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I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else My Profile
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Well I guess my trip to the lesbo bar has been overshadowed by chip shop chips and indigestion. This however will become clear as I progress. Firstly I will tell you briefly about my escapades in man ville. The Vespa Lounge was nothin like I rememebered it from Saturday nite. For one, it wasn’t at Kings Cross and for two, there was actual floor space and noticable wall décor this time around due to a minimal amount of lesbians compared to the stampede of blokes/dykes that there was on Saturday night. On arriving I could tell I was the most beautiful person in there, except from my two male counterparts who were suitable camping it up for the evening. Actually the barmaid had a few more graces of beauty than I did but she works there, she’s supposed to make an effort. Of course it really wasn’t like Miss World 2002, more like Crufts (poor dogs) so if I hadnt been close to being the non ugliest, there really wouldn’t be much hope for me. My favourite pussy munchers were 2 chicks in mechanic (grease free) overalls, I’m sure I saw a hammer in one pocket, maybe she thought she was eminem. Mind you I reckon she could have had eminem in a fight anyday. As the evening progressed we were not delighted by any startling arrivals but much amusement at the Arnie lookalike was had. And the toilets really were an experience not to be repeated, a bit like fistin with rings on (so I have been told). None of the locks worked and while the gymnastics I had to endure trying to keep the door shut were painful, it was either that or run the risk of bein barged in on by jimmy and johny and all their mates. And our evening of 3 pints and a bacardi breezer was over, event free and spinningly drunk after a lack of food and the inability to hold my alcohol. There really is much more I could tell you about but I guess the picture is clear and hasn’t erased any stereotypes whatsoever.
And so onto the dramatic event that is chip shop chips that has clouded my lesbian experience. On the way home myself and Straight Man A discovered the hidden delights of Finchley, there really was a chip shop and there really was a god. I took no consideration for the consequences as I bullied my way into the queue to order my portion of chips, extra vinegar. I had my chubby fingers delving in the bag before I could even say ‘fat bastard’. And then it was off to bed to scoff the remainder of them down my wide neck. It wasn’t’ til I was licking the polestirine tray and noticed my entire elbow was in the jar of reduced fat mayo that the guilt struck. Being a lesbian I guess I am in the category that should worry least about weight (and too much of it). Gay men and straight women endlessly bore those not fanatical about their size by continually counting very miligram of fat and wondering whether their arse, thighs and flabby upper arms look good in whatever they wear. But here I was in tears about the 80 grams of fat(more than a days average intake) I had just devoured. I thought about throwing it up in order to ease my ‘you fat bitch conscience’ but I couldn’t. Not because I am averse to shoving my polished fingers down my throat but because I would have woken my flatmates with my grotesque gagging and contrary to popular belief, I am considerate, to others at least. I finally drifted off to an uneasy sleep in which my dreams consisted of me being so obese that I was tripping over my chins and was photographed for a freak show. I hoped to forget my guilt this morning but the smell of stale chips and the feel of cold potato in my ear ensured I would not. And instead of fixing myself some cereal as a healthy snack to get me back onto feeling good about myself, I toasted a bagel (pretty healthy so far) and smothered it with not only butter but layered it so thick with spreading cheese that I could no longer taste the bagel. I still cannot stop thinkin about my gross misconduct with my chip shop chips last nite. Even KFC chips would have made me less guilty but no, I had to go for the oozing fat option. And for someone who for her entire life has been obsessing over her weight, I really shouldn’t do these things that make me feel so bad afterwards. I guess it relates to wot I was saying yesterday. No matter how much I piss myself off and get upset over stuff, I repeat my mistakes over and over. This pattern is really beginning to bore me. I guess I could do that thing people call diet but I simply find it impossible to refuse food of almost any description and for this I pay heavilly (literally). And so I will leave you as I ponder over may many bellies while I shovel a tuna sandwich into my gob. Todays Likes Surprise Texts Enrique Inglesias (that song, I just cant help it) Going to the laundry (pauline fowler esque) Toilets with locks My new cords Todays Dislikes Drunken food binges Sore nose from over blowing Peppery Coffee My chubs Finsbury Park Britney Wannabe 
2/27/2002 02:03:00 PM
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Adventures of Charmin |
