Thirsty Page 9

  A major part of my growing up and coming out occurred in the summer just after I’d graduated high school. I was seventeen and, like most people that age, unsure as to what I was going to do and where I was going in life. I was meant to be starting a Political Science and Foreign Affairs degree at Curtin University. I had also registered to compete in an open-mic competition in a few weeks’ time so, just like the 2002 cinematic flop starring Britney Spears, it’s safe to say I was at a crossroads. Become the Foreign Affairs Minister or tell dick jokes for the rest of your life? Choices!

  As soon as we’d graduated, Ashleigh had flown overseas to work with her brother Heath Ledger, who was an outrageously talented and famous actor. I had met Heath many times over the years, since Ashleigh was not only my best friend, but also my neighbour. I had watched his career boom completely wide-eyed and in awe. But I was also inspired, knowing that if one Perth boy could make it in Hollywood, then so could I.

  Before Ashleigh flew overseas, Heath had spent Christmas at home. Ashleigh and I (along with our other good friend Matt) were basically living in the granny flat at the back of her house at this point. We called the apartment JAM (Joel, Ash, Matt) and it became our sanctuary to be ourselves. Heath would often come up to say hi late at night when he was having a smoke. Ashleigh, Matt and I would hurry to hide our goon bags or Vodka Cruisers when we heard footsteps coming up the stairs. We were always relieved when we saw it was Heath and not Ashleigh’s parents.

  After Ashleigh headed off to the States, I spent the summer partying with Matt and other mates and working at my parents’ McDonald’s. One morning, shortly after I woke up at a friend’s house with a splitting headache – we’d spent the night playing drinking games (I still cannot face pear vodka) – I rolled over to check my phone to see a hundred or so missed calls. Heath had passed away in the night and nobody could get in touch with Ashleigh. My family, friends and Ashleigh’s family were all contacting me to tell me the devastating news and also to ask if I’d heard from her.

  Everything that happened after that is a bit of a blur, to be honest, but I remember Matt came to pick me up and take me to Ashleigh’s family home which was only three doors down from my parents’ place. When we arrived, media crews were already camped out the front.

  Ashleigh’s mother, Sally, whom I’d known and adored my entire life, was utterly distraught. I remember giving her a hug and not even being able to comprehend what was going on. I also felt terrible, thinking I might be reeking of alcohol and how inconsiderate that was; I hadn’t had a chance to shower. All I remember was saying to Ashleigh’s family, ‘If you want me to fly over to be with Ashleigh, I will.’

  Then I left and went to meet the rest of our friends. We sat around the TV watching the news unfold on the news, all feeling numb and unsure of what to do. By then I had spoken with Ashleigh briefly and she was getting on a plane from Vancouver where the film shoot was to fly down to LA and, we thought, home to Perth. My friend Emma cooked us spaghetti bolognese and the combination of the news with the pear vodka from the night before became too much and I threw up all over her bathroom before someone drove me home and I got into bed.

  Later that night I got a knock on my bedroom door from my mum, who said, ‘I need to talk to you. Ashleigh’s family want you to go to LA with them.’

  I immediately agreed without having a chance to truly process the enormity of the situation and twenty-four hours later I was being escorted onto the tarmac of Perth Airport, up a security tunnel and directly onto the plane. A customs officer came aboard and processed our passports on the plane. We didn’t see any other passengers.

  Although I was extremely close with the family and Ashleigh’s mum Sally is without doubt my second mother, it all felt a bit odd as I wasn’t a blood relative and I had zero experience dealing with grief. Even now I’m pretty terrible at it and avoid it as a rule. I don’t watch sad movies for that reason. Apart from Beaches, of course – you don’t get your gay badge unless you’ve seen that. All I knew was that I had to be a strong and loving presence. And, of course, do my job as Ashleigh’s best friend and Sally’s second son.

  Twenty hours later we were in LA, being escorted out of the airport by dozens of security guards as paparazzi surrounded us. We sat quietly in the SUVs as we drove through the streets of California on an uncharacteristically gloomy day to the Beverly Hills Hotel, where Ashleigh was waiting for us. I’d been to LA with family several years earlier but that was an entirely different experience: in a Winnebago with my parents and sisters, screaming our heads off at each other as we bitched and fought our entire way to the Grand Canyon.

