Search and Destroy


you know who i really don't like. the irish. example: my great great grandfather was irish and immigrated to the states to aid the confederacy. there is some good thinking. the irish. bunch of smarty pants, that is what i call them. ireland, you gave us bob geldof. you owe us.

matt pinfield is probably irish.

i made a friend. i want all my male friends (except for the over 30 cheap trick fans, who i will just do) to be gay boys. case in point: brandon. or as chrissy and i call him, pretty gay makeup boy. while i was perusing the make up counters at the local department store the day after christmas, i happened upon the perscriptives counter. do i want to be colorprinted? why not i say. so along comes brandon. he is beautiful. he is gay. he is the closet thing you can get to neil codling living in texas. he tells me about how he blended his pastel blue and pink eyeshadow on his lids and how he thought ewan mcgregor, or "the boy from star wars," was cute. and i bought a lot of make up from him. and pulled chrissy into my brandon/make up obsessed stupor. and we love him. and he told us to have fun going to see velvet goldmine and to dress tacky and be crazy. i love him. i want to kidnap him and have him wake me up with a cup of tea every morning and do my make up and evaluate my boyfriends and just be flamingly gay and pretty. if i ever have a personal assistant, it will be brandon.

and we started a tradition. so people dress up and sing and dance at rocky horror? try running down the movie theater aisles in platforms and a leopard coat during the running scene in velvet goldmine and singing loudly during the flaming creatures onscreen parts. and screaming a giggling and clapping.

another rant. if you find that you can't control yourself from laughing heartily EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME you see a man in make up/platforms/sequins/satin bellbottoms, don't go see velvet goldmine. case in point, the woman behind us last saturday. don't laugh every time you see glam if you go see velvet goldmine. it's like laughing at legwarmers in the breakfast club. what the fuck did you expect? johdpurs and jackboots?

dammit, i missed are you being served? i have no shame in admitting that i have a huge crush on mr lucas. i have this theory that my perfect man would be any english actor from approx 1975. malcolm mcdowell, roy snart, mr lucas, the photographer guy from the omen. all perfect examples of, well i don't know what but i'd do them. and they are all probably oxfam employees now. or on fantasy island.

if anyone has any plans for new years, email me. it's

although i think the best offer i have had yet is from rob and rick. i could imagine cooking for two burly ex footballers (yes i can say that, don't question me) while they shoot the breeze about the glory days of tottenham all night long. or i could go see my parking guy at the london tavern who ran up and hugged me saturday. for no reason. which is amazing considering the last time he saw me, i was splattered with my own vomit and crying. there's no love laid with mermaids. or summat like that, ta, la and innit.

got it mate?