Friday, November 30, 2007

Undercover Tgirl

London Tgirl Lucia Ferri goes deep undercover to rip the lid off a secret plan to replace all the world's horrid politicians, polluters and wicked generals with android Tgirls in brilliant disguises... sinister stuff!!!

Friday, November 23, 2007

Tgirl Lucia's Booti Ya Ya

London Tgirl Lucia Ferri can't figure out why fellas are so attracted to a gurl in hi-heeled booties. At times she wonders if the whole planet has gone kinky!!! Eeeeeeek!

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Anti-Sporty Tgirls


Hiya sweet beings..

Yes, I am the world's foremost anti-sports fanatic. In five years time I'll be appointed the UN's first official anti-sports Tgirl ambassador. Like a good and brimmingly angelic version of the atrocioius Geri Halliwelp I'll tour the back waters of the world (such as New York and Leytonstone) encouraging the young to sit blindfolded in their armchairs eating fat-burgers, slurping tooth-rotting coke and playing nintendo DS.

Actually, when it comes to my encounters with sports I'm sorta similar to one of those distant comets that hang around (in a nice frock) in the shady reaches of the cosmos and then swing in on a wild whim and just miss smashing into the earth and obliterating Luton. Or has that already happened?? Eeeeeeek!

Sporty bulletin one: What kinda profile would this be without a rant?

Pleez pleez pleez can some obligingly wise old zen-haired man-thing, one who has seen all and mastered standing on one leg in an icy pond on a frosty morning... pleez pleeez pleez can you h'explain to little Lucia why it is that, at various junctures in my life, concerned boyfriends have sat me down in front of the telly during a deathly dull football competition and tried desperately to get me to understand something known as 'The Offside Rule' - as though the future of our species depended on it. One thing is for sure. The more a man-thing tries to explain something to us Tgirls, the less we understand. It all gets so heated! And for what!? A little bit of sporty balderdash!

Sporty bulletin two: Not all Tgirls are anti-sporty loonies like me.

At the much-missed Trans-missions club far far and long ago, I remember one Autumn night getting sucked into a conversation with three strapping and delightful Tgirls from up North... my geography is crap but I think they were from Bradford or Bingley or somewhere equally building society-ish. At first I was paralysed by that horrible competitive Tgirl thing that we all succumb to at times.. even if we hate it!!! I mean, there was me in a bright pink frock looking terribly girly, grasping my clutch bag and shocklingly skimpy fizzy drink... and there beside me were these three earthy Tgirls, mooching brazenly about like bricklayers in frocks, legs spread widely apart and knocking back pints of beer. I was convinced they'd take an instant dislike to shamelessly shallow me. When one said 'Hi' in a gruff tough voice I hastily offered to buy them all more beer. Ok, I'm ashamed to admit I was just a touch terrified. Goes to show how stupid preconceptions can be!

Well, the sweet thing is that they warmed to me quickly and we had a fantastic laugh. Our chat was just surreal - I'd mention how much I loved some new nail varnish for it's vibrant one coat colour and they'd retort with how Dixie Munglechops headed over the bar as he plonked his elbow in the goalkeeper's groin. Fashion and football mixed together without rhyme or reason. Just nuts!!

Sporty bulletin three: The anti-sports lobby gathers new dust!
I dunno. I really haven't a clue about this sporty stuff. Agreed, it's good to keep fit and healthy but have you ever wandered past a sports bar? What have they got to do with sport? Two hundred pickled man-things standing in a crowd shouting aggressively at a wide screen TV?
And have you ever been making your way home and encountered a crowd of football fans. I'm sure they're nice enough people when sat on a soft pouve but the sound of all those hyper guys screaming and clapping never fails to scare the life out of me. Am I the only one?

Sporty bulletin XB200/6: A chink in an anti-sporty Tgirl's armour.
Ok, I did have one mad sporty passion in the past. Go on, laugh. I used to play netball with my big sister and her pals. It's still just the most brilliant and exciting game in the world. You should try it boys instead of hurrying your silly balls around aimlessly!!

Sporty bulletin ninety nine: Her dark past is material in the sporty courts of justice... and sadder than she let's on.

Confession. My dad tried a number of strategies to masculize me when I was growing up. One was the sporty solution devised to exterminate Tgirl tendencies. These days I'm quite proud that I never managed to learn 'How to kick a ball properly'. Was I plain incapable or just stubborn? It takes true Tgirl determination to avoid the football onslaught when faced with a constant disapproving chorus from yer dad and yer peers of: 'You kick like a bloody girl!'

Whenever I kicked a ball as a kid you could guarantee two things. One, it wouldn't go very far. Two, it would go in any direction apart from the one I was told to aim at.

My dad had another secret weapon. That of dragging the reluctant me off to a football match once a year on Boxing Day. Oh, how I absolutely utterly hated it. I'm so scarred by the experience that I still vividly recall one nightmarish visit. He took me to see Charlton. I remember the eerie name and I remember the forbidding place was built on a steep hill which seemed crazy even to me. Up until then I thought football grass was supposed to be flat!!!
Aiiiieeeeeee! It was the coldest day in the last five hundred years, so cold that the snow almost froze in the air, taking ages to tumble down and fall on our heads. My ears and exposed flesh must have turned powder blue, then glowed purple before cracking like daffodils dipped in liquid helium. I spent the entire time thinking if the cold didn't finish me the excruciating boredom would. My dad periodically growled at me to 'watch the bloody game' but all I could stand to do was dream of being back home. Stupid football men running pointlessly up and down the crazy tilt of the football grass. As they came close the nasty stamp of their feet and their horrible harsh breathing sounded like abused horses.

Football. I didn't get it. I still don't. I stood gazing upwards, tears streaming from my eyes. I'd never felt such abject misery. Overhead, the stand was full of holes and the blackened sky was weeping back at me.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Tgirl Lucia's Quick One

Lucia Ferri does a quick one for all those who're Tgirl curious but in one hell of a hurry... watch it and squeak aloud!!!

Monday, November 5, 2007

Tgirl sticks 'n' stones

As a Tgirl, you get used to being called names. What upsets is the horrid in-ya-face aggressive attitudes of the people insulting you. But, funny enuf, the names themselves are really quite meaningless....