little Sammy which I didn’t realize until lunchtime the next day. But I did remember a Yves Saint Laurent spritz, a new singlet and a fresh pack of B&H. Splash was v. cool but yes, everyone was starting to get a little messy. Perhaps even me. I did think at one point I’d never seen a hotter group of men than the crowd on the dancefloor but that could have been the double-vodka’s talking. And I’m out of training, four years out. So my little meaty thighs were starting to get tired. Positioned myself provocatively on a vast leather couch and chatted and giggled with some old and dear friends.

Oh dear.

Then suddenly the lights came on! Oh dear, warts and all. There was talk of a new venue but for fucks sake I’m 39! I needed to curl up in bed before serious injury/possible heart attack. A quick check of my compact and I looked 105. Yes, time for this tired old queen to punch some Z’s. Waved goodbye to 3GreggyD who still had some fight left in him and stumbled, staggered, pretended to strut my way down the hill (thank god!) to Man Pit. A very hungry Little Sammy needed some cuddles.

But a better weekend is hard to recall! This was one of the great ones!

Had an absolute fucking ball!

Happy Happy Joy Joy

Happy Happy Joy Joy! Sound of Music Happy!

Goddamn I’m in a good place at the moment and I feel like shouting it from the rooftops/laptop.

First of all, I love Man Pit. So happy here. Really used to living alone now. I have my Clinique bathroom, my Diet Coke fridge, my vodka freezer, my My Dog pantry and Foxtel. What more could you want in a bachelor pad? Yep, nothing. I do wish the rent wasn’t bankrupting me but it’s a small price to pay for Man Pit.

I’m loving work! Very exciting at the moment. Have been with the same employer for 7 years so of course there are ups and downs, but at the moment its just up, up and away. And please do not let them know, it will make my life unbearable, but I love the people I work with. Love! Never a dull moment and so much fun.

I’m dating for the first time in my adult life and I’m thinking its pretty cool. I'm very bad at it but that’s a whole other post.

Sammy. That is all. My bestfriend and most loyal companion. And I’ll come up with any excuse to post a photo of him…

Made some very funny friends lately and they constantly amuse me. Also have met the brains and brawn behind both Australian Marriage Equality and Community Action Against Homophobia, personal heroes of mine. They’ve got a huge job to do between now and Dec 3 and I’m gonna help wherever I can.

I’m not even stressed that my financial security hangs in the balance with the sale of my house. I know we’ve done all we can and now it’s out of our hands.

Just my little photo spread in SMH's Domain

Summer is just moments away. Just praying it gets here before I lose all of my hard-earned Koh Samui tan.

And so much to look forward to the next few months…

First up, have The Sculptor and 3GreggyD up from Melbourne this weekend for Big Gay Weekend. Going to my first dance party in four years. I’m nervous/excited. It’s being held during the day though which is great as in the last four years I’ve also become the biggest nanna ever.

I hope they all look like him...

In a few weeks I have a blogging conference in Melbourne, which is great in itself, but I’m also sharing an apartment with Woogsworld, Edenland, StylingYou and Sawhole. Can you imagine? No neither can we so we are webstreaming it. Its scares me that I’ll be with a group of friends where I am the quiet one.

After that I’m having a mini-University reunion with some friends who I shared a dorm with in ’95. I can’t even begin to fathom how much has changed for each of us in the last 16 years but we are going to find out with a weekend together in Orange. With lots of food!

Then the big one! My beautiful Cousin Rach just got engaged to a very fabulous man, Nick; a fine addition to the family and a very happy occasion. Now I am the oldest of our generation and Rachel is the youngest, but in terms of maturity we are the same age. Heading home to Griffith for the engagement party and to celebrate with all the fam. And you know I have a very special family.

Huge and sincere congratulations Nick and Rach

Then before you know it its Xmas Party Season – my favourite time of year! Then two weeks off for the festive season.

So you can see why that today, September 27, 2011, I am a very happy man. Its all seems to have come together quite brilliantly at just the right time. More through good luck than good management, but hey that’s the luck of the Irish (a very tenuous link to my Irish heritage).

So after all my whinging on this page the last 6 months, it feels good to spray happiness today.

Thank you for your patience.

xoxoxo

Severe Identity Crisis!

