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


My 100 Things

Mail Me

Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Monday, August 12

Having had a 9 hour sleep and having been furiously typing up my coursework I think I am almost fit to tell you about the party. The fact that my hangover has stretched over 2 days is another story completely and the fact that I have built this party of silly clothes and even sillier people up to be something huge, I guarantee you will be disappointed. It’s one of these things that no matter how well I think I’m describing the busted bushes and food fights that you really had to be there to appreciate the whole thing. There’s too much I can tell you about the ‘fashion’ that made an appearance but it was all rather Breakfast Club and Working Girl esque with massive phones, an assortment of heels, hideous blouses and turquoise tights. That was just the boys. Beautiful Boy is becoming far to accustomed to doning women’s clothes and the worst incident of such a nature was the spangly black and gold number with fish net stockings. This was bad in itself but with the removal of underwear and jumbo sausages poking through the tights it was quite a sight to behold and one that refuses to eradicate itself from my memory. The fruit punch had all guests rolling around in the grass either demonstrating sexual positions (oh how my eyes were well and truly opened), doing double rolls (although I was so heavy that I couldn’t get my shoulders off the ground and thus ruined it for my partner) and being thrown quite literally into thorny bushes as Lil Red thought it was essential to spin me around faster than I’ve ever moved in my life, and then let me go, narrowly missing the washing line and landing into a bush, story of my life, much to the dismay of Babs the host whose parents are quite proud of their fuschia bushes. With the introduction of a terry towelling leotard to the group ala Mad A it was only a matter of time before the rhythm gymnastics were to follow. The number of highly pulled up trousers was impressive although poor Straight Man A who was Geek 2002 had difficulty with sitting and braces stretched right up meant there was little cavorting for mr visible balls. One of my favourite things was the party games. A violent game of musical chairs broke 2 chairs, 1 nose and 3 relationships as people fought and pushed and bit to get a chair. Musical statues was more subdued and lasted a mere 30 seconds with drunk people incapable of standing still for any length of time. I think I was out first as my side pony kept fluttering in the wind. The other party game that was a hit was ‘pin the pubes on gareth [gates]’ which is pretty self explanatory and guaranteed that many people were floating around with hair in places hair should be illegal. There was a momentous occasion for me when after a food fight broke out between myself and Lil Red and Queen of Fun there was an egging. Not content with smearing cake in The Queen’s cheeky face I made a grab for an egg and satisfyingly smashed it over her head. She then ran around like a 3 year old on poppers screaming ‘I’m a pastry I’m a pastry’. There was an incident leading from this that led her to have her head in the oven to prove the point that she could be an ‘apple danish’. We managed to get her out before the hairspray fumes in her hair caught alight. The party lasted til 5am although the host and his man were out of the game by 1pm but I’m sure I could have danced all night. I’m a slave to the 80s rhythm. It’s all wrong. As was trying to start and finish an essay for university after 3 hours sleep and waking up still twatted. It’s done and dusted but really is rather vague, pointless and crap. That’s what I get for having too much fun at silly parties where the main themes were ill fitting clothes, side partened hair and party susies. Off I go to wonder why when I tell stories they sound so dull and find a possible remedy to this and also to recount my bruises from Saturday night of which there are at least 14 new ones as well as bumps down the front of both my legs. Curious. It’s not a good night if you don’t wake up battered or like Straight Man A who came away with singed eyebrows and lashes and doesn’t even smoke. Maybe he got caught in the cross fire of the lesbos lighting flammable substances in an attempt to ‘accidently’ burn each other. Hmmm.

Concerned about: The amount of dry skin falling off my face
Wishing: I could do it all over again
Look out for: the photos that are sure to follow although apparently my side pony takes up most room