Turns out I ain't such a Pro

Spent Friday at a brilliantly organized ProBlogger conference in Melbourne.

Turns out though… I ain’t no ProBlogger. In fact, I reckon you’d be hard-pressed to even call me an amateur blogger (or as I now refer to myself, an AmaBlogger). 

In a room full of people who love blogging and who are very good at it, I quickly realised that it is perhaps a little too early for me to be attending a Pro event. While there is no question I am a Professional Homosexual, it is very clear I am quite some way off being a Professional Homo ProBlogger. Which is my desire, my niche.

I did put out the call via Twitter during the conference to see if there were any other ProHomo ProBloggers attending. I was secretly hoping they would be cute, single and ready for an ‘email exchange’ at post-conference drinks. Sadly, there was not one other. It appears I have this niche market cornered. Oh the pressure.

This is how I rolled at ProBloggers! Coconuts courtesy of SylingYou, pic from Mrs Woog

Back to the conference; they kept they kept using words that I didn’t really understand. And concepts that where too big for me to grasp while recommending tools I had never heard of. There was even this talk of ‘your 12 month blogging plan’. Well my plan at this stage is that I wait until the next weird-shit-thing happens to me than I write about it. Yes, I am firmly in the AmaBlogger camp.

But that is absolutely fine! Does not matter at all. Cause what I did get out of ProBlogger is that blogging can be absolute anything to anyone. Which is very cool. Very cool AND very encouraging. So here is what I am, my blogging mission statement:

I am a time-wasting Professional Homo over-sharer who posts when weird shit goes down, which could be once a week or 8 days straight. I will also type loudly about gay issues. And gay dating. My audience is whoever the fuck wants to read my babble – gay, straight, amputee, Kiwi, single-mums, circus acts, cute boy at cafe, lonely dads, geriatrics, bankers – absolutely anyone. While I am sure to offend some people, which worries me little, I will hopefully amuse others. I will make fun of myself. 

And I will do it for as long as I find it fun for me.

The other very cool thing I got out of ProBlogger is lots of new friends. Very cool indeed. It was a fantastic event for networking. And I haven’t told them yet but it is all my new cool friends who I will be calling on to fix up my blog! And answer my questions. And explain all the things I didn’t understand. And help make this AmaBlogger a little more professional. Suckers! Bet you wish you hadn’t of been nice to me now.

But of course I have stories from ProBlogger!

My buddies ‘in transit’ where Edenland and Woogsworld. Well, you would never have thought it was so difficult to get 3 people on a plane. In fact we didn’t, we all missed our flight. At one point our comedy of errors became so farcical that I went from being on the verge of tears at the Qantas counter to near wetting my pants with hysterical laughter. Please don’t tell either of them, but I wouldn’t have changed a second of it. Only our dear Eden could accidently park at the International terminal and demand to fly to Brisbane, and then to have Woogsworld proclaim “we’re having own ProBlogger at the Qantas terminal in Sydney” was just too much. 

And can I be very clear about this, none of it was my fault!  Some are born to be personal assistants, others are born to have them. Eden and Woog are firmly in the second camp, while I am in the first. I love them dearly because they are so fucking funny, smart and genuine – I will never ever turn to them to help organise my diary or plan a trip. Love you skanky bitches! Read Eden's account here....

Now my new bestie LadySmaggle got me drunk! One her post today she describes me as ‘a hoot’. Well honey, you are much more than a hoot! After knowing each other for all of 5 minutes she, along with Mrs Woog, accompanied me on a Twitter-date with DillonPete and then kicked on with us at a fabulous Melbourne glitterati-party. After far too many double-vodka’s she then came back to the very un-glamorous apartment I was sharing with Woog, Eden, StylingYou and SawHole. Thankfully StylingYou and Eden were still up chatting otherwise we would have had to tell our drunken stories to a passed out Woog and SawHole. Yes, Smags, we are hilarious, there is no question about it.

And my last story from ProBlogger can only be told by one person and that is the divine SawHole. She tells it over at MadamBipolar with THIS POST. I so sincerely believe that SawHole is changing the world one post at a time with her incredibly sincere, open, insightful and groundbreaking blog. I am so proud to call her my friend, and a friend for the past 20 years. She inspires me!

Which is what some blogs can do. Me, a proud AmaBlogger, is just hoping that some people will laugh, others will back Gay Marriage and just quite possibly someone will want to shag me.

Sorry for no pics, so un-me but I forgot to take any. xoxoxo

My First Wife

I got married once.

It was in a bar.

My first wife was Mrs Woog.

It was a sultry Bathurst eve at The Eddie Hotel in 1995 when Mrs Woog and I , fuelled by a 1000 vodka’s, decided to marry. I do believe it was Sawhole who performed the ceremony and I do believe we had shots to celebrate.

The harsh reality of my homosexuality meant it ended by last drinks as I went off to find boys to pash and Mrs Woog passed out in a cab (I’m guessing).

Now 16 years later after our love for each other was re-ignited over Twitter my first wife is more a part of my life than ever. I am her hag fag, she is my fag hag. Now Mrs Woog is Sydney and blogging royalty and I am completely riding on her coattails. I am her Plus 1 cause I am never invited anywhere and Mr Woog can obviously trust me with his wife.

That is until our third Stoli cocktail. The third means there is a steady downhill slide to number 10 and the next thing you know you’ve got a kebab in your hand and staggering home with a broken belt (self-inflicted unrinating injury).

I was Mrs Woog’s Plus 1 at a Stoli Vodka party. You can imagine my joy. Mrs Woog understands that if I had to choose between her and vodka I’d choose voddie everytime. I was the perfect date.

Plus’s: free vodka, lamb chop finger food, schmoozing the boss of Stoli, laughing at each other cause we think we are real funny.

Minus’s: Oldest in the room, choked on signature cocktail, bartender wouldn’t sleep with me.

Eventually we realised we were the drunkest in the room so carted our tired old asses out the door, in a cab and up the road for a bar opening, The Standard, cause obviously we needed another drink on a school night. It was a who’s who of cool people. I should have worn my sunnies. We had a little gang there so heaps of fun.

Mrs Woog eventually bailed on me cause she thought I’d fallen in love. Truth is, I did very briefly, but once again St. Murphy strikes out. The muso-type had no interest in this tired old queen. Stoli made me think I looked hot so I broke another one of Mrs Woog’s rules and tried for a third venue, the smells-like-vomit Stonewall.

And this time I did fall in love. Well, as much as you can while you are swaying side to side with one hand on a table to hold my bodyweight upright. This boy kept my interest long enough for it to even cross my mind that we should go on a date. Now that breaks one of my key rules – no dating. But I’m toying with the idea. After all it has been well over 6 months since ‘the break-up’.

But its gonna be real tough for a boy to be a better date than Mrs Woog. I just don’t think its possible.

Yes, yes, I know all you regular readers of Woogsworld will have heard this tale yesterday, but my recovery has been so slow that to come up with anything new or creative was just too difficult. Sorry. It's Mrs Woogs fault.