Just a quick look  back over some of my blog posts lately and it’s a mix so turbulent it could make you sea sick– electrical appliances, poolside gossip, family stuff, a Bear party, boozey nights, food, gay marriage and Lady Boys. Now that’s an identity crisis.

I’m so confused as to what I’m doing here. I need your help!

There are Mummy Bloggers, Food Bloggers, Tech and Gadget Bloggers, TV Bloggers, Fashion Bloggers, Business Bloggers… all make me feel like the outcast kid sitting alone at the lunch table. I don’t fit in.

I’ve always thought that when I grow up I want to be a Mummy Blogger. They are so cool and have got their shit together. A real community. They have stories about the most random stuff but it all seems to make sense for their page. They are hilarious, insightful, brutally honest and direct. Me, while I do love a penis its clear I don’t have fallopian tubes. Therefore, me no can be a Mummy Blogger as I’m presuming one of the defining characteristics is being a Mummy.

While I certainly care for my Little Sammy like you would a child, he has four legs not two. Doesn’t quite cut it. Perhaps I could be a Dog Daddy Blogger?

Any excuse to include a pic of Little Sammy

Another key factor in my identity crisis is that most of my blogging buddies are Mummy Bloggers. Its bad enough I’m a minority in the real world without being one online as well. I go to Mummy Blogger functions and conferences and stuff, usually as a Mummy Bloggers Plus 1. My three best-blogging-bitches - Mrs Woog, StylingYou and Edenland - lead me through this world and I am their fabulous-gay-best-friend. Perhaps I should become a Hag Fag Blogger?

The stuff I write about most is gay stuff. Truth is, being as camp as Xmas leaves me very little room to move on this one. I lead a particularly homosexual lifestyle. Even my home is called Man Pit. In fact all the best homo stuff I can’t write about here cause it would put hairs on the chest of my Mummy Blogger mates. I’m sure the wider blogging community doesn’t want to hear about Grindr, gay porn, ManHunt, seedy bars, bad one nights stands, etc. Could possibly also paint me as somewhat immoral (coughs, chokes) which would hardly be true.

I wanna be a Gay Super Hero

But it is undeniable there is a very big gay theme running through this blog like a feather boa on the Mardi Gras dance floor. Its what I know best. It’s why I call myself a professional homosexual – I love the ambiguity of that tag! Professional could mean either ‘has a career’, ‘very good at’ or ‘slutty’. I’ll leave it up to you to define for yourself. So probably the most apt description is a Professional Homo Blogger.

I’m also deeply passionate about gay marriage equality. I write about it a lot and that is only going to increase over the coming months in the lead-up to the Labor Party National Conference and CAAH Rally on Dec 3. I’ll be flying the Rainbow flag high and proud between now and then. AND I’ll be expecting lots of support from the blogging community. So this subject leaves me thinking I should be a Gay Activist Blogger, at least for the next 3 months.

Strangely, when I first started this blog 6 months ago, I thought I’d be writing about television (my great love) and pop culture (my great weakness) a lot more than I have. These subjects have lost relevance just like Britney Spears. It seems they just don’t hold my attention like I thought they would. I got too much other shit to talk about. So sadly Television Addict and Pop Culture Victim should not be on my calling card anymore.

So where does that leave me?

Gay as hell, that’s where it leaves me.

So I think from now on I am going to define myself as a Professional Homo Blogger. I’m gonna rally the troops of other Gayers and start our own little community. We may not be as numerous as my dear friends the Mummy Bloggers but goddamn I bet we could match them in vodka consumption and shopping skills.

So my questions for you my lovely readers… 

Have I solved my identity crisis? 

And do you know any other Professional Homo Bloggers?

Such pleasure from an electrical appliance!

Two recent purchases have changed my life! I don’t think anything electrical has ever made me this happy.

Just when I thought I couldn’t rack up anymore debt I gave my credit card one final stab…

A vacuum cleaner and a bedroom TV. Such bliss!

I was ranting not long ago about the knee-deep filth at Man Pit. Cleaning is too daunting but I’m too cheap to pay someone. If I only I’d known that such contraptions as the Electrolux Ergorapido existed my pain would have ended many months ago. Its a genius combination of vacuum AND dust-buster. Did you know it only took me 10mins to whip around Man Pit and erase 6months worth of dog hair? It’s a wondrous thing. I just want to caress it. Its my new favourite upright, phallic electrical product in the world

How goddamn clean is that carpet!

