Lucia dancing to Girls Aloud

Watching me lark around dancing to Ciara and Pussycat Dolls while cooking supper, my Tgirl pal Sue suggested it would be a laff to make a video. We roped in a couple of clever man-thing admirers to help. I know many Tgirls are highly capable when it comes to technical matters but one thing I must confess is my complete inabilty to operate any of this modern hardware. I'm generally baffled by mobile phones (despite exhaustive lessons I still can't figure out what do all those menus do???) and hopeless with computers. And as for remote controls - agggggggh - they actually fill me with terror. Last Friday evening I went round to visit an old friend. She was taking a long slow bath and told me to watch tv. All I can tell you is that it was one of those flat screen thingies and I pressed every button on the remote at least thirty seven times and in every conceivable sequence. I gave up after twenty minutes. When my friend appeared she explained. 'Oh Silly.. just hold down the red button for a few seconds'.

Oh yeah!!?? I mean - how is one supposed to know things like that??!!

Well, I had fun filming and doing my usual bad dancing. I wore a crazy zebra-striped bikini my friend Anya gave me from a BHS sale!!! eeeeeek! But all I can say is go and have a rummage yourself - they do sell some rather irresistible cheap and sexy undies. Zebra stripes... very 'Me Jane, you Tarzan', eh?

of tarts and custards

There's a well known and highly accurate complaint by women that man-things expect them to be accomplished wives, mothers, workers and lovers. All the while being utterly impossible and useless themselves.

One of the most obnoxious side effects of male hormones is that they programme men to believe themselves centre of the universe. They honestly think they are RIGHT the whole time. Even if you shower them in unassailable logic and prove your argument beyond doubt, many a man-thing will still reject the evidence and really believe they know best. My own paradox is that while I find this trait completely infuriating I also find that it's one of the things I adore about men - that rigid self-assured confidence that they and only they know best.

When I get together with my GG friends and talk about fellas, one of the many things we have in common is that we let the guys get away with murder. Generally, I find GGs are sooooo much better than us Tgirls at definitively pinning a man down to a solid relationship from wherein they can set about reforming them. Lucky for me, I'm not the reforming type. If you ask me, it's waaaaaaaay too much work for too little reward. Better to take men as they come and adapt yourself around them.

the last parable

If life teaches anything it's this:
Shut up with the stupid maxims, bon mots, apothegms, pithy sayings etc!

But parables are ok. No. not biblical ones.. they're all superstitious rubbish. But Tgirl parables are wonderfully instructive contructs. They're great if you're having trouble training your man-thing.

Although I'm not the dominant type (in fact my psychiatrist Miss Bramble complains that I'm far too sub) I have an unbearable need to change my rough gruff man-things into meek little kittens. This cannot be achieved in any lasting way by following the physical path. How many times have we read about unfortunate Tgirls attaching nasty weights to their man-things testicles last thing at night only to wake first thing in the morning and find that they've run run run away.

I once knew a Tgurl who every evening forced her fella to lay down on their marital bed while she attached leather cuffs to his ankles and wrists. Then she would fasten him firmly to the bed frame with a intricate series of ropes. Oh, I tried to warn her that he would rebel but she refused to listen. Silly gurl.

The final time I paid them a visit, her botfriend angrily answered the door. He held a big menacing cane in his hand. He led me into the kitchen where I found my poor friend on all fours, attached to the floor. She was wearing some hideous-looking leather harness, gagged and chained up like a mistreated animal. Close by were two bowls - one of dirty water and the other.. urgh.. containing what smelled like cheap cat food. 'Strange', I thought. 'My T-friend is allergic to cats'. Then I figured it out. The food and water were for her!

She looked at up me with pathetic terrified pleading eyes and tried to say something through the gag. I couldn't understand a word but evenso, her once compliant man-thing instantly strode across the room and delivered two or three violently powerful whacks to her bare ass with his cane. I saw her struggle against her bonds but all she could do was wriggle and squeal incomprehensible noises from beneath that ugly gag. Closer inspection revealed a series of metal hooks had been set in the concrete floor. A number of chains ran from the hooks to my friend's harness leaving her unable to move more than a few centimetres in either direction.

