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I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else My Profile
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I hate fireworks. I hate returning home on fireworks night to squidge around in all the pee that my dogs have released all around the house. My mum also hates it as usually it is she who follows around the dogs with her mop and bucket but there's never enough time to get it all. They just never stop. I don't know how dogs' bladders can hold so much liquid but there must be enough liquid in their to fill an olympic sized swimming pool. One of life's little mysteries I guess.
There's always a sneaky puddle somewhere you least expect it, like behind the toilet as though they were trying so hard to aim for the bowl or in the washing basket on all the clean clothes and you dont notice till you put your best tee on and your ready to party that it stinks of doggie urine. Pee is better than poop for cleaning up though. I'm sure we've al had the experience of getting up in the middle of the night, blissfully unaware of the turd delight that is waiting for you in front of your bedroom door, right? I'm sure we've all stood in a fresh jobbie barefooted when all bleary eyed and not fully awake, right? And I'm also very sure we've all proceeded to wash the soiled foot in the sink and pick out the stubborn pooh with a tooth brush, right? What? It's just me? Oh well, it's only happened once. Oh but then there as that other time... Anyway, I don't appreciate fireworks night, not simply because of the frenzy it sends my dogs into but because I knew someone who had their face blown off by a firework. I went to visit him and was freaked out by his melted face which healed remarkably well and have hated them since. Also, I'm a bit like a dog, I'm nervous. People of a nervous disposition shouldn't be allowed near fireworks and should cower in their bedrooms with wax ear plugs wedged in their ears to eliminate the noise. This is waht I should have been doing last night but instead, I went to a fireworks party. Actually by the time I had gotten there there were only about 4 left and I stood so far back I was in the next street. It was Big Boy A's girl's party. There were girls from my uni course there that I had never spoken to in my 4 years here so I was slightly apprehensive about walking in their being a big old lesbo. I have not been in a room with that many straight girls since I was a fat ballerina at dance class where I was surrounded by flat chested chicks who fancied the bloke from 2 unlimited and wore shiny lycra. They were good times. Anyway, I was glad of my late arrival as we had missed the earlier trauma when fireworks started shooting directly at the bystanders which caused them to throw themselves into bushes and trees and had them picking shubbery out of their fluffy hoods for hours. No one else seemed to be really drinking, there were glasses of water being passed around and sausages and pie but I drank vodka out of a miniture wine glass and got wasted on about 3 of them. It was weird being with all these 'new' people and when I did utter a word, I made sure my every 't' was pronounced, that I didn't mention anything about jobbies and that I asked for 'toilet roll' as opposed to 'bog roll'. It was quite odd but it was a pleasant evening and despite my reservations I was glad I went. I wondered how J Bo or Gobby Bobby or Beautiful Boy would have reacted in this situation? I wondered if Beautiful Boy would have found a dress to put on? Would J Bo have played 'Tiffany' on repeat as we all ran around the table and would Gobby Bobby have been yelling and checking our every ladys' ass? I can't answer these questions but I can go try on my new puke-like jeans while watching yet more Tipping The Velvet as I eat enough to feed a starving country eight times over. So long, farewell, auf weidersien, goodbye. Britney Wannabe 
11/06/2002 02:58:00 PM
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Adventures of Charmin |
