I'm so excited I can't freakin' sleep. For once, my insomnia is brought on by something positive and not anxiety! I've joined a boy band! Way-heeeeyy!!

To be more precise, it's a group of five, hot, young(ish) drag kings and BexNoir will sing once more!!! We had our first meeting tonight and I wrote a song for the occasion. I am happy to retell the story of an ignorant man who doesn't realise his girlfriend is a cross-dresser. It's fairly tongue-in-cheek, but we're hardly taking ourselves that seriously. Think old school rhythm and blues...

It's called "You Ain't Been A Lady". Ahem..

'You say you love me, but you lie
I know there's something going on, do you deny?
You taste so different, you smell like my Cousin Dave
You say it's alcohol, but I know it's aftershave

Chorus:
I thought I had a woman, guess I was wrong
You ain't been a lady in so long

Why you taken to wearing my ties?
Your jeans are baggy, they used to be tight!
Why'd you put a lock on your closet door?
And who's is that lumberjack shirt on the bathroom floor?

I thought I had a woman, now I know why
You ain't been a lady, so much a guy

All of these little things had me running scared
All of these little things that we could have shared
Well if you still want me, then baby I want you
'Cause while you cross-dressin', lover, I'm cross-dressin' too!

So don't you throw out those girly clothes
'Cause I feel I'm on fire in your pantyhose!
Now we are the hottest couple in sight
So lets dress each other, and hit the town tonight!

I thought I had a woman, but she's all mine
You ain't been a lady and that's fine!'

Yes, that's the result of my late night, drag-inspired creativity. Haven't written or sung in nigh on a decade so the pipes are fairly rusty and the juices need to get flowing, (oo-er) as I'm sure the ladies will be ready to faint and fawn all over us. We hope.

Well, it's easier to write than talk right now as I tend to spit and dribble in substantial quantities in front of, and often on, the poor unfortunate I am trying hard to talk sense to. I accept I sound like a MOO-tard but frankly I am not thirteen and it should not be assumed my teeth are adorning braces, I have been an impulsive tart and had my tongue pierced, (I know - self-inflicted wound - no sympathy expected). However, this two inch shaft of titanium in my mouth would feel fine if I didn't have to eat(ow!), yawn (owwey!) or reply, with a cutting, dry and witty snap of my tongue, to the cruel bastards who are taunting my speech impediment: "nuffink wrong wiv my tongue, love, you wasn't complainin' last night!" (sweet christ on a bicycle, that hurt). I bloody hope I can use my tongue on the wife at some point in the near future, I is gaspin', I tells yer, GASPIN'! I have resolved not to be tempted to eat or talk for six hours, lest I continue to talk like a cockney whoo-er, in fact, I will rethst my thwollen tongue in a bowl of icth-cweam like a hippopotamus might in a mudbath.

I wish I was hardcore enough to say I'm an all-night party gal still speeding my tits off at six in the morning to euphoric dance tracks but, much to my disgust for mediocrity, I am suffering the consequences of having a few glasses of wine last night, that is, woke up with a mouth as dry as a camel's asshole in a sandstorm and now I can't get back to sleep.

Worse than that, I awoke from a dream in which I was taking a shit on a toilet in the middle of a field talking to my girlfriend when the younger brother of a boy I went to school with came up and said hello. I recall being mildly embarrassed that I was having a crap during such a bizarre reunion, but it did not seem to affect the poiniancy of the moment for his affection for me was unswayed by my wiping my poopshoot with a letter he was holding. Why why why? Why the younger brother of a kid I haven't seen in fifteen years? What does it mean?

I really want a cup of tea, but I am particularly dedicated to looking after my teeth, at least for this week. I have been brushing, flossing and using Listerine's Arctic Mint twice a day and my gravestones have polished up nicely!

I am due back at uni in october, and to be honest I can't fucking wait, my brain has melted, hardened and is currently snapping off in crusty folds, disintegrating upon even looking at a textbook. This is a fairly accurate metaphor for how I feel about working in the job I have subjected myself to for three months. I have bored myself beyond any previous levels of boredom I was so proud to have achieved. In former positions as receptionist, or security guard (yes, stop laughing), the thought meandered across my inactive brain every once in a while that I was worth more, or I could do better, but MEIN GOTT I have never experienced such crippling mundanity as exists in this shop. I HATE the general public!!! Sweating throughout the summer in a poky little clothing store with such pretentions it's aiming to get Victoria fucking Beckham on it's client list. Run by the dodgiest, tax-evading bastard I have ever met, the shop is a scam, the website is bollocks and the mailing list has one loyal fan, his wife, who thinks that by turning up once a month to lecture the staff on the image she wants projecting from the shop, that she has any idea how a shop works or what the staff actually do. Retail is the worst shitting job in the western world, women shoppers are the most ungrateful, fat-obsessed, indecisive, delusional witches. Men are much better, straight to the point, know what they want, 'pair of jeans? Try these sir. Yep, those fit, I'll 'ave 'em' Just like that! No fucking around, no 'Oh, my arse isn't in my armpits, have you got anything a bit tighter?' Fuck it!

I am bemused by the shortly arriving birth of my sister's first baby, don't know if it's a boy or a girl or indeed a hermaphrodite yet, but who cares?! I will be joining the ranks of strange, spinster aunties who live with their 'best friend' and who mummy never lets babysit for more than a few hours in case their unconventional 'life-style choices' rub off onto their spoilt little darlings. I plan for my niece/nephew to go home spouting 'Crikey blimey cork-yer-bumhole Mummy, Auntie Bex and Uncle Grace took me to a gay bar and I had such a fabbo time, I've come to realise that gender is a concept without boundaries, we all belong somewhere on a sliding scale of sexuality and even those fudge-packers are human beings!'

I can't wait, woo ha haa...

Fuck me there's a storm a'brewing... well, it's done brewing and is currently shitting it down outside, in such heavy streaks of piss that I can't freaking sleep. I have had five days off work, and plenty of nights when I could stay up late, but hecky no, tonight is the night my insomnia kicks me in the tits and I know I'm going to be spoiling my first LJ entry with inane ranting until the dawn breaks and I have to drag my sorry ass into work looking like I've eaten a bag of onions.

Ahh, silence on the window panes, distant thunder. Many apologies, I am back in the room. Yes, this is fun, I can now spend my wandering midnight hours boring random strangers and unlucky friends instead of simply making my girlfriend want to punch me in the head with my sudoku book for keeping her awake with my incessant fidgeting and light switching. My dog even gets pissed off with me.

I think I may raid the fridge. The wife has me on a wheat and dairy free diet which leaves me ravenous come bedtime and the only thing I can scrape out of the cupboards is a handful of peanuts, or a stale corn-thin cracker. No butter, meh! I was thirsty enough to drink soya milk out of the carton the other day and realised my stupidity soon enough when I nearly spat the disgusting spunk-tasting goo out onto Molly, aforementioned dog, always waiting hopefully at my feet for droppage. Soya milk takes some getting used to in tea, will do nicely in a hot chocolate in fact, but jesus christ it's not for downing in a 'quick, I've just jogged round the block, get me somethin to drink before I die' hurry. Maybe I'll stick my finger in the humous pot.

Well, I've just realised I'm talking shit now, does this always happen? I look forward to spurting forth more rubbish during future please-slap-me-round-the-face-I'm-so-tired insomnia sessions.

Good morning.