Thirsty Page 21

  Having said that, the day gay marriage is legalised I will lose a lot of stand-up material. Every cloud has a silver lining, I guess.

  I spent a strange week in Montreal. Most of the time I was completely numb. I checked my phone constantly. Eventually Andrew confiscated my phone and ran my social media, knowing I had to concentrate on the job at hand. The festival wrapped with me at a gay strip club with Alan Cumming. We sat in the corner drinking and laughing at the rather tragic strippers and it was then that I reminded myself the world wasn’t ending and that I was actually pretty fucking lucky. Those thoughts were fleeting, however, and I returned to my hotel that night and cried myself to sleep again.

  After Just For Laughs in Montreal I was due to fly back to LA for a few months. Andrew and I discussed the options and decided that this was not a good idea. We decided I should go to New York instead, then duck across to Edinburgh for my season at the Edinburgh Fringe and then fly to LA. At which point I would hopefully be less likely to stand in front of my now ex-boyfriend’s house in tears, crying, with a boombox on my shoulder while he and his new man, y’know . . . moved on with their life.

  For many comedians, the Edinburgh Fringe is considered the pinnacle of international performance. But my experience at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival was excruciating. I performed the final two weeks of the festival in a small, one-hundred-seat venue in the main hub. I was so distracted by my broken heart I gave the show no thought. I was performing a best-of so it wasn’t the material that needed the work, more the promotional, getting-a-fucking-audience-along side of things. To be fair, I never met my producer from the festival and I think my show got lost among the throng.

  I stepped on stage each night to perform in front of tens of people. It was a serious ego check for me, having just come off a sold-out run of theatres in Australia and even New York. Each night after the show I would drink too much at the artists’ bar, stumble home, eat a Tesco’s curry, sleep all day and wake up to do it all over again. You know – living the dream! My usually pretty strict exercise regime went out the window (no one was asking for a topless photo shoot at that time, thank God) and I truly hated life. My immediate family flew to Edinburgh (spending my inheritance again!) along with several of my relatives and I had very little interest in seeing any of them. I just sort of ghosted through town, lost in my own thoughts, unsure what to do next. I left zero impact on Edinburgh and vowed to never return.

  Then I landed in New York. I was writing this book at the time, so I figured I could go to New York and become Carrie Bradshaw for a few months. That didn’t happen – I definitely had more of a Samantha approach to my time in the Big Apple. Long story short: I fucked my way through New York, sleeping with the hottest men I could find to give me some sort of validation. Although during the day I wandered around feeling palpably empty and alone.

  My birthday rolled around. I spent the first half of the day genuinely expecting Jeffery to come marching up to my Airbnb to sweep me off my feet. Then I spent the second half of the day expecting a phone call or, at the very least, an email. But nothing came through and I ended up heading out (in the Airbnb owner’s clothes who was conveniently the same size as me) and writing myself off at a karaoke bar singing Kelly Clarkson’s ‘Since U Been Gone’.

  The next day I stopped checking my phone for Jeffery’s number. And I haven’t since. (I also didn’t want to pay for international data roaming. So that helped.)

  I returned to Australia at the end of that trip so happy to be home. The last few times had been bittersweet but this time I nearly launched myself over the counter and pashed the customs officer as he said, ‘Welcome home, Mr Creasey.’ I could finally be in my own apartment with all my friends around me and process what had happened without the distractions of work or being a tourist or being completely alone.

  When I go through a break up, I go back to my other love, my work, and make that a priority, filling my days with as much of it as I can. I’m so lucky to have an audience who supports me and sends me the most wonderful messages. It’s those people I turn my concentration to and perform for. Performing has always helped me through any situation, no matter how utterly shittastic that situation has been.

