Talk to my Agent!

I’ve always wanted to say that! Last week, I secured representation with WGM Talent Agency in the UK. I couldn’t wait to share this exciting news with all of you. Many of you have been on my journey with me since I started my blog in July of 2021. I was reminded of this last week, when I did a little reel on Instagram to commemorate ‘National Coming Out Day’ in the United States. One of the first blog posts I wrote was a four-part series about how I came out back in 1993. (Read here)

The truth is, when I first learned about Coming Out Day, I was living in Sunnyvale, California, and at 22 years old, I was barely wet behind the ears. Although, wet everywhere else, as the waterbed my girlfriend and I were sleeping on, suddenly had a leak. Yes, a waterbed. Notions, as we say in Ireland. It was quite a novelty. That’s a whole other story that would take me a long time to air out…

Six months earlier, in the same year in Dublin, I had come out to my parents, much to their disappointment. So there I was in the heart of Silicon Valley in the United States of America, where it felt like ALL the gays lived, and it was National Coming Out Day. Robyn, my all-knowing, loving girlfriend, who was 15 years older than me, had become quickly acquainted with my sense of fun and devilment. She nodded towards the closet in our bedroom, clearly suggesting that I spend the night sleeping in there, only to ‘come out’ in the morning. Truth be told, she didn’t do ANY of this, but I did. Obviously.

“I can LITERALLY come out of the closet!” I exclaimed.

Robyn threw her head back and laughed heartily, a laugh I can still hear some 30 years later.  She was a beautiful, larger-than-life woman, part Cherokee (Native American-Indian), had gorgeous dark skin, and long black hair. She was my TEACHER, in more ways than one. It’s ALL written in my memoir! (Sorry Robyn!)

But I digress. I have an AGENT! Exactly THIRTY YEARS LATER!. I’m living in Prague and now an ‘official’ writer. All those blogs, all those articles I’ve written for the Irish Times, the Irish Independent, and countless other on-line magazines finally paid off, as a I scrambled to get my memoir finished. For the past two years, I’ve written, edited, and re-written my story – The Fish that Learnt to Swim. It’s a tale of reinvention, not just once, but several times. From the moment I was born and my father exclaimed ‘is it a boy or a child?’ (an old Irish expression), to my stint as a private investigator in Las Vegas, to my professional squash coaching career spanning 20 years, to my part-time job as an airline employee in Boston (where I crashed the jet-bridge into an airplane), to my countless visits to psychiatric wards… yes indeed, the universe had big, comical plans for me. I do hope you’ll enjoy reading it when it becomes available.

My stories are always told through the prism of humour and that seems to be what gets me through. A week ago on World Mental Health Day, I did a short 90 second reel on Instagram, with my own advice to myself for when I have down days. ‘Call someone, talk it out’ is the best advice I can give. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder over 20 years ago, and while I no longer take prescription medication, I do surround myself with quality friends and family. I talk. A LOT. And that’s my therapy.  And prosecco. Naturally.

Lately, peri-menopausal symptoms are doing my head in. I no longer seem to have any control over what my body does. For this reason, I find myself walking into things, knocking things over, or just banging off other objects in my vicinity.  It’s quite comical. Just the other day, I was at my orthopaedics office, seeking the ‘all clear’ on my foot which I had injured 5 weeks ago while playing squash. I actually fell on top of him. He was sitting in his chair, flexing his muscular, tattooed arms (this doctor was actually very hot, and that’s saying a lot coming from me!) I was standing beside him, he in his neatly pressed white scrubs with bright blue crocs, and me in my pink desperately-needs-an-iron shorts and black ABBA t-shirt. He asked me to sit up on the medical bed which was behind me. In my haste to please (I’m such a pleaser), I didn’t quite make the leap up high enough. My larger-than-normal bottom hit the bed, thrusting me forward. WOMP. With outstretched arms, I landed onto his puffed-out chest, and stopped myself by placing my hands on his shoulders with force. Annabelle nearly fell off her chair with the laughing.

‘Oh sorry doctor, it’s early.’ I said, gazing into his big brown eyes. In his strong Czech accent, he assured me ‘It’s okay, this happens all the time’. I doubt it. I can imagine he went out for dinner with his girlfriend that evening, and told her about his first patient of the day, the middle-aged Irish woman who literally threw herself at him before breakfast.

The same day, I was emptying the dishwasher and stood up quickly, as one does, to put a wooden spoon back into its home. BANG! My head found it’s way into the corner of the cupboard that was clearly left open by me. OWWWW. That was sharp.

And before that, in the lift up to our apartment, I was chatting with Annabelle and casually threw my head backwards in a light chuckle responding to something she’d said. SMASH! The back of my head boinked into the glass door of the elevator.

Orla – 0, Universe – 3

And I call myself an athlete. I’m playing in the Irish Masters Open Championship this weekend at Fitzwilliam Lawn Tennis Club, so I will attempt to hobble around the court (‘your foot is not 100%’, hot doctor told me). I’ll count my blessings that at 52, I’m still able to hit that little black ball. Let’s hope I don’t walk into the door as I enter the court. It’s very possible.

Peri-menopause has me drivelling. I wonder if WGM Talent Agency really know what they’re letting themselves in for! As well as my memoir, I have almost finished my first comedy novel – Bigger Plans -which is a story of an ex-nun who was expelled from a convent in Dublin in the early 80s. She ends up working as a PE teacher at a secondary school in Cork. It’s safe to say the story is loosely based on some vague truths! I am hoping WGM will find a home for this book too.

Anyway, if any of you are up early enough tomorrow morning (Wednesday, October 18^th), tune into the Ireland AM Breakfast Show. Myself and my writing partner Val Troy (check out www.valtroy.com), along with Amanda Brunker, will be gracing your T.V. screens with the gang to talk about our upcoming Funny Women comedy event at Whelans on November 6^th!

And for those of you still wondering, YES, I did sleep all night in the closet in October 1993, and I did wake up early to sashay out the door with wild abandon.