So this was a very practical purchase, the TV not so much.

You may have seen the pics of Man Pit, it is literally the size of your average garage. I sacrifice space for location. And the truth is I really only need a bed and a couch, I don’t even go on my balcony. Or use the kitchen.  I’m one of those inner-city freaks who pays the GDP of New Zealand in rent. But goddamn I could walk to Martin Place in 7 mins if I wanted too. Or just catch a cheap cab which is much more probable.

My bedroom isn’t really a bedroom. It only has two walls. The other two are sliding doors. So if you are laying on my bed with the doors in the right place you can easily and comfortably watch my giant TV in the living room. Yes, that’s how small Man Pit is.

The red is my bed, shot takem from big TV

So you may think me an idiot for needing another TV. But here’s the thing, its all Foxtel’s fault. They called me up to see if I wanted a second box somewhere in the home. I explained that I only have a half-bedroom apartment so that would be quite ridiculous. But once I started thinking about it I could not stop. Is it really such a ridiculous idea? I became obsessed…

Imagine how much fun you could have with two TV’s going at once. I could literally double my viewing. To me it sounds genius. And the most brilliant thing is that at Good Guys you can get ANYTHING so for the bargain price of $180 I got myself a little TV.

I now have both going at all times.

I have never been happier.

My big TV, I love it like a brother.

But I do draw the line at getting a second Foxtel box, even to me that’s bordering on craziness. I actually think it would send me insane. I’d end up a nervous wreck just trying to keep up with my IQ programming. I’d end up watching 8 Law & Orders a night instead of just 4.

I mean of all people I know where to draw the line.

Man Pit is clean! And you can see two TV’s from my bed. Thank you Good Guys for making my world complete.

There's a Bear in there!

Oh dear. I am a princess after all. I thought being nearly 40, carrying a few extra kg and not shaving as often meant that perhaps I was manning-up in my older age.

No. It does not. I am as big a princess as ever.

My friend The Sculptor has found a community he loves hanging out with, the Bears. They are a community-within-a-community of the Gayers. In a nutshell, and with sweeping generalisation, the Bears have lots of facial and body hair, tend to be large, wear lots of leather and flannel. And drink beer. And they love to party together.

Bears are hairy. Fact.

I’m sure there is much more to it but as I’ve only just dipped my toe in at this time I am far from an expert.

The Sculptor roped me into going to one of the Bears annual dance parties this weekend, I was dead keen at the time. Never really found my clique on the gay scene even after being a professional gayer for so many years. Hardly a Muscle Mary or a Gym-boy, indie/alt inner-West scene is completely foreign, Drag Queens scare me and I am two decades past Twink. I was excited / scared about this party. There ended up being a clash of dates with my little resort holiday with Lady M so had to pull the plug on The Sculptor. SI instead I took baby-steps into the forest full of Bears.

They're recruiting! But do they really want me?

Instead of the big dance party I went to a warm-up Bear gathering on Friday night with The Sculptor. He was up from Melbourne and staying with me at Man pit. He practically dressed me. 90% of my wardrobe was not Bear-attire. What, a low-cut disco top, skinny jeans and a dress boot don’t cut? No.

After about 4 costume changes I’d never looked or felt so butch! I had to take all my jewellery off and use as little hair product as possible, can you imagine? I felt primitive. Then the cruncher – no frangrance. “What, no Chanel??? Are you fucking kidding me?” I would have no friends The Sculptor assured me. I was willing to risk it, I snuck a quick spritz as we walked out the door.

Talk about fish-out-of-water! I had no idea so much facial hair existed. Did I miss a memo? And tight t’shirts filled with either huge muscles or beer guts. Why was everyone so tall? Once you get over the incredibly intimidating look of these gents it was a delightfully friendly crowd. For an aging-wannabe-twink like me this was a whole new world. After 15years on Oxford St I’m still spreading my wings.