  We met Ashleigh in the foyer and she and I went up to our room together. Forty-eight hours earlier we’d been living our lives. Ashleigh was at work; I was sculling pear vodka. Situation normal. Suddenly I was standing in a luxurious Hollywood hotel suite with my best friend whose brother, an internationally adored actor, had tragically died.

  Ashleigh and I did the only thing we could do. We looked at each other – and burst out laughing. It was manic. We fell over ourselves. We had no other way to deal with the situation, it felt completely crazy. We just laughed and laughed and laughed. There were possibly tears, who knows? But we just couldn’t believe what was happening and where we were standing.

  I think laughter has always been my coping mechanism in times of shock. Or any situation, really. I find it far easier to laugh than be serious. And Ashleigh is much the same, which is why we’ve been such close friends all these years. It sounds so clichéd but laughter really is the best medicine. Well, laughter and Xanax.

  The week that followed was tough and surreal. My job was to distract Ashleigh from what was going on by taking her around town and seeing sights. We got a private tour of Disneyland, were chauffeured to dinners and went to fancy parties. It was meant to be the Hollywood trip you dream of, but it was a nightmare, like somebody had drained all the colour out and we were watching a black and white movie. All the while, though, Ashleigh and I coped in the only way we knew how – with humour. We still laugh telling the story about how one night we returned home to our glamorous hotel and decided to play a game of knock and run along all the hotel doors on our level. Who knows which celebrities we disturbed?

  The truth is, I was unsure whether to include this story about Ashleigh and LA in my book as it’s not my story to tell. But it’s important I tell you my part in it because I left Perth a boy and returned from that ten-day trip absolutely a man. I was suddenly thrust into the most grown-up environment under the most tragic and heartbreaking circumstances and I had no choice but to man up or crumble. I also had to really step up to support my beautiful, lifelong friend, who had never wavered in her support of me and for whom I’d do anything.

  I also want to tell this story in the chapter about my coming out because (and I know this is now getting beyond cliché) it was when I first saw the musical Wicked. Seeing it with Dani wasn’t my first time. Growing up, I had always adored The Wizard of Oz and would watch it obsessively as a child. I’d always loved witches and adored the fabulous, over-the-top acting of the Wicked Witch of the West. Give that woman a fucking Oscar. I know it was years ago. And she’s dead now. But, my God, that was a brilliant performance.

  Muriel, my grandma on my father’s side, always told me she was a witch when I was younger and instead of being horrified I was delighted. We used to play witches in her caravan for hours when I was growing up. I loved it. Although I don’t know many witches who have fallen on hard times and resorted to living in a caravan.

  But despite my love of The Wizard of Oz, I had never heard of Wicked. It was playing in LA when we were there for Heath’s funeral and I kept seeing posters and flyers for the show everywhere around town. I still don’t know why I said it but I remember turning to Ashleigh one day and saying, ‘We should go and see that.’

  She said, ‘Yeah, we could.’

  Thinking it would take our minds off things, I really put the pressure on an
d said, ‘Let’s do it. I really think we should.’ We had been assigned a personal assistant of sorts to help us out with plans, so Ashleigh inquired if we could get tickets. The show was sold out but we managed to score three house seats and a few nights later, Ashleigh, her other sister Olivia and I were off to see it, completely unsure of what to expect.

  By the end of the first act we were gobsmacked and by the end of the show we were in tears. I think we had so many emotions building up that we didn’t know how to release and the show was the perfect vehicle to help us get them out. It just seemed like the appropriate time. Wicked finally cracked us open. Because Wicked is all about being ostracised for being different but accepting who you are and loving yourself and your own skin, no matter the colour. Although, as I said, I was always comfortable with my sexuality and was never bullied to the extreme, watching Wicked was exactly the boost I needed to come out.

