Posts Tagged ‘Trey’

OK time to catch up. Sorry for the eclectic and chronologically challenged series of posts that you are about to endure. I wanted to finish off the holiday posts ( I have about fifteen) of events I did while I was away. Forgive the scattiness; it’s time to play catch up.

After a brief sojourn in  Disney I caught the Red Eye to Charlotte. The trip is 4 and half hours there (5 and a half going back) and I foolishly figured no one would be on the plane. Wrong. The flight was full, full, full.  I couldn’t work out why anyone would want to catch such a late flight until I returned. Sleeping through it is the only way to make it tolerable ( unless you’re not in cattle class).  Having said that I scored some major wins. Firstly, I was sat at the front of the plane on the bulkhead so more leg room and, secondly, I was sat next to the smallest lady in the world. She was so small it was as though there was no-one sitting next to me. Brilliant.

US airlines make you pay to carry luggage so, as a consequence, everyone brings on (very full) carry-on luggage (which does not incur a fee.). I have not been on a flight in the US yet that hasn’t had delays caused by there not being enough room for the overhead luggage. Seriously. It is insanely annoying. The idea being that, if there is not enough room for your carry-on luggage, they will store it underneath for you without charge. As such,  everyone does this. Consequently flights never leave on time as they are always sorting out the fricking luggage. It seems a false economy to me. And US flights are always full. Always. And cramped.

What is fascinating is that you are allowed to bring your pets on board (ie in the cabin) as long as they are small enough to fit under the seat. A person had brought their dog on board (and seriously, the dog was fine. I didn’t even realise he was there) and the lady who would sit next to it was having a major hissy fit that she was allergic and couldn’t sit there. (Now bear in mind I had no idea dogs were allowed on board and thought she was referring to the passenger. I was amazed at her brassiness.) She was dressed in a poncho and had bling galore and (bless her) was a Give me a P, Give me a D of epic proportions. It was her drama and she was going to star in it. People around her offered to swap seats with her however, no, she was having this seat and nothing else. It was brilliant. She was screaming her head off and the entire plane had stopped talking and were holding their breath so as not to miss the next moment of the drama. Bloody genius!

In the end, they kicked her off the plane. I was expecting complete drama but, sadly for the blog, she went as meek as a lamb. The plane took off  late and arrived on time, thanks to some lucky wind. When I got to Charlotte I nipped into the toilet prior to meeting Wesley and Trey and got dressed into my suit. Thus, after a 4 and half hour red-eye with everyone looking like they had been dragged through the bush backwards, I arrived to the boys looking like a million dollars.You should have seen their faces.  Criticise my dress sense, you bastards…. That’ll learn ya.

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with apologies to John Denver

All my bags are packed (to the brim!!!!) I’m ready to Go (as long as I dont pay excess luggage – bastards)

Im standing here outside your door  ( no, no problems there – barged the door down and woke you up and told you to feed the dogs)

I’d hate to wake you up to say goodbye (well Im leaving in 8 hours Still Im preemptive)

But the dawn is breakin’ It’s early morn (It’s going to snow. It’s going to fricking snow. I am fricking leaving and today is the day it snows. I LOVE snow. I am so, so, so, so, so annoyed and I don’t think Wesley realised I had such a colourful vocabulary. Welcome to Nigel’s fricking life!)

The taxi’s waitin’ he’s blowing his horn (yeah, that part aint true. Late afternoon flight and Wesley is dropping me off. Some artistic licence here)

Already I’m so lonesome I could die (that’s a really good line, cuts like a knife)

So kiss me and smile for me (if you don’t weep buckets, you’re gonna be in so much trouble! lol)

Tell me that you’ll wait for me (so not an issue.  An aside: the very first time I heard this played was with my friend Robert Debenham and I was eight. He played this for me on his guitar. An easy song to learn I guess. I knew I was different after that song)

Hold me like you’ll never let me go (ok, that one cut like a knife too)

Cause I’m leaving ona jet plane (please don’t crash, please don’t crash, please don’t crash)

Don’t know when I’ll be back again ( this is true. The lap of the gods is a big one)

Oh baby, I hate to go (ouch)

To everyone invloved in my most excellent holiday, old and new friends alike, thank you for a fabulous time. You know who you are. Love you. Please don’t let it be too long before we can hug again.