The Sculptor is sooooo in his element. I went to a bar with a  similar crowd in Melbourne and one of his friends said to me “he’s this years IT Girl!”. So true, The Sculptor is on Fire. He knew loads of gents. I even had some friends there, but sadly they weren’t wearing leather. Granted, I got very little attention. They could see through my fake wardrobe and probably smell my Chanel, they could tell I wasn’t one of them.

Me and The Sculptor

So at a very respectable hour for me I packed my self off home with only a slight wobble to my step. Smiling. Very glad that I went but even more glad I’m not going to the big dance party. I think that would have been too much for my virginal ways. Dance parties for me are mini-skirts and tassled arm braids, not leather harnesses and chain mail.

Well not yet anyway. But if you see me with a beard and ripped flannel shirt than you know all bets are off. 

One of The Sculptor's sculptures and yes that is a giant penis.

If you want to know more about the work of The Sculptor, head here!

Last minute holiday and man-kini panic...

I’m in the throws of a last-minute holiday panic! While holidays are the most brilliant, amazing thing in the world – especially resort holidays! – I always find that there is a shitload of stuff to do in the final days so that you are holiday ready. And man-kini ready!

Resort 1

First of all there’s the longer-term prep. I’m just days away from 2 weeks of sunning myself poolside with a cocktail in hand on the islands of Thailand (I know, tough life!) so for a resort holiday like this I need atleast 3 downloaded TV series and 4 books. Finally my books arrived today and I’m just getting a start on iTunes. But how dumb is this, I bought the York crib notes of The Great Gatsby rather than the actual book. Guess it makes for easier reading.

Next up is the man-scaping. To be exposing your body in the briefest of Speedo’s like I’m about to requires significant self-maintenance. Yes, I’m gay. I really should have concentrated on weight-loss some months ago but I got distracted. Nothing I can do about my gut-overhang now. Instead I’m going to disguise it with a full-body clipper for easier tanning and a touch-up eyebrow wax.

Which reminds me… need to pack nail clippers.

Now I can be incredibly anal and I like to know where, when and how I am doing everything before I head off. Staying at 3 different resorts so bookmarked all their websites today for a thorough examination. My beautiful friend Miss Melbourne, who I am holidaying with, has expertly booked the whole trip. No one knows how to resort-holiday better than Miss M. So I have some catching up to do with insider knowledge.

Resort 2

I like to prioritise hotel restaurants and also beauty treatments at their day spas. I consider this critical. I’m not one for wasting time reading hotel room info packages when it can all be done beforehand. I also like to know something about the local nightlife cause you never know when a beautiful dinner followed by a Duty Free nightcap can turn into a night of disco-dancing. And it goes without saying I like to know when the gays hang.

Always my last minute panic will include the boring and mundane household shit. So much washing, cleaning and setting of the IQ. I have enough trouble taking care of Man Pit and Little Sammy when I’m here let alone when I’m not. Good thing I have Little Sammy’s step-dad on stand-by, he will take my little man. Bills are paid and up-to-date, and I’ve cancelled PT. Just have to remember to deoderise the carpet as I exit Man Pit so it doesn’t smell like a kennel when I get back.

Last, last, lucky last thing I do before a holiday is go shopping. Usually at one of my favourite stores in the world – PRICELINE! You need your sunscreen, your giant pack of Nurofen Plus, spare ventolin, Zantac, Nicobate Lozenges, deodorant, blah blah blah. This is a full shopping basket skip around Priceline. Nothing worse than being stuck in a foreign country and not having enough mouthwash.

Anyone feeling sorry for Miss M?

Luckily she knows me oh so well after many, many years of friendship. She is Inner Circle. Strangely we’ve never travelled together before but we know it is going to be the easiest thing in the world. Our benchmark is ‘hung-over days’ and we do them brilliantly together. So in-tune. We famously move the mattress from the bed to in front of the tv and always stock up on supplies the day before so we don’t have to move. We are going to travel BRILLIANTLY together.

Resort 3

So I will be telling many tales about Miss M over the coming weeks. I’ve decided, for no particular reason, to changer her name. A bit like Prince does. Miss M will now be known as Lady M, like an upgrade. Maybe one day she will become known as ‘artist formerly know as Miss M’ but from today she is Lady M.

I promise our adventures in Thailand will entertain. 

All this 'work' is so gonna be worth it even for just 5 mins poolside. It's been a looooooong year!