SASSY, BRASSY & NOT SO MUCH CLASSY!!!

A long time ago in a faraway land called Seattle, there lived a Princess who was called Colby Christopher. Little Princess Colby was at a crossroads. There was so much on his mind, and he was plagued with sleepless nights. He was a college graduate; he had dreams of acting; he was recently single (but still living with the guy … I know right?); and he felt truly lost. So many ideas swam around in his head and he felt overwhelmed. What would he do?


Princess Colby had always had so many goals in life, and one night in January 2004 he said, “F*ck It! I am moving to Los Angeles!” Shortly after his divine revelation, he had arranged a job and an apartment with a roommate (who turned out to be a Christian nudist, but that will come at a later date), and came to grips with that fact that he would be paying rent in two cities for six months (but he was not bitter … mmmmhhh!). He was going to do what he needed to do, and he knew it was time to live the life he had envisioned as a young lad.


On March 1, 2004 at 4 a.m., I, Princess Colby, took my leap of faith. That morning I said goodbye to my then ex-boyfriend (who I, as I said before, I still lived with in a one bedroom … awkward!) and traveled in a town car to the airport. I flew out of Seattle at 6:10 a.m., and moved 1,153 miles south to West Hollywood, California. I had two suitcases, money in my savings account, high hopes and extremely shaky knees. I desired so many things, and I was ready to grab them all, no matter how much I was freaking out. I would not be stopped by anything or anyone! I was not going to be my own worst enemy!


I had large career goals. I had specific financial goals. I had grand goals toward fame. I had a plan! (Literally it was written out and attached to a spreadsheet with dates.) I wanted everything Los Angeles (hell, the world) had to offer to me. I was 25, and I was passionate about my new beginnings. (Oh if one could only be 25 again, with not an ounce of jadedness.)


One particular thing on my list was to fall in love. I wanted the partner (or husband for you folks who can legally call someone that … but I am not bitter!?) that I would share trips with, holidays with, dogs with, and lots of sex with (Okaay!). I had been “in love” before, but deep down I knew it was not LOVE. Before you start thinking that this is soooo “Carrie Bradshaw”… get that out of your f*ckin’ head! I am not some 20-something twink with bright eyes, an open heart and a brain located in my crotch. This is about real life as an adult, and it is not going to be romanticized and filled with Gucci and Dior. My life is filled with the grit and garbage that one has to wade through at times, in addition to the amazing things that life brings along as well.


For those of you who have ever dived into the gay scene, in any city, you know that it is not always the most comforting and welcoming atmosphere for one’s self confidence. You will encounter the grit and the garbage I speak of. (I am not being pessimistic. I am being real.) In life (gay or straight), no one walks around pumping up your ego and making you feel like a prince or princess (or better yet, a Queen. Heeeyy!). On a side note, they do sweet talk and compliment at times, but it’s usually because they have other motives, and we will get to that at a later date.


When you walk into a gay club (or straight club from my limited experience), you won’t find a host that greets you at the front door and tells you how amazing you are, that you have a kind soul, that your humor is fierce, or that you will do great things in life. Most likely it will be some drunk, or a bitchy horny queen (and for you women a douche bag in Dockers spilling his drink on your Jimmy Choos) that might say something like, “Who is that?” (With a lisp on a “T”), “Hot ass!” or my favorite, “Top or Bottom?” (There are some classy bitches at The Abbey in Los Angeles I am telling you.) All that makes a girl feel like a lady, does it not? It makes you realize that love may not just come to you, so you will have to find it and weed through the grit and the garage, aka, the men Colby has dated over the last six years. (Maybe even my gay lifetime.) This leads me to how this writing thing came about.


