Earlier this month Vada was a bit of a teary mess (a hot one though). The nights just felt so long, even food didn’t taste that good, drink not doing what it should… We needed a shoulder to cry on. Step forward the world.
With this in mind we launched our own version of Britain’s Got Talent to find Vada‘s next Agony Aunt. We received over 40 applications and would like to thank everyone who took the time to respond. Competition was truly fierce and we have been humbled by the volume and quality of entries. Who knew there were so many talented, heartfelt gays out there?
That said, there must be a winner! Well, err… or two!
When it came down to it Team Vada were unable to separate two outstanding entries, so are very pleased to welcome our Agony Dreamteam of Bronni Hughes and Sam Johnson. They will take up the role of Agony Aunt and Uncle on a rotational basis and set about the no short matter of saving the world, one gay at a time.
Thank you once again to all those who entered. I can now sleep at night knowing that the gay world is in good, sassy hands with you lot.
Bronni Hughes responds to Alex:
Take a cue from your favourite Scooby Doo themed reggae artist, and claim “It Wasn’t Me”. It might seem shady to use an adultery anthem for advice at the start of a new relationship, but stay calm: drunk people black out all the time, and in owning up to your little indiscretion you’re giving off the impression that you’re uncomfortable with a bit of bodily fluid going where it isn’t supposed to. Obviously publicly airing your stomach lining in a bar is never cute, but a mild drinking problem can be adorable if worded properly- I suggest that next time you message him, you begin with a line like this:
“Oh wow I think I went to your bar last week, but I got so drunk I’ve got no idea what happened. Do you want to meet up for –insert SOBER date idea here- and tell me how embarrassing I was?”
Have a sense of humour about it. The man works at a gay bar, I’m sure he witnesses a veritable rainbow of vomit during every shift, and if you managed to avoid actually covering him in it, this situation is easily salvageable. Plus, if he blanks you or turns you down, remember that you’re looking for (fingers crossed) someone to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part. And to coin a phrase from a cheesy Facebook meme that I’m sure Marilyn Monroe never actually said: “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.”
Fortune favours the bold! Good luck!
Bronni Hughes responds to Coco:
First of all you have to be sure your make-up is actually being stolen, and there are a couple of ways to do this using your drag supplies. No, I’m not talking about dusting for prints with your setting powder, just some sneaky ways to see if your kit’s been tampered with. If your make-up is kept in a zipped bag, you can jam a few hairs from your wig in the zip and see if they’re still there at the end of the night, alternatively you can dab a little eyeshadow onto the end of a lipstick, and check if it still remains the next time you do your face.
Now, when you’re certain your partner in crime is making off with your make-up then you have two options: confront her or put her off nicking your slap for life. The first is easy enough, just approach her in private and say something along the lines of: “Jeesh, I’m running out of foundation hella quick this week, have you been borrowing it?” or “Can you lend me some concealer, mine’s all used up and I’m still broke from replacing my blusher.” Make sure to be indirect and use euphemisms for the act of stealing, even though there’s no way in hell you’re getting that shit back. You’re aiming to guilt the girl into asking next time.
If she denies ever pinching your stuff, you can’t act for toffee, or are worried that following the first approach will end in a cat fight, then it’s time to get dirty. Publicly moan about your chronic cold sores/itchy scabies/ the stye that’s brewing under your right eye- you could even use liquid latex to fake a few scabs. Basically make sure your bezzie knows that you’re riddled with every nasty skin condition known to man. If that doesn’t make her think twice about misappropriating your mascara then nothing will, and you’ll be faced with choosing between your best friend and your Nars Orgasm, a tough decision by anyone’s standards.
Sam Johnson responds to Alex:
Oh my goodness. I need to check as I may well have wet myself laughing.
The way I see it, you have two choices here, Alex. First up, you can hide away for nine months/a year, or until your hair grows long enough to cover your entire face so that you won’t be recognised when you finally feel able to rejoin society. You run the risk that you’ll be spotted when you emerge and be shunned by everybody you knew before like some kind of stinky troll.
The other option is to grab hold of your balls, get your phone out and message the guy. Be witty, be charming, make a joke about the whole unfortunateness. Show the lad that you can laugh at yourself. Trust in me when I say there is not a lot sexier than a man who can poke fun at himself.
There is a time restraint to the last option. The longer you leave it without talking to him, the more you look like an outed alcoholic who’s gone for option one.
Sam Johnson responds to Ben:
Have you written in solely to irritate me? How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one? Actually, I don’t care.
Some of us have problems meeting men, let alone keeping them secure and bound in our garages long enough to form a serious, consenting relationship. I can’t tell you how to know whether or not to pursue somebody. My only advice is to ask yourself: why am I losing interest? If the answer is that the chaps that you’re seeing are boring, tiresome or have body-odour that could fell an ox, there’s nothing wrong. You simply need to keep trawling for a keeper.
It’s tedious trying and plain old ball-ache sometimes, but it’s what happens when you sign up (metaphorically, of course) to homosexuality.
I do have one suggestion that probably hasn’t crossed your twenty-something mind though: enjoy being single.