Alright, buckle up folks, because this is my first “serious” post. All the others were just me figuring out if I could live with this blog site. Spoiler alert: I can. It’s like discovering a new coffee shop that doesn’t serve burnt battery acid. Nice, right?
So, picture this: I move to Manchester. Fresh start, right? Except I knew about three people, and two of them were baristas who spelled my name wrong on my coffee cup. But there was one friend. Let’s call him… Glitter McSparkles. He’s one of those fabulously flamboyant guys who knows everyone and everything. Seriously, it’s like hanging out with a unicorn that has a social calendar busier than the Queen’s.
One day, Glitter McSparkles invites me to this holiday. Not just any holiday, but a trip to a gay holiday hotspot. Think of it as the Las Vegas of glitter, sequins, and drag queens. I thought, “Why not? How bad could it be?”
Oh, sweet innocent past me. It was like stepping into an alternate universe where shirtless men with six-packs were the norm and rainbows vomited from every corner. It was fabulously horrific. Imagine a place where you can’t take three steps without someone trying to sell you a feather boa or a rainbow jockstrap.
In short: Never. Again. I left with a sunburn, a hangover, and PTSD from seeing more banana hammocks than I ever wanted in my lifetime.
So there you have it. My first proper serious post. If you need me, I’ll be here in Manchester, avoiding any vacation destinations that have a “glitter rating.”
