Now this is the story all about how

My life got flipped, turn upside down.

And I'd like to  take a minute and just sit right there

I'll tell you how I became the Queen of gay fare. 

Her name is Angelina Moreno.

With long locks of mahogany sun kissed hair, green eyes that shimmered in the spotlight and a natural gait of beauty, she is the perfect woman. The curves of her body taunt everyone. Her laugh draws people in and won't let them go. No matter how hard they try no one can take their eyes off of her. She is irresistible. And every morning I wake up to her perfect face and her flawless figure plastered onto my bedroom ceiling, taped permanently on my bathroom mirror and of course gleaming on my laptop screen. 

Angelina Moreno is a goddess. I will do everything to be just like her. Emulating godliness is not easy though, especially when your hips lack curves, your chest is hairy, and there's a penis preventing you from flaunting a skimpy bikini.

Welcome to my world, Drag Queendom.

Population: Unsure.

Temperature: Hot.

Income: Little.

Happiness level: Depends on how real my fake boobs look.

Summary: Life is good when I look like a woman.

If you are at all interested, keep watching. Keep watching me transformed from man to woman in the matter of hours. It involves tedious work. Meticulous application of make-up, intensive study of womanly figures and behavior, and of course heels that fit a men's size 11 foot are all apart of my routine. I am the butterfly that floats between man and woman, seizing the opportunity to be good at something very few people are also good at: female impersonation.

It all started when I was at home one day, sick with the flu or something. I was about 15. There was this type of game show on the TV where a guy had to guess out of 6 women, which one's were real and which one's had master the fine art of perception. He actually thought some XX chromosomed persons were the men. He, nor I at the time could really notice the difference between the girls and the guys dressed at girls. It was captivating in a way. This optical illusion was so real, so different and challenging, but it resonated with me somehow. One of the best feelings is feeling attractive, and by god are there more beautiful women out there than there are men.

Take me for instance, Nico Pavle and compare me to say, Angelina Moreno. Angelina Moreno is a golden goddess. She is the deffinition of beauty. I am a lima bean. I stand in front of the mirror naked. I stare at myself, looking up and down at my body. I begin at my feet. My toes are hairy and my feet are as broad and as unrefined as baked potatoes. As I move up my legs, I am covered in swirls of rough hair. Primative. I try to look at my hips, but they're not there. Continuing to my chest,  underneath the awkard patches of hair, I can see my yellow pasty skin, a failure of white and brown. My awkward heritage of Morroccan and Serbian ancestry would perhaps yeild some beauty, but I think it failed in a time of need. My hands are clumsy and thick, like twinkies. My face tells lies of pudginess and masculinity. I'm somewhat androgynous in that sense. My eyes are a crinkled shadow-shade of green. Don't even get me started on my eyebrows. I am nothing like Angelina Moreno.

But the main difference between Angelina and I is curves. When you see a sensually gifted, extremely desirable, sports car, you love it because your eye follows the curviture lines. The convexed and concaved formations dance in front of you. Nobody like a boxy car. Everyone likes a smooth, rounded, volumptious Ferrari. Our eyes naturally enjoy the curves of the world.

Since women have curves, and are beautiful and attractive, the best way I can feel beautiful and attractive is if I have curves, if I become a woman for even an hour or two.

So here begins my journey. I am an ambitious person. A ever shifting gender butterfly who is now attempting to win it all:

Miss Gay America

The ulitimate female impersonation contest.