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, April 5

I popped a bunch of pills yesterday. Eight Kalms, 4 iron tablets, Four St. John’s Wort and about six paracetamols to be precise, washed down with two pints of lager and settling on a stomach of nothing but crackers. I don’t know why I felt the need to eat so much pills but I think gaining sleep was a main priority. Although I think the iron tablets counteracted the desired effect. Maybe the tablets on a lack of food caused the severe dry pukin’ I had this morning where I thought my eyes may release themselves from my sockets as I hacked up a load of bile. I finally managed to remove my lip from the toilet rim and realised I had to eat something. Two digestives and sweet tea cured the shakes for at least five minutes and I ruled out my walk into town. I think it was the homeopathic pill daze that made me wonder slowly in front of cars yesterday. I think I wanted to test myself, to see what I would have actually done had I been faced with a shiny red truck driven by a grinning maniac about to take me down. Would I have run or would I have let it roll over me (and possibly bounce back)? Actually I know for a fact that only two things would have stopped me running. One is the possibility of being frozen in fear or the second was that I would rather be dead than face the embarrassment of my running. The amount of bad running I witnessed yesterday was unreal. So many people resembling horses on E and the inverted leg, humf back sprint across the road is reminiscent of Freakville 2. After witnessing such appalling scenes of graceless wonders I decided that I would never run in public, not that it’s something I usually make a great habit of anyway. And then, two pints of beer later I forgot about this promise, saw a bus in the distance, couldn’t be arsed waiting the half hour for the next one, on my own with no fags and ran. I knew it was wrong but I couldn’t help it. I just wanted to go home to try and fix my head of nasty thoughts and I was consumed by the desire to get on this bus, whatever it took. Even if it meant I was under the wheels of this bad boy, I was getting on it. I made it to the bus stop, a non deserted one at that, with my droopin shoulders and ruddy complexion and had the ordacity to stick my arm out and actually flag the bus down. Jesus, did this look like a taxi rank? My furious arm waving was fruitless, the bus driver thought it was fuckin’ hilarious and gave me the finger as he drove on past. What a scene to cause. People were heckling at me as I tried to pretend I wasn’t actually waiting for that bus and decided to walk home cos let’s face it, I need the exercise. As if I didn’t have enough self made trauma in my life, bus drivers need to add to it by mocking me also.

Smiling Part Two: I'm getting real desperate now. NOthing I seem to do makes me feel good. I think I unconsciously stopped trying. Something is making me not want to feel better. My mad head has decided that paranoia is a way of life for the Fee and will be till it ruptures. And so, unable to cope with the massive pressure pushing down on my mind I decided that today would be another day of smiling. I am going to redo my 30 day detox plan, sticking to it as completely as possible this time. Maybe this time around I will even complete day 1. So that means that I have to try smiling at people all day again. I manged to be polite to the bus driver today who I was so grateful to for not driving past me that I almost kissed him. I then managed to pull off a half smile to the single mom shop assistant who over charged me for my bottle of feel good water and threw my not enough change into my clammy palm. I then thought it would an idea to smile at regular people that you pass in the street. I tried this on a stunner in shades but really I looked like a pervert and got all bashful and another finger thrown up at me. I was then presented at work with a 'crazy braider', something I have been anxious to try for a while now so of course that made me grin and gush like a drippy fanny. IF I complete this task which seems so simple then I will carry out task 2 tomorrow so I will keep on smiling and looking like a freak and keep you posted.

How Far Turd Will Travel: The Return

After contemplating this a few days ago, the conversation was brought up again by myself and Beautiful Boy. It reminded me of an incident involving human turds, again. A few years ago I got real sick and was bedridden for around 2 months. My mate Fin decided that he would be the one to take me on my first outing. We went to The Gardens (a bunch of grass and trees where pretty people get naked in the sun ie a Park in the centre of town) to see a local band play. I was fair excited as I hadn't seen any of my smelly friends for months and I relished the thought of sitting on the warm grass with fag in one hand, can of cider in the other. I didn't bank on sitting my ass down on a warm turd however. My new long sleeve tee had been tied around my waist and it was desecrated. I felt the warmth and squidge as soon as I sat down and as I had sat down with such a force, it had splattered against Fin's leg. How upset was I? My first bout of fresh air in months and it was polluted by human turd. It naively never crossed my mind that this steamin dump would be anything other than canine variety so I buddled my tee into a bag and took it home to my mother to wash. She took one sniff and lobbed it in the bin faster than I could say 'doggy do'. I cried and asked her why she had to be so evil to me and my fav tee and she proclaimed, "I aint washin' no shirt that's been shit on by homeless people" I asked how she could possibly know this fact adn she replied "Unless dogs drink Skol lager and eat Mcdonalds burgers with extra cheese and gerkin, then this is a first class human stool" Oh the shame of having transported a people plop all the way to my home, in a bag, not even on shoe! That turd travelled to Kings Gate then to the skip somewhere. that's fairly well travelled surely? We also discussed what if you skidded your bifs prior to getting on a plane to Austrailia? That would be shit well travelled. Or what if you posted soiled pants all the way to Sinagpore? That's a lot of mileage for a poop huh? How we come to philosophise over the distance shite can travel is a mystery to me, as is the furthest travelled browner which remains unknown.

Oh and slutwhoreprostituretart has begun her very own weblog so if you wanna check it out click here. It's all about shiny pussy... well, sparkley cats at least which is all the same to me.

Listening to: Sophie ellis Bextor

Today's Likes

Beautiful Queen of Fun whose beauty never fails me
Pretty smiles
People putting up with the madness of miss fee
no work tomorrrow
people who don't take my weblog so seriously, if i meant half the things i said, they wouldn't be written here

There will be no dislikes in this thrilling installment as they only envoke negativity