I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
I worried that upon entering a house with 3 people I did not know particularly well that I would find myself rummaging in the depths of their cupboards and frozen food packets. Being a lesbian I should delight in what other people keep in their pants but no, I get off on what other people keep in their fridge. There are always some hidden wonders that you would never get in your own house. A trip to someone else’s fridge is like a trip to the Chocolate Factory only with the ability to take sneaky bites from everything with the only threat being turning fat as opposed to turning into a blueberry or getting sucked into a TV screen. I rate my fridges in order of the amount of cheese they contain and then the amount of pasta/salads hanging around gathering mould. Cheese is my favourite food in the history of my life. But, cheese is the enemy. It tastes so good but you know that with each sniff you are adding half a stone, and that’s a half stone that I really can’t afford to add. The best fridges I have thrown myself face first into are those belonging to people who still reside with their parents. They are always completely stocked, so well stocked with cheese from various countries that you have to use your full body weight to keep the fridge door shut. And that’s a lot of weight. Not that its often I close a fridge door, they are far more appealing wide open. I have one particular favourite fridge. This is a delicatessan of all things cheese and tuna and potato and dairylea dunkers. It simply is divine. Even the freezer that comes attached to this fridge of choice is non perishable heaven. There are microwavable treats that I never dreamed would microwave. Lamb dinners with roast potatoes and peas all included and microwavable pasta hoops with mascarpone sauce and fried shite. The friend that this fridge belongs to does not invite me over often but he does like to spoil me by telling me about the concoctions his mum has made for other, invited guests, with the goodies from his fridge. Sometimes if I am very lucky he will take me out a doggy bag containing foosty substances that are getting in the way of new food arriving in his fridge. So who better to pawn such vile ‘food’ onto but Food Monster Feely, who will never even let green cheese go in the bin, even when it tries to walk there on its own accord. Never does he allow me to lay my porky fingers on brand new, just off the shelves food. Nothing with an original wrapper on is allowed to be fingered by my over eager hands. I love this fridge more than I love the fridge owner itself, well almost. In my experience of fridge raiding I have come across bad bad fridges. Those fridges that contain calorie counted everything (my own) and food so well packaged that to have a sly bite would be noticed and frowned upon, were I even able to get my bloated fingers within its confines in the first place. I have lost friends due to my food obsession as they regularly try and cut me out of parties (even my own one once goddamn) where there is to be a finger buffet. In my experience there is no such thing as a finger buffet, it’s a full body buffet for me. On the other hand, it’s very hard to come between me and my food (and gross if you are filthy minded). Many have tried and many have failed. Many have tried to join me in my passion for savoury foods but there can only be space in my well rounded heart for one love, sadly that is food. It would appear that I have lost my initial train of thought about my departure from all things London because I am once again thinking about my gut and as I am salivating to the point of electrocution I will leave you as I enjoy my work fridge (left over wine and veggi sausages…)
Yesterday I had to say goodbye to my American chick (whoever said I was possessive??). It was a very sad affair that involved hugs and my promise to be her electronic stalker. *SIGH*
Sleeping with 2 duvets (that’s ‘bitches’ to u)
My dogs (that’s not ‘bitches’ to u)
People who skid the pan
Having nowhere to piss when u really gotta go
No more London shopping days
Piano Teacher (the book and the people)
My breath after falafel
3/07/2002 03:00:00 PM
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