I was too tired after my Tammy Faye Messner extravaganza to clean off my make-up when I went to bed, and too rushed to notice it the next day. It wasn’t till lunch time when I glanced in the mirror and noticed how beautiful I looked. To be honest, this has happened several times before. The true test was when I forgot about it again and went to the gym in the evening. That place is full of mirrors, so it’s hard not check yourself out, between checking out all the men and women around you (while pretending you don’t notice anyone). I figured it out before I got to a mirror though because everyone looked twice at me. It was a bold experiment, and I’m not sure if I would have had the courage to try it on purpose. Ultimately, though, I really looked much better with darker eyes and fuller lips.
It’s now 2am, and I can’t find my lipstick anywhere. Perhaps someone stole it? Where’s my goddamn assistant when I need him? Useless sonofabitch. I know I have lipstick because I used it the last time I opened a bottle of champagne and painted Chinese love poetry all over my naked body.
This all reminds me of when I was 15 and walking through the streets of Hamilton, Bermuda in make-up, high heels and ridiculous hair. Some girl I never met before called me a “faggot”. I have no problem with being thought of as gay, but this was fighting talk. We went tit-for-tat, throwing high-school insults back and forth, while still walking, till we were almost out of ear-shot, when I yelled a finite “Suck my dick”, and she came straight back with “I can’t, it’s not big enough”. I’ll never forget it. She’d never even seen my dick before. She’d never even seen me before. I had no comeback. Later I thought of: “It’s more than you’ll ever get, you fat bitch”, possibly even whipping it out and stroking 'Mr Thriller' to his full magnificence, but it was way too late. I’ve forgotten so many episodes in my life, but this one has been dragging behind me for the last 22 years. Goddamn filthy whore. Who the fuck does she dare think she is, that useless, dirty-pussied, whorebag of a cunt?
I’ve been listening to Richard Hawley’s “Precious Sight” all night, convinced it is the best song ever recorded. I went online to buy his complete back catalog, just because I wanted to give him something back, but it’s not available.
4 comments:
I believe I have pictures of you with the Chinese love poetry written in red lipstick all over yourself. You silly fag.
xo,
M
I think you'll find the poetry was written in ink, and the lipstick was on my lips where it belongs. What do you think I am, some kind of freak?
Don't they call that a "pillow book"? Something about writing your life story all over your body... I'll wikipedia it and let you know.
Ah, that was the movie by Peter Greenaway. I don't remember the movie except the posters looked great and the film itself was rubbish. Maybe I need to see it again. I think it was based indirectly on Sei Shonagon's 'Pillow Book' (her diary, kept inside the hollow of her pillow) which was written around 1000 AD. This is an amazing book - sexy and bitchy - and I recommend everyone read it. My kind of woman.
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