  And just as it’s stereotypical to love pop music or soft furnishings, watching ‘Defying Gravity’ sung live in LA, in the circumstances we were in, beside the little girl I met on my first day of primary school (and one of the true loves of my life), who had just lost her brother, was the moment I knew we weren’t the little kids, best friends and neighbours from Applecross any more. The two best friends who would scoot down to primary school each day. The same Ashleigh and Joel who got busted for opening a lemonade stand outside the local IGA one weekend and thus infringing on their business and breaking several laws. We were still Ashleigh and Joel, but we were now grown-ups. Furthermore, I was exactly who I wanted to be. And now I had to show people.

  Once we’d returned to Australia it took a while for things to go back to normal. It truly was a strange time. I still think of Heath all the time, and remember the unfillable hole he left in the hearts of those who knew and loved him, not to mention in the entertainment industry.

  I told the rest of my close group of friends that I was gay at a party I had at my parents’ place while they were away. There’s nothing like a game of Wheel of Goon to bring out the truth; I’m not sure why the Federal Police haven’t adopted this system over the lie detector. It’d certainly be cheaper. I can’t even remember how it happened, but an argument had broken out and, in an attempt to regain the spotlight, I announced I was gay. Probably before performing an excerpt of ‘Defying Gravity’ and having Ashleigh lift me above her head as if I were flying. It was about midnight and phone calls were made to other friends insisting that they had to get out of bed and come over because ‘this is a really big moment for Joel’. We ended up having a meeting where everybody told me, ‘Yeah. We knew.’

  Ashleigh was upset I hadn’t told her first and very sweetly said, ‘You know I would have looked after you.’

  I replied kindly, ‘Way to make this moment about you, Ashleigh!’ But she was right.

  And she got her own back several years later when I was one of the last people she told she was a lesbian. Well played, bitch. I guess that explained why she loved Bunnings so much. No one is that keen on a sausage sizzle.

  Once I was eighteen I started to attend gay clubs in Perth. ‘Attend’ is possibly the wrong word – it’s not exactly maths class or community service. Until then, I truly hadn’t known much about gay men or the world of gays. My knowledge was James, Wicked . . . and the gay couple on The Block in 2004.

  I never did do the wild thing of getting a fake ID. It truly never crossed my mind. My first experience of a gay club was the Court Hotel in Northbridge. I was dropped off there after a friend’s birthday party one night to meet Dani. We drank Malibu and lemonades and danced all night. I was a little intimidated, though, and definitely stuck to one corner of the club. I was also not very sexually adventurous in my early years of clubbing and being gay. (Don’t worry – I’ve certainly made up for lost time.)

  Eventually, James and I found ourselves frequenting Connections Nightclub, which is the biggest gay nightclubs in Perth and one of the oldest in Australia. At first I found it all slightly overwhelming but we quickly found our way around the club and formed our own little clique. I also always loved the drag shows and to this day can be found at the front of any stage cheering along as a man in a wig mimes to ‘I’m Every Woman’ or having a heated conversation about the latest episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race while gesticulating with a vodka soda. However, it wasn’t long before I moved to Melbourne so I never really established myself in the Perth ‘scene’.

  I met my now best friend Thomas (Ashleigh aside) soon after moving to Melbourne. He was dating a friend of mine whom I knew through the comedy scene, but when they broke up I told Thomas he could move in with me while he found his feet. Thomas was and still is one of the most spectacular human beings I have ever met. He’s only a few years older than me but is someone who has clearly known who he is since day one. He is gloriously, unashamedly camp, loud and brash, and has a heart of gold. He is a mad fan of the royal family and has Queen Elizabeth II tattooed on his arm. He also occasionally performs drag as his alter ego, Rhonda Butchmore, and once a month with two other friends he dresses as an old lady to run Granny Bingo, a gay bingo night that has become a cult hit.

  Thomas taught me absolutely everything I know about the gay world. These days, with gay culture becoming more and more mainstream and accepted (which is fabulous), the younger generations of gays don’t realise what our community has been through and the battles the older gay generations fought on our behalf. Thomas put those words in my mouth. He is immersed in the gay culture and scene of Melbourne and I am thrilled that he welcomed me into the fold, teaching me about everything from the Stonewall riots, to the first Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras, to why Miss Candy is the best drag queen in Melbourne.