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Night of the Parentheses

We (meaning Trey, Wesley and I) went to a dinner with a drug rep friend of Wesley’s called can’t remember cos I have had four martinis. Simon? Anyway, a really nice chap and he paid for this fantastic dinner at a  place called Upstream. This place is amazing and, it would appear (given the number of press clippings framed in the building) one of the top 20 restaurants in the US. The food was fabu.  Evidently on this particular evening  there was a  world-wide push to promote sea product from the gulf stream (which, as you know, had a smidge of an oil problem lately.) The day was very kindly dedicated to promoting and using the seafood of the gulf stream to financially support the fishermen there and allow people to know the seafood of the area is now edible and available. I am continuing this promotion by letting you, my dear 6 readers, know it’s ok to eat gulf stream fish. Should Simon?, Trey, Wesley and I all get cancer in the next six months you have my permission to not listen to that sage advice, ok?!

Anyways the restaurant is superb and, as Simon? is a drug rep, he was paying which made the night even better. I was kicking back the martinis (  I had four. I am snockered)  and suggested that anchovy stuffed olives were the perfect accompaniment to them (which they are.)  Upstream did not have these particular olives but were happy to make them for me which was amazing and very appreciated. I have to say I have been spoilt on pre-made already soaked anchovy stuffed olives so freshly made ones tasted odd (the irony does not escape me!) Trey preferred blue cheese stuffed olives which (love him dearly) would be gross in martinis. Jennifer, our server/ waitress was happy to bring me  a supply of blue cheese and ‘normal’ olives so I could see which was best in a martini. (I did not care after the second glass.)

The fish was superb (even the gulf sea fish, which we had for an appetizer – we are not completely mad) and the company delightful. I did suffer some (martini induced) melancholia as the night seemed to focus on people, situations and experiences known only to the three of them.  I ordered the fourth martini (and confided in Jennifer I had no idea what they were talking about) to combat this. I also experienced this horrible time when they all were extolling the virtues of the smell of a pear gin Trey was trying and I couldn’t smell a thing. And I was breathing in till my nose bled. This lack of smell upset me enormously however  they were all too engrossed (and libated) to care.  I could smell something burning in the kitchen though so my smell isn’t completely shot yet. Despite these minor setbacks, the night was very jolly (and presumably there’s nothing wrong with my taste yet as, God knows, I have no problem eating.)

We did participate in one meaningful conundrum; what was the name of the Peanuts character with naturally curly hair? We were all  wrong. Guesses left in the comment section  please (and NO googling.)

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Queer Eyeing Again

Can I just say as someone who spends his days hitting the refresh button on his browser to see if someone has read this silly thing, talking about toilets and toilets habit is just gold.  Pure gold.  I am going to be discussing my toilet habits more often. My stats skyrocketed yesterday. You people are all sad and I love you for it.

Something strange has happened to me. I’m bothered about my clothes. I now look in my wardrobe to mix and match and, unless its post laundry day, I am often struggling to wear something that isn’t blue polyester. This was concerning me, which made me ill at the cliché I was becoming.  I worked out I needed more clothes. (I also rang Qantas to see if I can bring back two suitcases – I can! – as my current suitcase is HEAVING with clothes, mostly bumblebee and puppy dog costumes for my nieces, as requested by my sister-in-law). Once Qantas gave me the go ahead with the suitcase, it was time to go clothes shopping. I mentioned I would like to go shopping to Trey (my stylist) and Thomas, his friend and exceptional dresser and their eyes lit up. Seriously these guys need lives. 🙂

In the end Thomas couldn’t attend but Trey and I returned to the scene of our first crime and bought up big again. Oh Lord did we buy up big. I lifted the bags after our purchase and I have serious doubts about the weight.  I am allowed to return to Australia with three bags of 23 kg each and I suspect I may be over. The lads are very kindly loaning me a suitcase for my purchases, all of which are mix and matchable.  I can charm the pants off the people here with my accent. Seriously!!! People think I sound exotic here. It’s hysterical.  I mention this as I could possibly charm an american airline person with my accent but Qantas are going to laugh at me.

