Tonight Was a Disaster/ Dreams of Spandex are So Very Far Away

So me and The Punchbowl Girl went to this party on Monday night. I was all set to be there acting all cool and saying "this is my girlfriend"/ "have you met my girlfriend"/ "my girlfriend likes that film but I haven't seen it yet" (you get the idea).

On walking in I was surprised to find that I didn't know anyone. It was full of new students at Queens who were out partying for their freshers week. This was great because I could be that guy with a girlfriend (I've had girlfriends before, loads but if you've been following this blog long you'll know I've had a dry run).

Anyway I'm having a good time and The Punchbowl Girl is having a great time and she's telling me this really funny story about getting fired and how she had phoned the work sickline the week before and left a message giving a real sob sob excuse but didn't press the hang up button on her mobile and was dancing around her room singing a song about how she wasn't going to work with a hangover and it was a shit job anyway before she realised it was still recording. Then she left another message saying it was a joke and she'd be in for her shift.

She'd just finished when My Protege walked into the room.

"Tuesday Kid, I haven't seen you in ages, what's the craic?" he said.
I didn't get a chance to answer him before his mate went:

"That's that gay fucker who wears women's swimsuits. He's so gay!"

My Protege elbowed him in the ribs and said, "he's not gay he's a transvestite. What he does in private is his own business."

Then his mate started some rant all about how his da used to wear his mum's clothes and she split up with him because he was a weirdo and he's in jail now.

"You're da's in jail for kicking two blokes fuck in," My Protege said. "That's as macho as you get."

Everyone was staring at me by this stage and probably trying to picture me in the Baywatch outfit. Including The Punchbowl Girl who asked if I did.

I said no and that the only swimsuit I wore was a pair of Speedos. My Protege tried to fix things more by  telling stories about how I'd been a great influence on him and taught him how to be a man. Everyone listening knew fine rightly that the spandex stories were true.

I went to the toilet and thought about how I'm going to find that wee prick down Stranmillis and turn his ass into toast. I went back into the party and told The Punchbowl Girl that I'd a headache and I was going to go home because I've barely drank anything and I'd boked my ring up in the bogs. She knew I was making an excuse but she said she'd text me. She has but I haven't replied yet.

Fuck this.

Cross Dressing Cheers Me Up

So Hot Baby Roy is off to Gingerella's (I assume) so they can make a lovely love next there for a few days. They bought some food for their lovers breakfast while I was asleep and when I got up they had a wee note on the fridge saying help myself. I'd have helped myself anyway. Nice stuff, cinnamon and raisin bagels and cream cheese.

Battle Cat was all licking his lips so I gave him one too. Then with the house to myself I pulled on some tights and a leotard and watched crap daytime TV. The Girl That Stole The Eiffel Tower was talking on Facebook about buying velvet leggings. I'd like to know where to buy a velvet catsuit I'd get some serious carpet burn out of that thing. It'd be so worth it.

Then while I was all writhing around my phone went. An agency I registered with ages ago has me lined up for a job interview for tomorrow. It's in a shitty call centre and I remember how bad I got last time I was in one of those places but it's better than being lonely and skint. At least in there I'll meet people I can either have a laugh with or at and it'll get me money for my velvet catsuit.

How To Feel Sexy In Public For Transvestites

Today it feels like spring and it just doesn't seem so desolate walking about Belfast. I took Battle Cat for a walk and I'd my best new togs on (I figured since I've been fired I mightened be able to afford anything decent for a while) and I was getting smiles and hellos from many a lovely lady even though I've big puffy eyes from all the boozing I've been doing. I figured since I've nothing against getting into the old drag from time to time I shouldn't have anything against using moisturiser, especially since I dehydrate myself with pink champaigne on a pretty much daily basis.

Sexy Carlos and his gang were grinding it up in the Botanic Gardens in acceptable spandex, I might do the same. I think all male joggers are just men who want to wear their spandex in public. They have every right to do so, and I might join them, although I'm not sure you can get leopard print men's joggers. Could take the sewing machine to a leotard, I suppose.

