Deadlines, deadlines, deadlines -” it seems our lives are filled with deadlines. Unfortunately, due to the deadline this week for my article, I am unable to accurately report on the results of this year’s DIVAs. Deadline is Monday, DIVAs Monday night.
So how did I go? Am I a winner, or do I storm around for the next month telling anyone who will listen how shit it was?
After many minutes of consideration and a packet of flu tablets -“ yes, I am sick the day before the awards -“ I’ve decided to do half and half:
Oh, the rush of energy as my name was called over and over again last Monday night at the Paddington Town Hall DIVAs. Like a child at Christmas, my eyes shone brightly, even through the numerous bottles of champagne. Thank you, thank you, thank you. So many people have gone into helping me get to where I am now. Was it the excitement or the booze that made me forget so many in all those acceptance speeches?
Thank you to all the venues that have employed me, the Colombian Hotel, The Midnight Shift, Stonewall Hotel and Scruffy Murphy’s, as well as the amazing Sydney Convicts who have made me one of their own, taking me to Dublin and letting me share in their success this year.
Thank you to the boys at Fun and Esteem at ACON who provide me with box after box of chocolates each time I pop down and rattle off my story to a group of wide-eyed young gay boys.
Thank you to the City of Sydney, which has sent me on some amazing adventures, one of which was to read a story to a handful of children. I am not sure who was more scared, me or the children.
Thank you to all my sister showgirls who have worked with me -” Candy, Verushka, Claire, Vanity, Dallas, Harley, Monique, Courtney, the gang at Queer Out West and my second family at the Sydney Star Observer.
I would like to thank God -¦ oh and my children, Maxwell and Kakadu. Phew, I am exhausted -“ thank goodness I haven’t won too many of these things.
Now, if I don’t win, I will continue to pull that fake ballroom-dancing smile as I down my fifth bottle of cheap champagne that proves bottled dog piss does have bubbles. It will help me hide my disappointment. It will help me hug the winners and sincerely tell them they deserved the award as I agree that next year will be my turn to shine.
The last few hours of the after-party will be painful, but I will get through them by lightly chatting and refilling my glass -“ regularly. Then I shall scamper home, loudly cursing all those who stole my glory, and prepare for week after week of people telling me how they voted for me and can’t understand why I didn’t win.
Regardless of the outcome, I know I would have had a great time and will be paying for it dearly as you read this latest instalment.
Congrats to all the winners, and bitch on to all the losers.
PS. A special mention to a dear friend of mine, whose lifelong dream of making it to cabin crew and jetsetting around the world came true last weekend, Penny Tration. I will miss your craziness, Patty Teacakes.