At the shop we met a man who I shall keep nameless as I do not want to get him into trouble. However this man was family and gave us an extraordinary deal. I am sure one of the reasons he kept giving us such good bargains was because I kept taking my clothes off in the shop where there was only Trey, the man and myself there. I do not care. I got a bargain.We kept getting two for one prices and in the end I bought 21 items (I’ve never had 21 pieces of clothing in my life) for 20 dollars a pop. 20 bucks!!!! Seriously the amount of clothes I bought would cost about 1500 at home.

Trey was, as ever, a clothing dervish. The only time I had to say no to him was when he picked out clothing that would get me beaten up in Adelaide (ie too obvious)  Now my only concern is getting this entire new wardrobe past the baggage handlers. They will want to steal my clothes, especially if they are an autumn. I am an autumn evidently. I am also a living cliché. But a dressed to the nines cliché.

I took the camera into the dressing room with me. This is not as weird as it sounds. Saying you’re doing this for your blog gets you away with murder as well.

So here’s one that didn’t make the grade:

And here’s one that did



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Moving On Up

Kinda tired if I am honest.

Trey and Wesley have been renovating their upstairs bedroom and it is largely finished and ready to furnish. The furniture is in their basement, two beds, a three-piece and two piece sofa and various stuff and bits. Their friend Richard and I ended up moving much of the furniture from the basement to the attic room.


To do this you had to go outside, down the deck, up the hill, through the front door then up the steps to the attic. Richard is extremely muscle-bound with muscles on his muscles and I am his polar opposite. Also to fully appreciate this the side of the house and the hill are strewn with autumn leaves and, at the best of times, I slip and slide all over the place in my Kmart shoes (we’re queer eyeing them soon, give me time).

So Richard and I are carrying this extremely heavy sofa through the route of death. In addition to needing to let it down every now and then as I am so unfit, we are slipping and sliding all over the place. Richard falls into a hole and I am slipping ass over tit.  It takes us forever to get the sofa to the stairs to the attic and, while Richard is fit, I am a serious millstone around his neck and we are both sweating and panting and dying quietly before we attack the stairs.

Trey, God love him, comes up to help us. He takes off this board thing on the sofa that, at most, weighed half a kilo and gives us a smile that says we’re good to go. Richard and I share a look that says if our hands werent full of sofa we would kill this man right now.

I mean, seriously. What a dag. Richard and I were wetting ourselves over that.

The next day we moved all the stuff out of the garage and to the basement, essentially the route of death but in reverse. Seriously, these guys are lesbians with their whole manual handling is fun mindset.  I wore track shoes this time so less slippage.  This time it was gyprock which I literally couldn’t lift even with Wesley’s help. I blame the fact I was weary from the day before. I’m not wussy. I swear.

There was a picture of Dumbo for Kerrie but we have moved on and now have better, more relevant pics of the room and the heavy, heavy furniture.

Here’s the Befores:

And the afters:

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Queer Eye for the Queer Guy

Evidently the fact that I own four shirts, all blue and all polyester, and own one pair of trousers, black and supersized, offends my dear gay hosts rather a lot. I try to explain to them that it makes life so much easier. I don’t need to iron nor think about what I am going to wear but i can tell they’re not convinced.  Wesley, in particular, is less than subtle in his hints that my wardrobe could use some upscaling (ie: ” oh, a blue shirt.” “Whats Nigel wearing today? Oh, it’s a blue shirt”) I wont mention the threats of death from him if he saw me wearing another blue shirt but I got the hint. I knew I was in trouble when the lesbian at work who wears crocks suggested my clothing was in need of improvement.