I have dated lots of men, or at least gone on lots of dates with lots of men. I have seen (and more) the good guys, the bad guys, the dumb sh*t guys and the “I don’t look like my picture that is 12 years old and 50 pounds ago” guys. I have experienced it all! I have experienced the men that made me want to request the check half way through appetizers. I have fallen for the sweet-talkers. I have sat over drinks with the steroid queens who had the IQs of dryer lint. I have slept with the players. I have had the online meetings that made you swear off online dating. I have met the amazing men that came along with no sexual chemistry. I have thought I saw potential in splendid third dates. I have experienced the break-ups. I have done the extensive man-scaping for a big date incase clothing was to hit the floor. I have been wined and dined. I have done the wining and dining. I have dated the broke ass actors and models as well as the doctors and lawyers, and yet ,I am still single. (Por qué?) After all the ups and downs, do I throw in the feather boa? Do I become celibate? Do I give up my gym membership and have lots of dogs and/or cats?


Hell no! As you learned earlier, I had a plan when I moved to Los Angeles, and I am pulling that plan out of the file folder, which I keep under stuff in my closet, and I am going to dust it off and revisit each goal on that spreadsheet. Over the last six years, I have slowly (sometimes quickly … it’s amazing what carbs and no gym time can do) derailed myself with the decisions I have made, but now I am back in the saddle, and I am ready to accomplish what I set out to do six years ago. Is this my “Independent Woman” moment? Well … I bought the stylish shoes I’m wearin’, so f*ck yes, I am an Independent Woman, and I am standing up!


I turned 32 this year, and I am changing the way I behave and how I do things. I may look 25 still, (thank you Nurse Jeisyl), but I don’t want to have the maturity and naiveté of a 25 year old. I want to gather up the life lessons, revive the passion and positive outlook, and then pack away all the jadedness and negative memories in a trunk and toss that mother f*cker off the Santa Monica pier. I am getting back on the wagon and getting things in shape! (In many ways!)


This will be the year I accomplish my goals, or at least start accomplishing my goals. (To be crass and a little less classy then my usual self … I am going to stay on the pot and finally shit!) I am going to reach for success. I am going to be healthy. I am going to be open to love, of myself and of others. In addition to all of that, I am going to write down the tales of my life for others to laugh at, learn from and identify with as they walk their own paths. I encourage everyone to learn from my experiences, my mistakes, my successes and my history of BAD dating. I have learned a great deal and feel that my stories have pearls of wisdom waiting to land on my readers. (You know you all like that mental picture!)


I would like to think that this will be read by some young gay guy who has been chatting online with his “dream date” and that he will go into their first meeting with a little more knowledge on his side. I hope that he will have never man-scaped and primped for hours in anticipation of their big date, just to find himself sitting across from a guy who is discussing his penis size over appetizers, and thinking to himself, “I Naired my balls for this!?”


So where is this all going … this blog thing? Well, I am using my voice in a new way, and I am ready to share my pearls (of wisdom). I realize that in order to make this beneficial for us all (my fans and myself), I need a defined purpose which will keep me on track to meet my goals. First off, I want to help people to avoid the landmines that can surprise us all in single life. It is one thing to lose a leg (sorry Heather Mills), but losing the will to live has no prosthetic that can be used a substitute. Second, I need an outlet that is creative. (Done.) Third, while I educate others, I want to remind myself of the life lessons I have learned. I want to learn from my own history so that I don’t repeat it and derail myself once again.


So, for the next 50 weeks, I open up my life and I share. Some of this will be embarrassing and some of it purely amusing, or both sometimes. (If you can’t laugh at yourself, you won’t get very far.) My eyes are wide open, and they are aimed on the prize, and by March 1, 2011, I will be on the way to accomplishing all I set out to do six years ago. (I know there are 52 weeks in a year ladies, but its mid-March and I am behind. Deal with it!) When the bells ring at midnight of my seven year anniversary in Los Angeles, I want to look back and say I am doing all I dreamed about doing as a youthful 25 year old. (I may even show emotions and shed a tear. I do have emotions still.)


So, if this offended you or made you uneasy … GOOD! You may need a little shaking up, and to quote the Diva Bette Midler, “Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke!” One week down, and 49 more to go! Muah!