So this was the week my beautiful boyfriend and I broke up. I am extremely sad, and miss him dearly, but sometimes we make mistakes that are irreparable in the short term. It was my fault. I fucked up and pushed away wonderful things that were in my life....but sometimes we unintentionally make these mistakes which fortunately lead on to new ones (I don't mean new partners, just opportunities) It is a great shame I have lost my first love, but in all reality, I am so happy that I had eight beautiful months, and I have truly been in love with someone for the first time (absolutely disgusting). Mentioning this on here is no dig, or a way of rubbing salt in the wound, but I am on a journey which involves me being honest with myself, and sometimes we need to share our feelings....with the world. Maybe I just want everyone to know how much I did, and always will love him. And let's face it. I want him to still know that more than anyone.
Moving on before it becomes too heavy (I think this Porn Star Martini is kicking in....or maybe the olives) the rest of the week whirlwinded into chaos and excitement. I had a very nasty panic attack in the midlle of Waterloo, ended up kicking what I thought was a bin....only fot it to turn into a bollard unbeknowingly, then ending up in hospital at five in the morning! The wait was too long to get an x-ray, so I left to go straight to work! I say I went to work, but after no sleep and being in agony, I ended up dozing off in the kitchen (apologies to the bosses!). A wonderful coworker came in earlier to cover me and I buggered off to hospital, only to discover a fracture in my right foot. And the only way to solve this was crutches. Great.
As a side note, I would just like to thank all the staff at St Thomas's hospital, apart from the inept bints at the front desk, who belittled me for not understanding thier accent, and who couldn't comprehend that listening to thier whiny converstation about 'who needs to know who is coming back from lunch' was the least of my worries. Thank you inept receptioists for holding me there for longer than necessary. Really appreciated it.
So hobbling back home on my knew extended arms, I managed to get a good momentum that cut my journey in half. I definitely will be in the Paralympics this year. Going for gold as they say. After managing to get home relatively safe and sound, I needed a well earned nap....only to be disrupted by a phone call. Not being able to get back to sleep, I thought the only thing best would be to shower, shave and beautify myself in preparation for my audition.
I got to the audition, with pains in my palms, and perspiration in my pits, and stunk to high heaven - not particularily lady-like or attractive. I tried wowing the panel with my seductive prowess, and my sultry expressions (as well as possible in heels with a broken foot). I finished the auditioned and was propositioned by a fellow tranny. After realising we had made such an effort for a five minute audition, it seemed a waste of slap, and costume changes. So we hit Soho. A tranny in leopard print heels, crutches and a fag hanging out of her mouth is a sight you will only find in London. Or San Francisco. But no-one could do it as classy as I. We found our way to Balans on Old Compton Street, and the gorgeous waiters done everything they could to ensure that Stephanie Starlett and I (the cripple) were in eye of everyone and was treated to the service only Monroe herself would have had. ANd That's when I discovered Porn Stars. They slip right down your throat, play with your insides, and give you a wonderful tingly sensation...Almost like the real thing. Passionfruit, vanilla, vodka and a shot of Perrier Joet Champagne. Everything a girl could dream of. If only all porn stars tasted the same. If only everything I put in my mouth tasted as good.
You can probably tell I am turning into a luch. Blame the circles I hang with now. So several cocktails later, two starters and a large glass of red lining my stomach, we toddled off to G-A-Y. It had to be done. And may I add, the queens in there do not measure up to us fabulous queens. We were Queentesential. After realising that we were of a better breed, we buggered off to yet another club. A straight one this time (best make all the rounds) and after a few more drinks and a free bottle of wine, we took over the place, took over the dancefloor, and wrecked the straightboys. The creating that of something relating to the Brixton riots, we realised we mad our mark and tottered back off to Soho to the Shadow Lounge. One large JD and coke and I found myself at the fashionista Daniel Lismores' party, a wonderfully hedoistic event, warm, inviting and everything that was needed to wind up such an impromptu night!
The next day I had an interview for a new show concept, only to be put into the show that very evening. However, with several complications, we couldn't go on stage. That's all I can say. That's all I am going to say.
The rest of the weekend was having dinner with cabaret and burlesque performers, meetins Swedes and Danish ladies and drinking more Porn Stars at Balans. I didn't expect ANY of this to happen after leaving drama school. I seem to have found the perfect balance of work and play (however little I seem to be working). It's also nice to feel that I can leave anytime I want to go see the rest of the world. Being free is the only feeling a healthy 20 year old should be feeling.
Life is good. We'll see how the next week fares out. A few things planned, but apart from work, nothing set in stone. I'm a fluid as a waterfall right now. And tired as an arsehole in a sex shop. SO I should sleep now.
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