  What I’ve taken away from falling in love and having my heart broken is that I do love love. Truly. But dating in Australia is weird. In the gay world, most people know who I am and I can never quite work out what their intentions are. I can’t do Grindr because people report the page, thinking it’s a fake profile, and it gets removed. Or they screenshot it and post it to their social media saying, ‘Oh my God, crazy! I just saw Joel Creasey on Grindr!’ But why is that crazy? I am a twenty-something-year-old gay man.

  That said, I have done Grindr in the past. I have sent dick pics in the past. I’m a Gen Y gay man. Why wouldn’t I? A website recently threatened to release them. I lost sleep over it for a week and eventually shrugged my shoulders and thought Who cares? It really reflected more on the creepy people making the threats. Plus I learned that it’s best to send your dick pics to individuals and not websites.

  I love the way love makes me feel and I love the person I am when I am in love. And although I wouldn’t wish the agony of heartbreak upon my greatest enemy (jokes! I would . . . Russell Crowe), I cannot wait to fall in love all over again. And who knows what may happen next time?

  Because that person I was post Mardi Gras in 2014 was the best version of myself there has ever been.

  Excited, nervous, determined – and in love.

  13

  Women Who Inspire Me

  As I’ve mentioned repeatedly, my parents were in The Empire Strikes Back, so our entire family grew up watching the Star Wars movies. I was obsessed and knew the names of every planet, character and ship, as did my best friend Ashleigh. We devoured it all. But whereas most little boys always wanted to be Han Solo or Luke Skywalker, I would always play Princess Leia – the backbone of the Rebel Alliance. Without Leia, the Rebels would never have defeated the Empire. I love the idea that Leia had the plans of the Death Star on a floppy disk – a floppy disk! No joke, floppy disks were almost even before my time! But floppy wasn’t ever really the right adjective, was it? Beanies are floppy. A rabbit’s ears are floppy. I’ve known a few floppy dicks, though. I was offended at first but just put it down to alcohol.

  It was in Montreal in 2016 that I had the privilege of working with Carrie Fisher – Princess Leia herself – when I was performing on one of the big televised galas and she was the host. But on these huge galas you don’t usually see the other comedians; you are so consumed with your own performance that you normally sit in your dressing room, keeping to yourself and only talking with your team of managers and agents. When it comes time for your performance, a producer takes you to the wings, you walk on, do your show, and go straight back to the dressing room to debrief and ask ‘How the fuck did I do?’ So although Carrie was on stage as I was, I never actually saw her.

  I was due to interview her after the show, as I was once again hosting the coverage of the festival for Channel Ten. I’d interviewed all the big international stars that year but we hadn’t quite managed to lock in Carrie. Her agent said she was tired, but after she’d seen my set and heard about my family link to Star Wars, she agreed to the interview.

  It was 11 pm when she walked into the room. I was shaking and extremely nervous. The only other time this had happened was with Joan Rivers . . . and possibly Cosima De Vito from the first season of Australian Idol when I was younger.

  I said, ‘Good evening, General Organa,’ a very nerdy reference to her position in the just released Star Wars film, The Force Awakens.

  She rolled her eyes and said with a smile, ‘Now, I hope your parents aren’t related like Luke and Leia turned out to be.’

  I laughed too hard and then we began the interview. She was magnificent, funny and dry. Everything you’d dream she’d be.

  Then things got weird. After the interview, Carrie stood and gave me a hug. I
was stoked. And then the hug dragged on . . . and on . . . and on. She wouldn’t let go. We ended up sitting and she hugged me some more. Every now and then she would whisper something in my ear and then go back to hugging. I was trying to make conversation and couldn’t quite believe what was happening. The camera crew and producers from Channel Ten were equally amused but had to pretend that nothing weird was happening, so they just sort of loitered while trying to make themselves look busy.

  I said to Carrie, ‘I loved your book so much. Are you going to write another one?’

  And she whispered in my ear, ‘Well, if I do, Harrison won’t be happy.’

  ‘Harrison Ford?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, you know, we were sleeping together for years.’

