Wednesday, Wednesday, Gotta get down on Wednesday...

Partyin’, partyin’, yeah.
Partyin’, partyin’, yeah.
Fun, fun, fun, fun.

In the afternoon I went to Shoreditch, because the brilliant Cocknbullkid played a gig at Rough  Trade. Watch the video. She's amazing.

Because it was only 8pm after the gig, and I wanted to go to another party later, I decided to get drunk in a restaurant to pass the time. Naturally.

After several cocktails, I had a nice chat with the waiter. He told me I look like a Latvian Eurovision contestant.  This made me so happy, because that is one of my life goals. Which I have accomplished now. Go me!!
Actually, he meant a specific lady, called Triana Park. I looked her up, and I like heer style, even though the outfit she's wearing in that picture would make me look like a giant cotton ball. On wheels. Maybe that's a good look?
Anyway, the waiter even called up his friend to get me the name of Triana Park, and he was so lovely and chatty that in the end I got confused whether he just was a gay sweetheart or whether he was, um, hitting on me. Nevermind.

When I was reasonably drunk I made my way to Soho, because I wanted to go to a party at the W hotel. On my wayI walked past a karaoke bar and heard someone belting out 'Poker Face'. The wobbly vocals had a strange allure to me, so I went inside, had a glass of wine, got a lapdance, sang a Kylie song, and left again. Straight after I sang. Because I didn't had enough alcohol to face the reactions to my awful murder of 'I should be so lucky'.

The party at W hotel I went to after was a bit weird: lots of the usual London club kids in an extremely posh hotel bar. Apparently it's 'guestlist only', but none of the 20 bouncers I walked past checked actually who I was.
It was sort of fun though.. I met a gorgeous drag queen who told me all sorts of drag secrets, even some stuff I didn't want to know. About tucking and stuff. If you don't know what that is, google it.

dragtastic. by Daniel Lismore.

When i went to the bathroom, and a girl with long legs and blonde hair was there who looked vaguely familiar. Ok, not vaguely. I did watch the whole first season of The OC religilously. I even forced my friends to watch. Can we  please not talk about this? Anyway, the following conversation took place:
Me: 'Hey, you look like Mischa Barton'
Girl, with a tired smile: 'I am'
Me: 'Oh...' I want to ask her if she is upset that Rachel Bilson's boyfriend on the OC was much hotter than hers. Probably not a good idea. I want  to ask her where she got those glasses from. But she is not wearing them, and I don't want to admit I read Perez Hilton. I have no idea what to say to her, because I am completely clueless what she has been doing during the last few years, apart from, umm, wearing sometimes interesting clothes. I also got the OC theme tune stuck in my head. Californiaaa....
Mischa: 'I like your top!'
Me: (It is actually a dress..nevermind..) 'Oh, wow, thanks! I like your, umm..' her outfit is kinda understated, unfortunately, nothing I particularily like..help!!..oh.. 'I like your bracelet!'
Mischa: 'Oh, it's actually a CUFF'
Me: (Gee!) 'Ah, um... how do you like the party?'
Mischa: 'I like it!'
Me: 'I think it's a bit boring!'
Mischa: 'Oh yes it is, isn't it.. but I loooove the way they are dressed, like, really outrageous!
Me: 'Oh, you mean Daniel Lismore? He's fab!'
Mischa: 'Oh yes, that's probably the one I just met, he looks amazing.'
We smile at each other, and I am actually starting to think that she's a really nice girl.
Me: 'What are you doing in London?'
Mischa: 'You know, visiting my family over here and stuff' Her face closes up, and she uses the hand drying machine. Probably to get rid of me, which is fair enough. 

Later that night, Mischa's friends ask my friends, who have cameras, to take pictures of her. That seems a bit strange: The result is amazing, though. See below. Seth Cohen would approve.

Mischa and a friend, taken by my friend Joie.

And that, dear children, is a typical day in my super interesting life. Except that the rest of the time, I mostly hang out in cafes, reading True Blood novels or meet friends for cupcakes.

Spare me from the mold (I like burgers)

I've been living in London for over 8 months now. At this point I sometimes feel that things have become a little same old, same old. 
Because I watch too many reality casting shows (anyone else disappointed that Raja won RuPaul's drag race??), I decided I needed a new challenge, if only to have something new to blog about.So, naturally, I decided to enter a beauty contest.
...
...
...
Ok, the sound of this seems as weird to me as it seems to you. Can I please explain? The contest is called "Burger Queen". It's tongue in cheek, it's fun, it's different. It isn't your plain old pageant where women or children aspire to look like a Barbie nightmare.

The idea of the contest, which is organised by London's notorious b.i.g. performance artist Scottee, is to celebrate different body types. The contestants need to have a 'fat mentality': People who feel they don't 'fit' into stereotypical beauty standards, but nontheless feel they are healthy and fashionable, foxy and happy.

I am very fond of a nice, juicy burger. I also struggled with my weight for years (I challenge you to find a wheelchair accessible gym. The nearest one to my place is a 45 minutes bus journey). Me and my body had lots of negotiations, and while I am physically probably the healthiest I have been in a long time and more or less work out regularily, I have also accepted that certain body parts of me are just fat, and most likely always will be.

Funnily enough, people rarely took issue with my weight. Not even when I was a lot heavier. In the eyes of fashion and medicine, my body is already 'wrong', 'unhealthy' and 'unable', no matter the size of my hips. For a very long time I let that mentality complicate the relationship between my body and me.

Until I realised that doctors know fuck all about my body. and neither does Vogue. I can be healthy. I can be strong. I sure as hell am a fashionista.

I feel that the Burger Queen Contest reflects that spirit.
Oh, and there's prizes for the winner, too.

http://www.burger-queen.info/

In the most Biblical sense, I am beyond repentance.

The notion of a universality of human experience is a confidence trick and the notion of a universality of female experience is a clever confidence trick. - Angela Carter

This weekend, this drag queen who is also a shaman wanted to go to a party with me. But he/she was extremely chaotic, so I actually never went. Also, him/her saying that he/she could heal me (of what??) by reconnecting my energies, or some weird shit, reminded me of the spiritual phase my mum went through when I was 6. She sent my bro and me to all sorts of workshops lead by people in ugly clothes and even uglier shoes. The only thing I liked about it were the crystals lying around. I tried to steal as many as possible.
The bottom line is that I like drag queens very much, shamans too (I met another one this weekend and he was perfectly lovely), but people who think I need to be healed.. not so much. Go heal yourself first.