There is also this mindset that gay guys have innate fashion sense. To an extent I do and am surprisingly useful in choosing clothes for others, when it comes to myself I just am clueless. Today Nigel is dressed by Kmart. It’s all silk purse out of a sows ear stuff.

I had been told that I would be made over when I got to Charlotte, bring loads of money cos we are going shopping and prepare to burn most of the clothes I brought with me from Australia.  Which is what we did yesterday, the buying not the burning. Trey took me shopping to the Casual XL store in Charlotte and never has a shop been more pleased to see a customer. I wore the shop and bought most of it. Trey was a total trooper and a man possessed in terms of what would suit me, what wouldn’t and colours. I now know expressions such as mix and match, layering and I only possess one blue shirt. Evidently there are colours such as paprika, olive, chocolate-brown (chocolate-brown is seriously my friend. Even I, who think I am revolting, thought I looked hot in that), white (which matches with everything) and patterns (who knew!).  I now have three pairs of trousers and this amazing jacket that can be a sports coat, a winter coat or a cossack jacket.

Now Trey was amazing in the shop. I am stealing him to be my personal dresser. And the genius thing is you can tell when he’s not happy even as he struggles to be polite in telling you that you look stupid. It’s telling that the only things we didn’t end up buying were the things I chose. HA! It was one of the few pleasurable clothes shopping experiences. And Trey knew all these tricks to dressing which were really amazing. It was like being taught how to dress yourself again.

Wesley gave me a haircut and trimmed my beard and has been teaching me the finer points of cooking and laundry. (Evidently there is more to laundry than throwing it at the machine and pressing on. Of course when all your clothes are blue, sorting out the colours and the whites was a moot point).  It has been phenomenal the things he has taught me. So we’ve covered the clothes and the style, the social graces and the cooking. All that’s left is the makeover of my house. I’ve told Wesley he is to come and can have carte blanche at the house. My house’s decor is university student impoverished chic. I’m happy to go away for a week and act surprised at how he remodels the place. And of course he pays for it. I’m happy to let him do that too.

I’ve been a very willing student. Why stop now?

So anyway here’s the before:

Note: dangling belt like an elephant trunk between my legs, ubiquitous blue shirt and I am trying to looking miserable as they do in before pictures but not succeeding

And here’s the after:

New belt now tucked in, jacket excellent, trousers are meant to dangle though I’ve got them bunched up, happier expression as fitting the after shot.

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Happy Birthday To Me

Dont panic. It’s not my birthday and you missed it. My Birthday is on June 29. You missed it then. 🙂

Wesley sent me a birthday card before my birthday from Charlotte, North Carolina and we weren’t hopeful it would arrive in time for my birthday in Adelaide, South Australia.

As you can sort of see, the card was posted on the 21st of June

Today, the 28th of September I received it. That’s almost 3 months late. One of the things that can happen (note to my  international fan base) is that if you write SA instead of South Australia then the letter/ post etc is likely to go to South Africa. It’s wierd like that.

HOWEVER not in this case. In this case, and according to the absolutely unclear photo below, the card arrived in Newton (my nearest post office) on the 24th June.

I know the pic is not clear but, trust me, it says the 24th June. So it arrived in South Australia 5 days before my birthday and today, 28th September I get it. So my question, and it’s not an unreasonable question, is what has it been doing in the last 3 months? Did it slip behind a desk? Did it get sent elsewhere? (no evidence of that on the envelope) Was it, and I suspect this is the truth, held by an evil employee of Australia Post whom, for some unknown reason because I am a saint, has a grudge against me??? This one makes the most sense.

Anyway my birthday card. Three months late and still gratefully received, thank you Wesley and Trey.  My birthday stretched for three months this year. That’s a record, even for me.

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Another World

While staying at the Lake House In High Rock Lake in NC  Trey took me to get some supplies from the local store.  Thus we travelled ten minutes down the road and twenty years back in time and went to the Tamarac Marina, a fishing store where you can get essentials such as milk and bread and fishing guts and nightcrawlers. It truly was another world. I’ve never been to anywhere quite so openly redneck.

