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


Friday, November 22

Since when did a red light and a green man equal 'drive on and run the dollop over'? Not one, not two but three cars drove through a red as this aimless wanderer tried crossing the busy high street last night. I could have died! And what's worst than possible death is the fact that I almost had to run in order to save this sham of a life! Imagine the shame of a wobbling dollop traversing her way through the cars as their passengers wave and yell 'drive goddammit drive', just to watch as I plunder my way through an attempted run to reach the safety of the pavement? Oh just imagine.

Imagine also fainting in the cafe of Marks and Spencers as you dine with your mum for lunch. Imagine feeling the dizzy sensation sweeping right through you as your head clouds up and the last thing you remember is the lump of chicken that stuck in your throat. You may not remember grabbing at the edge of the table as you slid off your chair, as onlookers gasped and went rushing to your aid and your mum watched on, powerless to stop you from landing in a heap on the linoleum floor. And then imagine the scene created as cafe assistants look uneasy and don't know what to do and contemplate calling the ambulance 'just to be safe'. Someone slaps your face, another gives you water and you are revived with no dignity in tact and you are left traumatised from the humiliation and wandering what the hell just happened and why you are lying in amongst the crumbs and loose hairs of Markie's clientelle with your mum tugging at you and making sure your clothes are arranged properly, so no flesh has come undone from the confines of your clothing. Imagine all the old ladies yelling 'food poisoning' and crowding you with their powdery talcy rinses and trying to force feed you 'pandrops' from the lining of their bags. Then imagine being wheeled back to work in a 1954 style wheelchair with a tartan picnic rug draped across your knee for comfort and warmth. Imagine the reactions of all the familiar faces in the street as they watch, bewildered, as you are pushed fiercely by a mum with no control over the gammy wheel, down the street you normally have no problems walking on. Imagine your mum's face as she pushes too hard and the wheel about gives way and you are slammed into a wall, legs first. Imagine the further tramua of your jeans being shredded by this latest accident and your hairy legs which you meant to shave that morning (and every other morning for the past month) being put on display for all them hotties you adore and maybe thought about asking out one day. Imagine the looks on their faces when they see that you are as feminine as Arnie and you can see their minds ticking over with thoughts of what other hair you may not tend. Imagine what this would do to your reputation and your entire life? You may never be seen in public again and you may die a spinster and you may eat your own faeces and you may wallow in a box of bugs and turds for your remaining days while forever being known as the 'hairy girl who fainted in Marks and Spencers'. Oh just imagine.