I'm Sick in Bed

Both Hot Baby Roy and Wino Jo have been taking care of me now I'm ill. It's very nice because Hot Baby Roy brings me up soup and sits and tells me stories about the Leotard Girls or more about his blossoming relationship with The Raven Princess Spandex. He's getting his hopes up a bit because they haven't even kissed or been on a date yet. I asked him about if she mentioned me and he just stares awkwardly at the ground and changes the subject. He'll regret it if he doesn't help me, that's all I'll say for now.

Wino Jo brings me hot whiskeys and I worry that he maybe drinks some of the whiskey himself but I don't want to get into that conversation because he might stop bringing me them and they give me energy.

I half suspect that they're both waiting on me to fall asleep so they can use my laptop but if I catch them at it I'll break their bones (when I'm better).

I might put on a leotard for comfort, just under my pyjamas. No one will see.

That's Bad Crack

So I got my pay and headed straight up to get some crack but my old crack dealer isn't there any more, probably busted. I deleted all my numbers when I gave it up. Fuck that. Hot Baby Roy might have some numbers on his phone so I fucked off to the house to see if I could get hold of his phone.

I bought a bottle of gin on the way and was pure pished by the time I reached the house. The Raven Princess Spandex came to the door and I started babbling away about how hot she was and I was sorry if Hot Baby Roy had tried to steal one of her leotards. And just as I started to catch on she'd been looking puzzled for ages I shut up.

"Hot Baby Roy was great, some guys showed up and started trashing the place and he stopped them. I just wanted to give him this," she put a present in my hand and I didn't know what to say, so I boked all over myself.

"I hope none of that hit you," I said to her as I slid down the wall.

The Raven Princess Spandex is so hot, and now I've no chance. I've been so embarrased I've been up in my room sobbing and swaying gently, I still hope I can fix this.

Who needs to lick the bowl?

Nanny Boo Boo and Me have a Talk

Nanny Boo Boo asked me to call down to hers after work today. She had a cup of tea and nice buns all laid out when I came in.

She said that My Protege had been round balling his wee eyes out about how I was a big puff and sitting in front of the TV drunk in women's clothes and she hit him a clash round the face and told him to mind his own fucking business.

I knew Nanny Boo Boo would be cool about it even though some older fuckers can be right squares about that sort of thing. She said whatever I did was cool and that it was my own business and she could get me some nice tasty stuff or even kinky negligees out of her club book if I fancied it. I said thanks but I thought that might become awkward if I couldn't keep up the payments.

She said that My Protege was a wee wanker but that's just because of the age of him and she hasn't forgotten about what he did to the cats arses with bangers and she told him that if it wasn't for me My Protege would be selling his arse on the streets for freedbased cocaine and soda pop, and no one would touch the spotty wee bastard. She told him so, but she said that if he came around to my tranny ways then he'd be a successful man when he grows up.

This made me happy. Then she asked me if I'd a girl name for when I wore my clothes. I said Lily but this is balls. I don't go in for that shit. I'm just a man in tight spandex.

Busted in Drag

So there I was downing a full bottle of whiskey, wearing the oul drag and watching X-Factor on Saturday night, when I looks out the window and sees My Protege and one of his wee wanker mates standing outside.

My Protege had a face like beetroot (he's a big beetroot head at him but anyway) and his mate was pishing himself and shouting "he's so gay!"

"Here you wee bastard, come on in and my dog will eat you for saying that."

"I'm not going into your house, you're gay!" he shouted.

I opened the front door and walked out all Get Carter and said:

"Battle Cat eat this wee wanker."

Battle Cat ran out woofing and the wee fucker ran off. In truth Battle Cat would have just licked him but he wasn't to know and didn't stick around to find out.

"He's right," shouted My Protege "you're a fruit," and he ran off crying.

Fuck him. I just find it comfy.

Fabian is coming off crack again

I've been lying round the house, thinking of getting the old leotard back on, Fabian Wildman has bee rolling around in his zentai all day because he ran out of crack. He melted the front of one yesterday because he was sliding so much around the house, there's a big bit of melted carpet in the hall.