  It’s Thomas who made me realise how lucky I am to be gay. I get to be part of such a brilliant community that you just don’t get elsewhere. I get to attend gay bake-offs, lesbian mud wrestling, drag bingo, gay camping festivals (like, actual camping with tents and stuff – not just a weekend of limp-wrist workshops), protest marches and the only clubs that still book Australian Idol contestants. And at the centre of every single one of these events is the huge heart of the gay community, a friendly, loving and just plain fucking fun place to be. And you’ll probably always find Thomas out the back with the smokers, Carlton Draught in hand.

  Thomas knows every detail of my personal life intimately. He is the person I text when I’ve woken up at a stranger’s house and he is always the person to counsel me through a break-up. Thomas’s opinion certainly carries a lot of weight in my life. When I was a contestant on I’m a Celebrity . . . Get Me Out of Here! it was Thomas and Ashleigh who ran my social media, taking it in turns every night to watch the show and tweet along.

  But the gay community isn’t without its flaws and I feel my generation of gay men (I make us sound like an iPhone) has contributed to problems in the community in a big way. Body-shaming in the gay community is at an all-time high with the rise of apps like Instagram and Grindr. Don’t get me wrong – I love Instagram and Grindr. I love social media in general and I hate hearing older people attacking it. I always say, ‘That’s fine, don’t use it. You keep calling your cabs. I’ll get an Uber (Black, preferably).’ But it’s almost as if every young gay man feels like they have to be a product, and your social status is only as high as your follower numbers. Every gay man has to be ripped with washboard abs or they’re just not considered cool. I know a clique of gay guys in Melbourne who wouldn’t be caught dead associating with anyone without these features. And it feels as if you can’t meet a man at a club any more because they have already checked your Instagram and judged you.

  There’s a disgusting saying in the gay community: ‘No fems, no fats’. It means: ‘No feminine gay guys and nobody remotely out of shape’. Guys will put this on their profile but can you imagine saying this to someone’s face?

  Last year someone took a photo of me getting undressed at my gym, then uploaded it to their Facebook page and gay men wrote comments und
erneath like, ‘Wow, that’s disappointing, I thought he’d have a better body than that.’ But I’m probably preaching to the converted by telling you this story. I doubt people who write this shit would be picking up a book – or can read.

  I have scoliosis, which means I have a twisted spine. My ribs stick out at the front and my body is completely uneven and looks quite odd. I feel totally uncomfortable taking my shirt off in public. And the thought of taking my shirt off in front of a room full of gays? Mortifying.

  I think we are so much better than this, but I’m certainly not innocent of some of this behaviour. I’ve dated guys only for their looks, or judged somebody before I’ve gotten a chance to get to know them. But I really worry that we are losing the best part about our community – our empathy and heart. Who cares if you don’t go to the gym every day? Who cares if you don’t have a social media presence? Who gives a shit if you are feminine, limp-wristed and so camp-as-fuck your lisp could open the Chamber of Secrets? The toughest man I know is Thomas. He is also the campest man I know.

  I always feel very honoured and flattered when people message me saying they watch my stand-up to make them feel like being gay is fabulous and something not to be ashamed of. I do get asked for advice for young people struggling to come out. I often get asked by the people themselves. I always start by saying I am absolutely not a role model, in any way shape or form. I don’t sell myself as a role model; I am a performer and comedian who tells frivolous jokes about celebrities. I don’t live my life in the healthiest, most Gwyneth Paltrow-y, GOOP-y way I can.

  So my advice to anyone grappling with their sexuality is always this: Coming out is the best feeling in the world. In most cases that feeling will be instant, but not always. Judge your situation and the people around you. If you’re living in a city then you’re probably going to be all right. Gays – we’re everywhere. We’re like BPs or Ubers. If you’re living more rurally where being gay might not be commonplace, then get out, even if only for a weekend. Maybe not now, but make a plan and do it. Find your tribe! The best part about being an adult is getting to surround yourself with people you want to be with. It ain’t school – if someone’s a fuckhead, get away from said fuckhead. Find people who will make you snort-laugh, who will drink cocktails with you till six in the morning, who will be on your doorstep the second you need them. Find those people and live your fucking life . . . and don’t let anyone or anything tell you who or what you should be. Find your Ashleighs and Thomases.