  Honestly, I almost exploded. I could not believe it. I had just been told by Carrie Fisher herself – daughter of Debbie Reynolds, Hollywood icon – that she was banging Harrison Ford while they filmed Star Wars: A New Hope, one of the most legendary films of all time.

  After that, Carrie finished her hug (we were clocking in at over ten minutes by then) and left, with her dog in tow.

  I had to sit down and take a breather to process what had happened while all the camera crew said, ‘What did she say? What did she say?’

  Carrie died a few months later and I was distraught. She was my princess, my leader of the Rebel Alliance.

  It was also revealed just before she died that she’d had an affair with Harrison Ford. But I’ll never forget how special it was that I got to hear it direct from her mouth.

  I love women. I adore them. My favourite comedians, actors, singers, artists and people are all mostly women. If women ran the world it would be a much better place. Don’t get me wrong, I love men too. I have also loved a lot of men. Intimately. And I do genuinely love being a gay man. But I have always felt a special connection to women.

  I don’t think that has anything to do with my being gay, though. At all. It has to do with the fact that I was surrounded by women in my household. My mum, my grandma, my sisters, our dog. Amazing women. And my dad is the greatest champion of women. The admiration and love he has for his wife and daughters has truly been passed on to me. I am stoked to have been given that gift. The way my dad looks at my mum gives me hope for love. And I know I’m lucky to be able to say that. Of my friends, my parents are one of the few couples still together.

  But here’s where my love for women goes – I need them in all areas of my life. For example, I probably won’t get into a TV series if there isn’t a strong female lead. I stopped watching The Walking Dead after season three when most of the ladies were killed off. I don’t like musicals unless there’s a female lead who gets a fabulous, spine-tingling power ballad. And when I go to the tennis, I would usually rather see a Williams than a Federer or Nadal. As I’ve mentioned before, in stand-up, I always tour with a female support act and I have it in my contracts (where possible) that there has to be a woman on the bill if I am performing in a line-up. Not because I’m trying to look cool by making some equality stand, more so to give me someone I enjoy watching.

  It’s safe to say the most important member of the Creasey family has always been a little lady named Bella. Perfectly white and the runt of the litter, Bella has more sass than Nicki Minaj and has always been a hit with the males down at the park. Yes, Bella is a dog – she’s our gorgeous West Highland terrier. That’s not how I would describe one of my sisters. Can you imagine? They’re nowhere near as good looking!

  So smokin’ is Bella that she was the dog on the City Farmers ads (a pet and livestock chain in Western Australia). She would model all the dog coats and look beyond gorgeous in her traditional black and red tartan jacket. She ended up getting a little too old for it, and then she put on a bit of weight. So now she’s a retired plus-size model. Bella is one of my favourite reasons to return home to Perth, where she still rules the roost. When we first got Bella we decided to put a few rules in place, ie, no sleeping on the couch, on anybody’s bed, etc. They went out the window after about two days and it feels weird to think we ever even tried. Bella now gets to sleep wherever and, frankly, do whatever the fuck she wants. She’s only the size of a small handbag but on my last trip back home I ended up moving to the couch after she planted herself in the middle of my bed. I wouldn’t dare move her for fear of being berated by Dad: ‘Don’t touch Bella! Let her sleep.’ I had a breakfast radio interview in the morning and a show the following night, but sure, Bella should sleep . . . she’d only been doing it all day.

  My sisters Holly and Alice are beautiful people and complete moles at the same time. I’ve always admired Holly as I think you inherently do with your older sister. Holly is the type of person who just gets on with business and doesn’t fuck around. Alice and I are much more dramatic and over the top, but Holly will have quietly broken up with a partner, say, and gotten on with life without bothering anyone. Meanwhile Alice and I will rant and rave, go after them on social media, write a chapter or two on them in a memoir . . .