I asked her if she was ok and I swear she was about to grunt and snuffle for help when her fella interceded with another loud thwack to her arse. It was anything but playful. He brought the cane high above his head and used all that brute man-thing strength to deliver a shocking blow. My friend was finally silenced but still regarded me with thise stark staring, terrified eyes. Her boyfriend turned to me and angrily said I'd been a bad influence on her. When I asked how long he intended to keep my friend chained up that way a cruel leering smile played across his face. Then he stiffened and told me in the clearest terms to get out and never to return.

I managed one final glance at my friend. Her eyes were filled with unnameable terror. It was like the ending of an old fashioned horror film where we close on the wide horror-filled eyeballs of the evil woman who's been placed in the iron maiden. The door to the dungeon is sealed forever and we realise the evil witch will do her dying slowly, agonisingly.

My friends old life was over. From now on she would pay dearly for abusing her man-thing.

This should make it clear, gurls, why the Lucia parable method is the only one worth using when re-training your fella. T-coded instructions will follow soon... blog this space!!!!

1,001 days to go

The nihilists, soothsayers with socks in their mouths and Millennialists are right - the world really IS gonna end in 1,001 days. That's 1,000 and one days from the time you read this. So if you read this today you can count on the world ending 1,001 days from now. And if you read it tomorrow or next year, then exactly 1,001 days later the world will.. er... end... yeah.

Funny how this thing works. Who'd have thought the 'fin del mundo' would be so bleedin' well subjective.

Now you know that the end is in sight, watcha gonna do all you lovely Tgals and gasping wide-eyed admirers. Might I hazard a few guesses?

First, all Tgirls (that includes YOU) are going to drop off your entire stash of girlie things at the nearest charity shop. Then. you'll apply fast acting hair tonic to face and chin. Within a few hours all Tgirls will be easily spotted. You'll be the ones stepping on your beards as you walk, Rasputin-like, to take your place on the number 3 bus to nowheresville.

Second, all admirers must abandon their manly ways. Make your way (this means YOU) to the nearest depillation clinic and undergo permanent laser hair removal including the soles of your feet. Next, burst into your local chemist and, after waving a big doner kebab knife in the air, emerge with enough female hormones to give a battleship mammary glands. Finally, breasts heaving and jiggling in your wet T-shirt (it always rains on a Tuesday) lunge into your local charity shop. There, miraculously, you'll find suitable female clothing in abundance - size seventeen court shoes, XL sexi-see-through lingerie, size 34 dresses and a skimpy Sloggi that will come in useful for bundling your pencils together.

Right, everybody! We're almost ready for the end of days. One last preparatory act to set in motion. Sell everything - houses, cars, diamante earplugs, labradors, broken Wii, blue ray digital big business theft module... the LOT!! Cash it all in and empty out the bank. Now, pile all that cash in a big cash pile. Pick up that box of Swan TransVesta matches. Remember... if your resolve falters, steel yourself....only 1,001 days to go. All set? Good. Set fire to the money and blow blow blow 'till it's reduced to a crispy blackened heap. Only don't do it on a Tuesday, It always rains on a Tuesday.....

dinner party disasters

Ever had one of those dinner party disasters? I managed one the weekend before last and, in a small way, I brought it upon myself. Here's how it came to pass.

I've been seeing a new fella and a few weeks ago we had one of those 'lively' discussions centering on that old Tgirl complaint - namely, that guys are happy to see us secretly but don't want the world at large to know that they're dating a Tgirl. Don't misunderstand me. I'm something of a realist and know that wider acceptance in the world is a long way off for us gurls and, equally, the fellas who're attracted to us. I would never, for instance, insist that a guy introduce me to his friends if he felt uncomfortable with it. That said, it's all to easy to hide in our bubbles and rather than upset the apple cart, spend our days in the shadows of existence. What the hell. Sometimes you have to say it out loud - if we don't challenge the perceptions of others, when will things change for the better?!!

