Monday, 26 July 2010

Little Miss Gaydio

Handbagsnbotox went live on air last week on the fabulous Nicksy show for Gaydio. You can now listen to the clip of the show below. Smashed flaps & dinks n snax were the subjects of the day.



Last week I had my first little taste of a life in the media (my stint on ITV show The Grimleys is not included, even Amanda Holden leaves that off her C.V) with a little interview on Gaydio. I was there to promote handbagsnbotox.com and discuss my smashed flaps & a case of mistaken identity. I really did have a fantastic time in the studio with Nicksy, although I was flabbergasted at just how gay I sound. I think Nicksy used some sort of voice alteration software as I’m sure I normally sound quite *ahem* butch.

I left the station feeling like my celebrity status had slightly increased and I admit after a few bottles of TriBecca wine after the interview I acted like any Z list celeb. Now the evening is surrounded by a haze of alcohol but I do remember karaoke being mentioned at some point. Now I’m not sure at what point I lost my jacket on the evening; before or after I lost my dignity, regardless of which if you find it down Canal St please return it to handbagsnbotox Towers.

I once again feel like I must apologise to anyone who saw me in such a state, I would also like to apologise to the lady stood at the bar buying a Sambuca, you’re right; you don’t look anything like Michelle McManus. I must also apologise to the taxi driver who took me home, he was Muslim and he got a full rundown of how I worked for Ethiopian Airways during the Hajj last year so therefor I was practically his brother.

I must further extend my apology to the taxi driver for realising I’d got no money on the way home and so I asked him to drop me off at the bottom of my road, presumably so I could run off from him. Stupidly I’d forgotten that in such a state I couldn’t run further than the kerb. He actually followed me up the road to my house, fortunately I did have a twenty pound note I’d left on the side for such eventualities. As you can imagine things like this actually happen quite allot to myself.

So there you have it, my short lived life in the media. I’ll now go and throw myself on the scrap heap along with Vanessa Feltz and Michael Barrymoore.

Mind you I could always be a wag…….

The Smell of Desperation

You know that smell I mean, the lingering smell of cat piss when the neighbourhood moggy sneaks into your porch and decides to piss on your welcome matt. No matter how much shake and vac you put down the smell just doesn’t shift, lingering in the air like a curdled shite. Actually it’s not the aromatic scent of cat piss that has been lingering around my house recently but the pathetic smell of desperation.
About a month ago one of my friends convinced me that I had been single longer than what was acceptable (only 14 months) and that I should do something about it immediately. Well I’m not one for online dating after hearing all about Jason who is tall, dark, 25, lives in Castlefield and is hung like a donkey actually turned out to be Bernard who’s 63 and lives is Grimsby.

Basically I just don’t think online dating is safe, well not for my victims anyway. Regardless of this I decided to sign up to Gaydar, which can hardly be described as a dating site; more like a cattle market for cocks. I also downloaded Grindr on my iPhone which is the equivalent to a Sat Nav for sex.

I’ve not been on the dating game for so long that I just have no idea how to play it cool. As soon as I’m asked what I’m looking for I can almost hear my victims UGG boots running for their lives down Canal St as I reply ‘a husband, a Labrador and a house in the country.’ By my own admission I am one of those desperate fools that jump in feet first, that’s why I’ve found myself in more disastrous relationships than the annoying bitch that is Geri Halliwell. It’s also why I’d never do speed dating, my ego couldn’t take being rejected by 30 men in 30 minutes.

My most recent pathetic outing was with the boy who was the subject of my Dating Disaster blog. Only this time I didn’t even go on a date. Last week as I was preparing to leave work when I received a phone call from an unknown number, cautiously answering the call I was greeted by Lee on the other end who was obviously a little intoxicated. Now considering I hadn’t heard from him in six weeks the call did catch me a little off guard. He asked me if I wanted to meet up for a drink on my way home from work; part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off but the other part of me was desperately hoping that the physic I went to see the week before was right and that I was going to find the man of my dreams any minute and it would be someone from my past. I decided that 6 weeks was a sufficient enough time frame for him to be considered from my past.

Against my better judgement I rushed myself into town, however , as I was sat on the tram on my way to meet my long lost dream man I received a text from him telling me he couldn’t be bothered waiting and he was off home. Now I don’t mind admitting that I actually laughed out loud at myself. Never have I been so desperate or pathetic, except for the time I climbed through my ex-boyfriend’s window. So once again I’m giving up on the dating game and deleting my Gaydar profile immediately. No more dates for me at all, absolutely not; well not unless you can set me up?

Thursday, 8 July 2010

Who Is She?


Now it’s not unusual, as you all know, for me to make a complete and utter twat out of myself when under the influence of drinksnsnax; if there was an Oscar for the ‘Biggest Tit in the World’ I would win it year after year with no exceptions. I’m sure that if I tried to sue Jack Daniels for my bad judgement after two glasses of their delicious liquor that no judge in the land would find them not guilty.
 
It was a lovely recent little Saturday evening that I found myself once again acting disgraceful. As some of you may know the lovely Nicksy of Gaydio has been a wave of support for Handbagsnbotox, and the delicious Northern DJ has mentioned my blogs on air a few times whilst succumbing to my demands to play Angie Brown at regular intervals.

You can imagine my sheer delight when as intoxicated as I was I spotted Nicksy in Cruz101. Marching straight over to him I introduced myself, only he said he had no idea who I was. Obviously I knew he was lying, so after a few ‘fuck of Nicksy I know it’s you stop being a cunt’ later, my new gentleman friend took out his ID to show me his real name.

This is the moment that most normal people would have taken a step back and realised that this man called Andy was telling the truth, he wasn’t my favourite DJ, however, it only spurred me on. You see I was convinced that I was now in the presence of a real diva; that Andy was his real name and Nicksy was his showbiz name. Well all the greats have them, Lily Savage, Cilla Black.

After pleading for an autograph and continually telling him I used to love waking up with him in the mornings, on the radio that is, he realised the only way to shut me up was to ply me with Sambucca. Several dances to some old gay tunes later and my Nicksy doppelganger kissed me. I was flabbergasted and disgusted knowing that the real Nicksy was married, fearing a front page scandal on the Anglers Times I quickly pulled away. Asking my Nicksy about his marriage he said he was now divorced but had three kids; I couldn’t tell you who was more shocked, me for hearing about the kids or him as I knew he was married.

It wasn’t to matter for long anyway as he soon disappeared. The following day I received a few text messages from a guy called Andy and I wont lie, it did take me a while to realise it wasn't the real Nicksy, the real Nicksy was in fact 2000 miles away oblivious to the previous nights fuck up. However me and Andy did carry on chatting and he seems like a lovely bloke. In fact we've been chatting for a few weeks now and are off on our first date on Saturday, so as chat up lines go I don't think mistaking someone for a radio personality is a bad idea.

Just for the record I’d like to apologise to Nicksy’s husband Danny for nearly causing an online domestic via Twitter. I promise I will never try to make a move on anyone I think may be your husband ever again. As for Nicksy, we will ever meet………