  Holly lives in London and has a successful job in advertising. She is much more of an academic too. She is extremely disciplined and has excellent self-control, something that Alice and I also don’t really possess. I used to love sitting in the audience of school performance nights or productions to watch Holly on stage. It definitely helped plant the early seeds of performance in me. Holly and I have always gotten on effortlessly, thanks to her putting in more effort than me, truth be told. She also covered for me in the early days when I needed money or when I had fucked up and couldn’t let Mum and Dad know. Holly isn’t the type of person to ever demand anything of life, or believe she is owed anything, which has been an incredibly grounding lesson for me during my time working in entertainment, where it is too easy to get lost in yourself.

  Alice is far more similar to me. She is fiery, erratic and extremely funny, which explains why we often bump heads. Alice is tough as nails and doesn’t take shit from anyone. Like me, she loves to bite back no matter the person or the position they hold. I often wonder if she has gotten that directly from me, and sometimes grimace when I see her doing it, thinking, Fuck, I’m definitely to blame for that one, as she snaps someone in half. If you’ve ever trolled me on Facebook you may have received a trolling back – that’s Alice; very protective of her older brother and my first line of defence. When I was on I’m a Celebrity . . . and my social media was under siege from haters, Alice spent her days clapping back at them. Basically, what I’m saying is: Fuck with me and feel the wrath of Alice.

  Alice has a real grasp of comedy and the complexities of timing and delivery. She is also extremely satisfying to make laugh, having a guttural cackle you can hear from blocks away. Alice also lives in London, but like me she has stayed more in the arts and is a hair and make-up artist working in TV and fashion.

  When Alice was eight she was diagnosed with Type 1 Juvenile Diabetes. I remember she was in extreme pain for about a year, which would manifest itself in different ways and come on in bursts. I feel so guilty now, but I would often roll my eyes, thinking she was doing it purely for attention. I’d even mentally critique her performance: I would’ve gone for tears first and then thrown myself on the floor. It wasn’t until she was taken to hospital one day that the doctors diagnosed her. I was in Grade 7 at the time and came home from school and couldn’t find my parents – they were at the hospital, where Alice needed to stay for a week. My mum never left her side, sleeping in the chair beside her bed every night. Our whole family had to go from knowing literally nothing about diabetes to suddenly being very aware of food we had in the house and the effects it could have on a Type 1 diabetic.

  Alice’s diagnosis meant she had to be given injections of insulin four times a day in her leg or stomach and would constantly be finger-pricking herself to check her blood sugar levels, not to mention monitoring her food. That is so much for an eight-year-old to handle and I often forget what an amazing
woman Alice is to have dealt with this shit all her life.

  In the early days, while her body was trying to adjust, I remember three occasions when Alice went into a diabetic seizure during the night. I woke up in my bed the first time, terrified, wondering what the moaning and screaming coming from the end of the hall was, thinking somebody had been murdered. But it was my poor mother trying to revive her daughter while we raced to call the paramedics. Every time they responded quickly.

  Mum was also tasked with giving Alice her injections of insulin, which I can’t imagine having to do – your daughter crying from the pain of the injection, but knowing that you have to do it to make her better. I know my parents have blamed themselves for and beaten themselves up over Alice’s diabetes, as parents do with any ailment their child gets.

  (Note to self: Blame next hangover on Mum and Dad.)

  These days Alice has a pump that automatically regulates her insulin. The advances made in technology in a mere fifteen years are amazing. And Alice truly does handle her diabetes with grace and dignity. I cannot recall the last time she used it as ammunition. I mean, I fucking would – constantly. ‘What’s that? Your restaurant is fully booked and you can’t seat me? I have diabetes, you arsehole!’

  My mother Jenny has always been one of my heroes. I’ve always found her hilarious, not to mention the most beautiful creature on planet earth. She has effortless style and a huge wit. She is irritatingly nice and it truly is a wonder that she produced a son who talks shit about people for a living – I’ve never heard her utter a bad word about another person. My mum is a friend I love having around and we speak on the phone every day.