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About Alice Doyle

Alice Doyle

Alice Doyle

Alice Doyle is a trans lady from the Deep South who literally just starting drinking alcohol, like, six months ago. She's really serious about candy, Last.FM, orderly spaces, overpriced cosmetics, and pizza (Papa John's, if you really want to know her trés déclassé secrets). She wants to be your friend.

Posts By Alice Doyle

New Girl In Town

May 17, 2012 |

Disclosure in Mississippi usually involves counseling a dude through the five stages of grief.

Last night a Marc Jacobs look-alike with a caesar haircut messaged me on OKCupid to tell me that he wanted to fuck. I was flattered but occupied, probably getting ready for bed by brushing my hair 100 times and reciting scripture. Ignoring handsome men is a really valuable technique because they’re usually not prepared for it and it doesn’t take very long for them to get desperate and up the stakes to get your attention. About an hour after his first message–right on schedule–“Marc” messaged again, this time sweetening the deal a little: “I really want my head between your legs. I have a really big hoop in my schlong.” I responded approvingly and–because he hadn’t actually read my profile–he asked if I wanted to meet him at his apartment in Brooklyn.
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How To Watch Television

July 6, 2011 |

A few months ago I got rid of my TV set, which was a decision I originally made out of practical concerns about space.  The TV set, being something like a millionty years old, was an immense dusty thing that inhabited an area of my bedroom that I knew would be way better left empty, that I might occupy it to take vain self-portraits.  Plus I had basic cable and everything on basic cable sucks(except for like the trashiest shit, and maybe Parks and Rec), so I never really watched it.

When I finally saw a recent picture of Kim Kardashian, I was alarmed to find that, unless she had met with hard times in my months away from her E! monstrosity/reality show, I had never noticed that she looks quite like a sex doll.

Anyway, so I ditched the great shadowed monolith with Chelsea Handler’s big stupid face in it and immediately realized two benefits I hadn’t previously considered: firstly, I can mention that I don’t have a TV to support basically anything I say.  And trust me, I do mention it, to the bald disgust of my boyfriend, whose groans only add to my routine.  (Why don’t I eat red meat, you ask?  Well, I don’t have a TV.  I mean, I just, you know, I avoid caffeine because it really isn’t good for you!  It’ll fuck up your skin, you know, and your sleep cycles really start to spin out of control!  It’s important to be, like, in tune with nature and the moon, right?  I don’t have a TV!  I compost!  I recycle! This necklace is hemp!)
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