The man behind the counter was this beer gutted, lanky haired, smoke ridden ex biker type who looked as though he would kill you as soon as sell you milk.

The place was brilliant. Completely filthy and with a wall dedicated to the art of fishing. Lines, reels, worms, more lines, hooks, other stuff that if I fished I could tell you.  Then there were two aisles of food dedicated to every junk food you could hope to find, except for twinkies. Where have twinkies gone? Theres were shelves for moon pies; chocolate covered peanut butter of all descriptions; ( best of all nutterbutters); butterfingers; hersheys everything, reeses everything; jolly ranchers; twizzlers; fig newtons; crackerjacks complete with crappy toy. And enough beer to fill the lake. You name it they stocked it (except twinkies). It was obesity farm heaven.  I bought nothing, by the way.

But, best of all, there are these two post of black gunk that stink the place out. When you pulled up the ladle of the murky black water you found peanuts, soaked in boiling brine. Evidently this is a local delicacy and who was I to argue with Cajun flavoured salt water. It looked and smelt like black vomit however.

Curiously there is a seafood restaurant attached to the shop. It also looked spookily dirty however I have been assured the food there is excellent as I have been assured the shop is equally good. Didn’t go and, to my eternal regret, didn’t take a camera to the marina. They do have a web page, thank God, where you can see some of the delights they have to offer. The web site alludes to having spent the last 12 months fixing the place up. Bless.

Best of all, Trey let me drive the car back (a beemer!!!) to the lake house. He has nerves of steel (and presumably, excellent insurance). I got to drive on the wrong side of the road. This was wicked cool.  I only almost killed us twice which i think, for a first time, is a damn good effort. And the car and Trey got back intact. Mega win. Thanks buddy! Great time.

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Chamois Wow

The day was spent getting items for Wesley’s 50th birthday party on the weekend and for supplies for the week at the lake house.   This involved, among many other things, going to a shopping complex called BJs.  As you all know I am completely happy with spending time at supermarkets. I can spend hours there watching the people and looking at the produce.

So Wesley went to work to be pampered (literally from the sounds of things) for his birthday and Trey, Wesley’s hubbie, and I went shopping.

BJs Is a bulk item store, ie you buy a huge quantity of the item to save money – we have one in Australia but can’t remember the name. It’s a massive warehouse. And we turn a corner and there is a throng of people all waiting for something. No idea what they are waiting for but it’s as though time has stopped still for these people. Everyday shoppers travel past them as these people are trapped like moths in nectar.

The thing they’re all waiting for.

An infomercial

The perky lady is selling a cloth that wipes up stuff called Magic Cloth. She proceeds to do a demonstration of picking up coke spillage ever so effectively on her specially treated counter top. She dabs up stains from carpets. She dry cleans with this all you will ever need cloth (more on that later)!

And the audience is lapping it up! You know those ghastly informercials that you watch at 3 am cos you can’t sleep and there’s nothing else on. The commercial shows super product A doing what super product A does and then you cut to the audience who are looking at each other with awe and amazement and discussing the product amongst themselves.  They do that in real life too. It was like watching the cavemen’s reactions when they first discovered fire.

Feel the carpet after it’s been dried they are pushing over each other to touch it. Watch the water be wringed from it and listen to the crowd go “Oooooooohhhhh!!!” My friend Trey started the Go Magic dance when perky saleslady asked for more excitement.

The whole thing was hypnotic. Not the product but the reaction of reverence to it. The product is highly likely complete plop and the sales pitch calculated to seduce and overwhelm your logic of “hey that wouldn’t happen in real life”. Little did she know there was a cynical Australian in the room.

I bought three.

PS “dry cleaning” involves wrapping the wet clothes item in the magic cloth and then squeezing and squeezing until the item is a) dried and b) wrinkled to death. When Wesley is asleep I will practice on one of his suits

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