He keeps saying all this mad shit about how "Al Pacino is coming back, back through the flames" he flickers his tongue when he says flame. I wish he'd fuck up because it was funny for five minutes, now it's just creeping me out. He keeps breaking Al Pacino's name down and just parts of it. He just let a gigantic howl out of him and I thought something was wrong but when I went to see what it was he was just doing the crab and giggling all gleeful like a dog who's licked its own balls.

Congratulations Fabian Wildman

Fabian Wildman found out today that he's got the job he applied for, pretty cool. We had a celebratory bottle of Vodka last night and he bought Battle Cat some dog treats. He made me promise not to say the name of the shop on here, so I won't. He also said if anyone works out who he is from this blog he'll let you away with shoplifting (to be honest I think he'll let you away anyway, so go for it).

Betty Blue and Hot Baby Roy came round and we had a right oul knees up. Well done Fabian. I bought him a new Zentai to celebrate, but it was really an excuse to get myself another leotard - leopard skin this time. Yeah!

Pancake Day

I woke up this morning in a leotard. I cried for hours. How could that rotten bastard have done this to me in my sleep. My knife was still there so I suppose he could have done worse, besides once I got over the affront of it all it was quite comfortable.

"Nobody spark up a fag!" I heard Fabian shout from downstairs.

I ran down to find him opening the windows.

"We left the gas on last night," he said.

Then he said he saw I was still wearing my leotard. I told him someone put it on me in the middle of the night. He told me I put it on before I went to the 24 hour garage. I told him that was balls and that I'd remember that. He said that I might have put some clothes on over it but that I was definitely wearing it. I told him there was someone hiding in the roofspace. He told me he used to sleep in people's roofspaces. He once got locked in for a few days, and that there were all these weird sex dungeon devices and costumes, that's where he got his zentai. He was glad to see that I was into spandex fetishwear because he always worried that he was creeping me out when he did it. He said it was a far superior fabric to leather unless you're wanting to roll down the motorway at 70mph on your hands and knees (which he didn't).

Anyway I went and got dressed and once we were sure it was safe to turn the cooker on we had some scrumptious pancakes. Oh yeah, we rock.

In the wee small hours.

I haven't been sleeping so well and neither's Fabian Wildman, I got up at 3 last night after only a few hours sleep to find him sitting in the livingroom in a deep trance. I asked him what was wrong and he asked me what was wrong.

He kept repeating everything I said until I rushed out of the room and came back with a baseball bat. He started shouting that he had just been playing a trick.

I told him not to be playing tricks like that because they gave me the diarrhoea.

After we listened to the shipping news me and Fabian decided that since we couldn't sleep we'd sit and spoon coffee into us just to get all jittery. After an hour of scranning coffee we heard a knock at the door and went to answer it, armed with baseball bats.

No one was outside apart from a fat man in a leotard asking where Fabian was. I told him Fabian had died of the influenza during the war. He told me that he was here to pay his respects. He barged in before we could tell him to fuck off. He sat in the living room while Fabian made him cup after cup of coffee. He didn't say anything he just cried for a long time. He had a cake with him which he ate all to himself and never offered us a piece. I didn't want any in case it was poisoned with the deadly mistletoe. Then he said to Fabian that he knew him when he had a different face, and that if another man had to love his wife he was glad it was him. He knew Fabian's love was pure, unlike some other people who just wanted to plough his earth and make him eat the worms. He went to the toilet and didn't come back down. We searched upstairs for him but he was no where to be seen. I hope he isn't hiding in the roofspace. Incase he was I took a carving knife to bed with me. I hope I don't roll over in the middle of the night and stab myself in the guts with it.

Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself

Welcome to Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself. It's a story of love, life and licking the bowl. If you're interested in crack addiction, satanism, shoplifting, heavy metal, tight spandex, Hermione Granger, smoking hot guitar solos, call centres, millies and spides, pink champagne, cross dressing, the lessons of the street, big violent dogs, cute puppies, boiled eggs, oral sex, indie music, the Lagan Meadows, Belfast, Northern Ireland, Northern Ireland's tallest building (The Obel Tower) or the possibility that Sammy Wilson MP is actually a shapeshifting demon then there's something in here for you.

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