Well, surprise surprise! Having digested my side of the argument, the BF only went and invited me to a dinner party with some old friends of his. These friends consisted of one lovely couple and another not so lovely couple. The guy was ok, but hen-pecked and meek but his girlfriend turned out to be the t-phobic bitch from Hades!!!

After an attack of pre-dinner nerves, I finally chose the outfit you see above - with a small change. White bra instead of that cheeky bright red one. BF approved. It's so hard when you're dressing to make a good impression on people you don't know. Very strange thoughts enter your head.

'Shall I wear jeans? No, they'll think I'm trying to be mannish. Shall I wear a skirt? Long or short? Gosh, what if they think I'm trying to be a tart?'

All of it rubbish! As ever, just be yourself. Clear your Tgirl mind and follow your instincts. Then you at least you can be certain that any problems eminate from someone's predjudices rather than from your making a faux pas.

Difficulties surfaced soon after we arrived at HB's (Hades Bitch) flat - where we were having dinner. Perhaps a neutral ground would have improved matters but BF later prised it out of her hubby that Hades Bitch had let it be known that she wouldn't 'suffer the humiliation of appearing in public with.. (eeeeeeeeeek!)... a cross dressing pervert!' Ouch!

Her first slight was to openly avoid a greeting kiss followed by some cold formality to me and exaggerated warmth to everyone else. I ignored it and kept a brave face. Hardly the first time I've been cut dead by somebody. Even when I managed to break the ice and get everyone laughing, I glanced over to see HB scowling at me.

As we sat down to dinner HB started to roll out her heavy artillery. Although I was too polite to say it, I knew she'd been rehearsing her insults beforehand. That lack of spontaneity was what started to annoy me - not her pathetic t-phobia. She did the 'I expect you'll be wanting a big plate' insult along with the 'I imagine you'll be gasping for a beer' thing. Yawn!! After drinking too much wine, nastier gems began to spring from her mouth. 'Don't you feel naked wearing a skirt?' 'It must be so frustrating for you not being a real woman' and my favourite - 'You must get through an awful lot of make up. What a shame!'

Poor BF was mortified. So was I - her bloody cooking was awful. Potatoes overboiled and chicken underdone. Perhaps HB should publish a 'How to poison Tgirl cookbook'. We scampered out of there, pride intact. Somehow I'd managed to keep a lid on my mouth. Lucky for her, she was an idiot with appaling dress sense and an unhappy mouth that slanted awkwardly down to one side. If she'd actually had a milligram of wit I'd have been tempted to let her have both of my considerably life-hardened Tgirl barrels. BAMN BAM!!!

As we drove away, BF said apologetically, 'I've never seen her like that, I swear'. I replied, 'Now we have something we can share' and we both burst out laughing which was GREAT! In that special moment I thought, 'New BF - you're a good man' and felt the glow of true affection light up within. I love it when you start to feel 'Hey, up to now our relationship has been a preamble but, guess what, I really really like you'.

So, thanks again Hades Bitch, for helping me in my relationship. I'm sooooooooooooo indebted to you.... ha ha ha!

Alone again unnaturally

Aaaaaah.. what a crazy few months I've had. Now it's all change again as my lovely BF is off across the ocean, carried by his work and career. Last weekend it was champagne, tears and our last night together. Still, there's every chance we can spend two weeks with one another next July... in WOW.. Japan of all places. It's such a long way off.. I'm not even going to dream about it. Chances are he'll meet some top notch swishy GG and forget all about yours truly. That's usually how it goes for us Tgirls when we meet Mr. Right but.. what the hell... live for the day I say. Live for the day....

2007 is a lot of numbers

Eeeeeeeeeek! Another year thingy goes creeping by. Think of all the things you haven't done that you'd like to do. Think of all the terrible situations you've managed to avoid getting yourself into.