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, August 2

Despite having much less cash than I need to survive for teh next 4 weeks I decided that dancing, vodka and menthol fags were far more of a priority than food, new clothes and general living expenses for the next month. Myself and my gay crew took our asses out to the Wodka bar for the first time in at least 2 weeks which is impressive as for a long time we were kinda haunting the place with our overtly gay selves and were even on first name terms with too many bar staff. Having already necked some triple freezer vodaks I was well on the way to being suitably wasted and with the chronic indigestion I was experiencing I was in a shape and a half. Our numbers diminished and we headed for classier establishments such as Revolution where we hung outside and spotted someone wearing an actual stripey blazer with shoes pointer than a ballet toe. We moved onto the Priory but the lack of people made sure we would not be sleazing our way around teh dancefloor to Holly Valance. There was no other choice but to go to Out, our only gay bar where for once I only knew 3 people as opposed to the usual 300. This was a selling point in itself whereas the music and nasty cover versions were not. We hung around long enough for Lil Red to as goos as doze in the corner before chatting to the manageress about the service, or lack of it, on a Saturday night. Points made, we made off home, staggering like the drunkards we are before tucking into teh cheese slices with as much decorum as a tramp gorging himself off the delights of left over chips and vomit. My sleep was short and broken and short and I'm left with 2 black eyes fit for a boxer and wondering why I even expelled the slight amount of energy to tell you about this. It's boredom that's what it is. It also takes my mind off the pain that is shooting through my ankles which is due to my pretty but too small shoes. I have very little ankle left. The bone made an appearance around 4 hours ago but still I persevere all in the name of vanity. Sometimes my shallow, materialisticness astounds me. As does the odour permanating around my hungover self. I'm off to take a long needed shower and too many paracetamols.

Excited about: Lesbo Bob's (aka Young Bev) return to the city of shite which occurs tomorrow around 7pm, plenty time for agony filled dancing.

Listening to: A1 Caught in the Middle (sorry)