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


Tuesday, April 9

Oh what a night. It should have been late December back in ’63 but in my reality it was a timid day which climaxed heavily. My first day of easter holidays was filled with no work and one hour of alone time shopping. In this time I managed to get my grubby paws on a pair of pink wallabies (complete with side stitching), 2 GAP shirts (sorry to all of them exploited kids but in the name of beauty I just had to) and a packeto of smokes. It was then home to try on my entire wardrobe with said new stuff. Boy did I look the shit. The time between 5 and 9pm is rather uneventful so I will not be forced to give you a blow by blow account of every single book I counted at my work’s stockcheck. 9.30pm, enter free beer and enter drunken Fee-ness who started yelling across the table about my not so new found gay status, incase there was anyone in the whole place that had forgotten or was stupid enough not to realise the blatantness of it. Time was ticking on and I went to meet J Bo and Mad A, mental and as pissed as ever. I wasn’t even in the door long enough to park my tongue in J Bo’s gob when I was invited to Prague (trying saying that with a speech impediment). I was told that shorts were not a requirement for such a holiday of culture so I was won over. The night got madder and drunker with J Bo trying in vain to get me alone in toilet cublicles and us dancing like the fannies we are. Think we managed to shame everyone we knew when our retarded leg shakes turned into frantic flailing as Smells Like Teen Spirit was thrust in our ears. The mosh pit was pathetic so myself and J Bo (Mad A declined after smashing her pretty specs the last time) took it upon ourselves to liven things up. We threw ourselves at full body weight (imagine a flying rhino and you’re almost there) at anyone who came near us and at those on the other side of the dance floor. J Bo got brave and went into the middle and lost a shoe and an eye while being hurled across the place at the rate of much needed diaorhea. I needed a hip replacement and vowed never to wear my ‘slippers’ (god you people bore me with your originality) while moshing again. And it ended all too soon and I got in a fight. Jesus, that’s two in two weeks. Actually it was the same girl from the other night who declared that I called her a ‘dirty slut’. Hello, I’m 23 I don’t holler abuse at kids across the street but yeah, she was a dirty slut. This girl was seriously rough. It pained me to make eye contact with her for fear of what I may catch. I prayed she wasn’t going to whack me and stain me with her foulness. She didn’t. She just thought she and her mate were pretty cool calling me a ‘bitch’ from a distance of 1000 meters. I wouldn’t have cared so much if her BO betty mate hadn’t tried to pull me and left her stench of BO on my shirt.

Then I got fish, being true to my fish lovin’ tuna lickin’ status. I have never tasted mussels, and probably never will again but for some reason in a drunken non food state I decided to purchase a whole jars worth of pickled slippy lil suckers. I was eager to get into the fish but the lid of the jar came to be stuck in a position that it would neither open or close. A normal person would have binned these at this stage due to the overpowering aroma of salty fish. Like I say, I’m a lesbian and I couldn’t resist. And so we piled into a taxi. We tried to loosen the lid more to leave the driver a lil fishy in his arm rest cause we are horrible horrible people. It wouldn’t budge so we just managed to drip the liquid all over the car. I don’t know what gave the game away to the driver, maybe it was Mad A’s ode to fish that she was singing rather unquietly (“You gotta a fishy in your pocket and you can’t get rid of it”) or maybe it was the fuckin’ stink. Whatever it was, me and Mad A did a dash to J Bo’s front door and left J Bo struggling with change. We thought we were hilarious and slammed the door shut and crumpled in a heap on the floor, unable to move. And then came the knock at the door. Here was driver dave who had driven his taxi as good as into the living room, demanding a cloth to clean his upholstery. Oh there were tears as he mopped and scrubbed but that smell will be embedded into his car well beyond his lifetime. I even had the cheek to strut out to the taxi in my jeans and a pair of high heeled fluffy slippers (slippers really were not meant for heels) and offer a hand. I stretched them to a size 7 with my fat feet and clipped around the wooden floors like Dobbin on weed. It was then the vinyl came out and let’s just say that the eighties were well and truly revived with DJ Bo spinning the decks with classics such as Tiffany (anyone with a fanny in their name is good for me), Chesney Hawkes, Aha, Clime Fisher and of course Michael Jackson. As a true mark of respect for the dead decade, shoes were used as shoulder pads and bras were stuffed with pretty much anything and there was much finger clicking and side stepping. Mad A pulled off some good moon walking complete with leather glove, rolled up trousers and bad white ballet pump-esque shoes. I guzzled only four mussels and fed up with my fish breath (I didn’t think you tasted so bad J Bo but the breath doesn’t lie), I went to stuff the rest somewhere they shouldn’t go and I found a tampon (thankfully not used), bloated and massive (what a size of fanny that must have belonged to) floating in my fish. Nice touch. I planted a few remaining ones in J Bo’s washing machine and pants but I don’t think she will find those ones for awhile. J Bo and myself did a great rendition of Dirty Dancing and we even managed ‘the lift’ without many broken bones and without much tongue action but I think I did get felt up in the process. I was ‘cuppped’. I danced till I could take Rod Stewart no more which was around the 6 am mark and was thrown to bed at half past. I was not allowed to sleep with anyone for fear of the wet dreams that may have stained someone’s leg in the night. I did have my travel ear plugs with me cos I’m sensible but the night mask would have come in handy with the breaking light shining through the blind. I remember being in heaven, however. I dreamt that J Bo was kissing me and I would have awoken to a smile but instead I was thumped repeatedly, the blinds were drawn and J Bo was there in all her glory of terry towelling pink pyjamas. I wet dreamed no more. There were 2 reasons I was forced out of a sheetless (now fishy) bed at 11am. J Bo’s parents were due home from holiday and they didn’t need to see a fat footed lesbian in their bed, and of course we had to watch the funeral of Queen Mum. I think I managed a good minute and a half of the silence while the other two pulled of 4 seconds before spotting someone in the funeral crowd with a huge bouffant. Silence over and Fee is literally thrown out and left to fend for herself. That’s hospitality for you. I did leave a parcel of spew in the bog for Mr and Mrs J Bo though, that’s how good I am.

Listening to: Miss E: Party People