Snap! snap! Let´s get back to reality. I know my last entries were quite dreary and dark as the English skies so enough of the drama and let´s all go back to the normal me. (Me, normal?). Okay, the bitchy me.
I had an uneventful weekend (as always) although the weather was fantabulous and the golden sunshine made a cameo for just two days so I just did a lot of brisk walking along the Paseo Maritimo in lieu of my never ending search for manorexia . As I am writing this; gloom, chill and more fake fur coats in the streets can be seen and felt and I am back to being a corporate whore working for a boss who lives on the executive suit of H.E.L.L.
I´ve got looooads of plans in the oven right now although I am happy to announce that I´ve gave birth to another blog. Yes, he is a healthy, bouncing baby boy in skimpy trunks. Meet my new blog--- Queer Costa! http://www.queercosta.blogspot.com/
My new baby is a community blog by and for the gay expat community and travellers in the Costa Del Sol. I haven´t really blogged on it yet since my partner in crime is still in haze after a two month adventure in the land of Papi Chulos and telenovelas but I promise to fill it during the Holy Week break. So, wish me luck on this new endeavor and to my fellow fags in and around ANDALUCIA, let´s unite and paint the town the color of rainbow!
Moving on, let´s do a recap of what my weekend has been like:
Back to Back Beauty Bitchin´
Last Friday I was able to watch Mr. España on the telly. I thought I would be sporting a wood throughout the show but it turned out that it was the most hilarious thing I´ve ever seen in my life next to Romy and Michelle´s High School Reunion. The contestants were totally clueless that they were on stage. They looked like they were just asked to buy something from the grocery then suddenly found themselves, almost naked, in front of thousand of spectators. In fairness, a lot of the contestants were deliciously looking as well despite of their well waxed eyebrows. My bet was Mr. Madrid. He´s got a body worthy of a tube of KY jelly although the face is not that spectacular at all. And oh yes, he won!
For my complete review of the pageant, click here but be sure you have a box of Kleenex ready just in case, you know...you know....you cry of laughter ! (hey your dirty minds, check out Nifty.org and not my site!)
Mr. Cuenca, on the other hand gave me the epiphany that I should join Mister España next year. Why?
Just look at his official photos for the pageant. If he did it, so could I! I mean, at least I look a lot more butch than him and my lipgloss is much, much paler than his.
Okay. Enough. I don´t wanna be too mean. Let´s just move on with some beauty bashing, shall we?
Sunday, the Miss España was on. I was getting so into it when I suddenly felt my tooth hurt so bad, it was more painful than being cornholed the first time! I immediately took two 600 milligrams of Ibuprofen and forced myself to sleep hence, I lost half of the show. I didn´t miss much though because the day after, the winners were all over the news. Morning, mid-day and evening broadcasts. I thought; ¨ gosh, if I ever see this girl with a crown again the next two hours or so, I swear, I´m gonna shut my TV, radio and other form of communications for the next 5 days!¨
Good thing, they got tired of showing her face.
Natalia Zabala, Miss Gipuzkoa, won the crown. I know you´re thinking about the same thing---where the f* is GIPUZKOA??? The answer is, I don´t have any idea at all! Well, wherever it is, I am sure it´s where the grass is still green and where they drink fresh cow´s milk straight from the animal´s breasts and where they have burrotaxis as a the main means of travelling. I could be wrong so check out Gipuzkoa in Wikipidea if you are interested ´coz, honestly, I am not.
Watching the show, I finally learned why Spain could not win any international beauty contest at all inspite of the fact that Spanish women are considered to be one of the best looking women in the world:
1. They don´t have any question and answer segment in the contest. Remember girls: it is not WHAT you answer but HOW you answer the question. Grace under pressure, that is what they are measuring you for and it is not what you can say about world poverty and all that shit because they know that you don´t have anything valuable or noteworthy to say to that, anyway.
2. They don´t have any talent portions where you know, they can display whatever it is that they excel on---even if it means eating live chicken or crossing a barb wire or something.
So there you go, I gave in to my sissiest side last weekend watching all these crap beauty pageant thinggies. Well, we all have our own cheesy sides and beauty contests are some of mine.
Since I was 13 years old, I was always urged by our transvestite neighbour to join gay beauty pageants in the island where I grew up. He didn´t want to let my fair, porcelain skin and almost androgynous beauty go into waste so he was grooming me to become like him, who has won almost every award there is, one of which, and my favourite--Miss Early Bird (since he was always on time and never gets late for practice AND always the first to sign up as a contestant).
I was thrilled with the idea of wearing his fabulous costumes but was always scared and told him that my father would kill me if he finds out.
¨ Don´t worry¨, he said. ¨When the time is right, you will be a queen just like me. Just always remember that in any contest, this question will pop up and so you should be prepared...¨
I was too exited, my eyes were big on anticipation. ¨ Oh, my god, he would tell me the secret of winning a gay beauty pageant. When the time is right, I will be a queen myself! I am so lucky¨, thought the beautiful twink that I was.
¨If you would be given the chance to be born again, what would you choose; to be a man or to be a woman?¨ , he said, holding an imaginary microphone now pointing to me.
¨That´s an easy question. Of course a woman.¨, I said with a smile.
¨You should say, you want to be a straight man because he is the pillar of the family and he provides for his wife and children. He is the decision maker and his word is the law your home. The judges love that answer and you will surely win.¨ , he said almost angrily.
¨But my mom also works, she decides for us and her word is the law of our home¨, I insisted.
He was shocked and finally surrendered. After that, he never bugged me again.
I knew right then I was up for a different kind of Queenhood--the one without wearing high heels in the swimsuit competition.