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


Wednesday, September 4

The two gays returned from their trip to Turkey just the other day. I was horrified when I saw them. They looked as though they had changed race over night, although I don’t know of any race that would take the credit for this pair he he. Their usual pasty complexions are now leathery and jobbie like and I didn’t quite know who was Queen of Fun and who was Babs under all that colour. I think Babs was the one with swollen ankles (deep bain thrombosis I’m led to believe…) and I imagine the Queen was the one in the skirt showing off her thong line. Of course I could be wrong. I don’t understand the appeal of tanning personally. That may be because my skin always stays a nice shade of milky no matter how many rays I catch and if I’m lucky to change colour then it’s always red, redder than a period. I like the peeling that comes afterwards. You know when your lying in bed with someone (in my case my teddy bear) and you awake in the middle of the night to discover they are lying there with what looks like a full body covering of snake skin when really it’s all you skin that has peeled off and they have since rolled all over it. It’s hugely embarrassing but does make for a great conversational piece. “Why Jan, would you mind keeping to your side of the bed as it appears my skin is flaking off and attaching itself to your face and you now look not unlike a scaly, dried up fish, as well as smelling like one but that’s something else entirely.” You understand my point? It’s not a good look. And people who go to stand and tan. I don’t understand why so many of them let themselves go such a deep shade of orange. Surely they must look in the mirror and see Dale Winton glaring back at them? Surely they must hear the taunts of ‘is it painted on?’ and ‘has an orangutang escaped from the zoo?’ being hurled at them so why do they reckon that it’s the bomb to be the colour of a whore’s make-up. If skin were meant to be orange we’d all be oompahlumpahs running around with mad orange hair and mad orange clothes but that’s not how it works so why do people insist on risking skin cancer in favour of turning an unhealthy shade of terracotta? I’ll never understand so I will take my colourless skin and outright jealousy elsewhere while I sit indoors as the sun shines through my window taunting me with it’s heat.

Back soon, once I drink some vile flu drink to make my legs stop shaking like I’ve never walked on them before.

Listening to: Prodigy – Music for the Jilted Generation

Eating: Porridge and soya milk, hmmm nice