Diary of a Glitter Splashed Britney Lovin' Lesbo

I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else

Name:Miss Fee


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Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Friday, February 22

Last nite i met a couple of my mates (straight man 'A' and MILF lover 'K') after work. We tried in vain to find a pub that was not stuffed with over eager wine drinkers in central London but our search proved friutless... for some time at least. There were hoards of drunken shoppers everywhere, every inch of every space was utilised to the max and there was barely enough room for toes shuffling (a sport I partake in regularly). After scuffing through Carnaby for a good 5minutes which when in need of beer feels like 5 days, we came across somewhere which i think may have been called The Blue Post. I guess the giveaway was in the title but we went in oblivious. This place was wall to wall gay men and their fag hags, Homosexual Happy Hour I tell you. While this is clearly, with my lesbian status and all, not an issue it was the oddest 'gay bar' I have ever frequented. In fact i dont even think it was an official gay bar which is even more bizarre that a selection of middle aged chubby chasers and screamin' queens would hang out here. Not that there was anything wrong with the bar, it was just a weird set up for all that glitters is gay. As the night progressed, the shoppers got quite boisterous and clearly had indulged in 1 too many bacardi breezers and one particular group of jazz hand queens began bellowing out every word to celine dion while waving their empty alcopop bottles in the air. Baring in mind this was only 8.30 this was rather amusing and we wondered how on earth it took us so long to register all these batty boys who were clearly eyeing up my male friends. The -place was kinda like a theatre bar with alot of wannabe celebs and intellectuals. I am still left pondering the appeal of such a pub to masses of ordinary mincey lookin' gay men who along with their 'look at me with my beautiful gay men' fag hags seemed very much out of place yet right at home in this old man's kinda bar. ON the whole tho, we enjoyed our beers while tucked into a tiny corner by the fag (and I mean cigarttes) machine and stumbled home after such indulgences at some ridiculous hour of the night, 9.10pm to be precise in time for a stop by 24 hour tescos for some pasta salads, how quaint and refined, no chippers and KFC after a hard nights drinkin (is 3 pints classed as a hard nights drinking if you are past the age of 13?)for us classy folk... how nice that after piling on the calories with our beer that we would then watch our weight and fat content intake by tenderly enjoying a pasta delight of the low fat variety. Contradictions rule.

While writing about this pub and its appeal to unsuited gay men, another issue has been thrown up... fuckin' fag hags. i dont tend to swear alot but fag hags infuriate me intensely. Just cos I'm a femme kinda lookin' lesbian people always think I am hanging out with my gay male friends (or straight male friends who r often mistaken as gay men) that I am basking in their glory and wanting to shag them. They are never mistaken as the hetty betty blokes out with their lesbian mate, no always me as the fag hag. I mean how dare i have the nerve to look like a girl AND be a lesbian? what's that about?? I am often mistaken as a scene virgin and am expected to cut my hair and develop a swagger anytime soon. Its really not gonna happen. I like my hair and my nails too much and while I'm no lipstick lesbian I am certainly way off the butch mark... in my humble opinion at least. Away to apply more glitter in order to feel more girlie again as talking bout butches has made me feel all dirty... jus kiddin'...