Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Monday, February 27, 2006

Mountain Fallout

It really was a good job I wasn't around for the last couple of weeks.

I've only just shaken my depression over seeing Brokeback Mountain. Yes, I know I'm in the minority. In fact, the only other time I've been so low after seeing another film was after seeing 'Philadelphia', but that was mostly because I'd just paid money to see a Tom Hanks film.

Oh yes, 'Philadelphia' was back in the day when I could snare a man with an uncrossed leg and a toss of my brick-red hair. And I'd gone to see it as a date movie with a gentleman caller who (try and keep track) was going out with the guy who was having an affair with the teenager who was sleeping with a politician. He'd only taken me to the cinema to get back at his cheating boyfriend, but it turned out that trying to touch my tuppence in the car park afterwards was somewhat less likely as I was now deliberately pouring snot and tears from every Polite Orifice. Well I wasn't playing along that night as, like all good girls, I never put out without dinner and a movie. And I don't class a bag of Revels and a choc-ice as 'dinner'. No cheese course, you see.

He bravely tried consoling me, but as soon as his hand went Southwards I blew my nose on his collar and theatrically announced "I shall never have sex again!" and pulled back so he could see my ensnotted visage, make-up sliding down my face. In fact I'd produced so much mucus that I was attracting slugs from all corners of the car park. He gave up after the sixth attempt and drove me home.

You see, ladies and Gentlemen Who Moisturise, one should never get into a car with a stranger who's offering you chocolate. One should always hold out for the Sherbet Dib-Daps. So flash forward six months where this 'gentleman' has left his boyfriend and is now employed by a global corporation and offers me a job. Well, more correctly, offers me a night away to 'talk' about my 'interview' in a two-star Travelodge just outside the glamorous town of Slough. I'm not proud of what happened between those brushed nylon sheets that night. Nor how we clogged up the jacuzzi. And certainly not in the slightest about the two prints of someone's arse cheeks you could see on the window when you boiled a kettle near them, but I left my student days with some degree of solvency, just not much dignity.

So, what's the moral of this story? Don't be a ten-credit touch in a Showcase Cinemas car park? Be careful around hotel windows? Do you know, I'm not sure yet. And I'd ask the Wife, my moral compass, but he's even more affected by Brokeback than I am, wandering around like Liza Minnelli without her little blue pills. In fact I cut my hand on a disco ball the other day and he refuses to wash the checked shirt I was wearing, instead hanging it on the back of the wardrobe door next to a postcard. And he keeps trying to get me to change the tire on the car.

Thing is, we haven't had a toolkit since the Lesbians claimed it back. And even my gay brain knows you can't change a tire with a hammer and some fireworks...

Ah, it's good to be back.

19 comments:

MQ said...

I don't understand. What *was* so depressing about Brokeback then? And after you wrote such an hilarious review an' all.

kyknoord said...

And it's good to have you. Back, I mean.

Just Call Me Fabulous said...

I don't know, the offering of Ghirardelli goes a long way towards getting me to put out.

Maybe that's the problem with what I've been looking for in a man...

Your blog makes me happy.

St. Dickeybird said...

I've never been offered a Sherbet Dib-dap. I've been asked to pretend I was one, though.

And welcome back.

morgalou said...

Yay! Lee! Welcome back.

You can, of course, change a tyre with a few fireworks. Or rather, you can render the car such a mess that a puncture is really the least of your automotive problems.
Much better to get a nice, burly young man from the RAC to do it, in my opinion.

The Lady Muck said...

Welcome back Lee! Hey I don't know if it's in the water or something but I keep crying at Neighbours. I don't think I could handle Brokeback Mountain...
I'm with Morgalou. I so reckon that there's a way of changing a tyre with a hammer and some fireworks... Stand back, I'll show you how Muck gets things done.

*Loud explosion followed by a bedraggled and sooty Lady stumbling out of a piller of smoke*

Lee said...

Have laughed up my coffee, darling Lady Muck.

Brad Fitt said...

welcome home darling

Inexplicable DeVice said...

Splendid to have you back!

Polite and impolite orifices, too.

Fuckkit said...

Can please keep the fireworks in an airtight, sealed container well out of Muck's reach? You know what she's like after a couple of tequilas.

Miss Mish said...

I have let it get out that I never put out unless it's in the back of a limo.
The thing is, they then ply you with so much champagne that you believe a black cab is a bijou version of a Lincoln Town Car.

Miss Mish said...

Oh and welcome back m'dear. I shall be gracing The Ivy for lunch this week and hope we can catch up....

Dantallion said...

I assuming that the jacuzzi wasn't clogged with mucus that second time.

Welcome back, Lee.

Frank said...

Welcome back!

j(aded) said...

Oh how I missed Our Fabulous Leader! Glad to have you back darls. :)

Lee said...

Aw. Thanks, y'all. :)

Tickersoid said...

Thank God you're back, I just love your blog.
Anyway, the other guy kept getting sick and giving us home work. Lady Muck caught the bug and has too much 'home work' to do anyway. Except she's posh and calls it a 'disertation'.
So you started your holl's with brilliant sunshine and ended with snow.

Spike said...

What everyone said.

epicurist said...

Yes, Welcome back babes!