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, July 9

Thought of the day: Toilet seats… does one size really fit all?

Fanny pads… What are they all about? I have yet to find a form of sanitary protection that suits my 5-7 day sex holiday. I mean what can you say about tampons? I haven’t risked them since my awkward chubby fingers inserted them so wrongly that I could not sit down in maths class for fear of puncturing my womb and the walk home from school that day caused much embarrassment as I hobbled so far to the left that my head scuffed along the ground causing permanent disfigurement. And since then fanny pads have become too much a part of my life. I’m sure there must be an alternative. Even using the slimmest of fanny pads it still feels like you have a family set of towels with embroidered initials wedged between your legs. It’s like friction burn central using ‘flying with wings’ but you try and use pads with no wings and see how far you get when jumping over puddles and washing your hair which are energetic activities that you really should not carry out when on the jammy rag. There’s nothing worse than having been hanging out in public all day to slink off to the bog to adjust your pad which has crawled half way down your hairy thigh to realise that you have soiled not only your pants but also your jeans and you are now the proud owner of a stain the colour of ketchup and the size of Asia glaring through your jeans. It’s worse when no one tells you and they let you shake your bloody fanny around on the dance floor, all unknowing and thinking everyone is staring at your girating puss because it’s perfectly formed. And when does the age come when you have to stop slyly adding ‘period things’ to your parents’ shopping list to avoid having to physically buy your own? Mine occurred just the other day when it dawned on me that I hadn’t been home in a good 2 weeks and it was therefore kinda cheeky to assume that my mum would traipse down to the shop just to buy me my glorified nappies. It’s quite a trauma, having to go into a shop, select which type of pad best suits your needs that month (because this has been left to your mother all your menstruating years because obviously she knows the flow of your blood…) and actually purchase them with your hard earned cash that could have been better spent on beer or adult content magazines. I found it quite a humiliating experience buying my lady nappies. I mean, I would rather but porn than buy fanny pads. I would rather the shop assistant knew I was away home to perv over split beavers than know I was ovulating. The shop assistant always has to be a pre pubescent male with raging hormones and erections that flag as soon as they see your purchase and know that this pretty young lady who they would like to take home and ‘do’ is oozing gallons of blood only centimeteres in front of them. Clearly there is nothing less attractive to men than a menstruating female. No matter how hot her ass is, when there’s a possibility of a bloody bush, this female has gone from goddess to Godzilla post car crash. Not having the availability of a decent supermarket within reach of my house I had to opt for a Spar, a small under stocked convenience store that’s as convenient as periods when you need to get laid. I slunk into the store, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, pulling a woolly hat down over my face and slipping on my sunglasses to avoid all eye contact. I found the ‘feminine care’ section easily and was gutted to find my usual brand was not available. Nothing else compares to ‘Always’ I tell you but this was a desperate case. The only alternative ‘slim’ pad was Spar Rapport, the supermarket’s own brand. I should have known it was a bad idea but at £1.60 a packet how could I refuse? To detract attention away from my bleeding beaver I purchased kids sweets and Smash Hits magazine so maybe the assistant would think I surely couldn’t be old enough to be able to have babies. After such careful planning the shop assistant decided to ring my jumper sized pads up twice which caused me to have to speak up, in front of a queue of 5 oversexed men that my pads were too expensive and could he re check the price. I heard sniggering and I was jostled on the way out and as I stuffed them into the see through carrier with my beaming face the colour of sunburn I wondered why on earth I felt so utterly degraded buying these essential seat covers. I think it pisses me off more than anything because I don’t even like kids, I never ever want to have any for fear of the jail sentence that would be imminent what with my good parenting skills and all and I still have to go through major mood swings, stained pants and stomach cramps, all for brats I will never have of my own. Mother nature was a man. Back to my experience with Spar Rapport. These bad boys came in the same sized packet as my usual Always but unlike Always which contains about 12, Spar Rapport were deceiving in size and held only 4, that’s how jumbo they were and the ‘sticky’ patch which is supposed to secure them to your granny pants was as sticky as year old pritstick. There was no way these pads were keeping me ‘secure’ and not messing my bed in the night so for added security the sellotape came out and this was wrapped around pad and pants a good 13 times. It didn’t occur to me that the stuff sellotape is made of would make the blood slide around vigorously throughout the night and cause me to think I had heamoraged as I woke up in a blood bath. I had to give Spar Rapport a second chance in the morning till I could get to a regular supermarket and so on went the rolled up curtain. Walking to the shop caused as much discomfort as my tampon experience and even caused the pad to wedge itself up my ass which came as quite an unpleasant surprise and made me glad that tampons were not supposed to be for anal use. I was so relieved to get some Always, despite having to face another hormonal youth in the shop that I wound up with ‘night time’ pads which are so bloody huge that they would have stemmed the blood flow of a herd of elephants and me at the same time. Why oh why does carrying out every day tasks have to involve such emotional traumas for me? And why oh why make pads so big that they creep out of the back of your pants so when bending over to give the builders a view of your hot ass all they see is no cleavage and a pint of dried blood? Maybe it’s time to give the ‘cleaner less minging’ feminine hygiene option a second go.

Today’s Likes

Lil Red
Blue Nails
Street hugs
Quiche, had to get some food in there
Prospect of my party

Today’s Dislikes
Beaver Burps
Hangovers after 5 drinks and an early night
Leg shaving, such an effort