I hate that place. I hate the butches in skirts and crop tops with 8 visible bellies who claim to be straight. I hate the femmes with their bleached blonde bobs which make their usually pale features even more indistinguishable in amongst the vastness of fright white. I hate the way vile lesbos sleaze around hot femmes thinking they can ‘do’ them and I hate the way hot femmes are so easily flattered by these pathetic attentions. I hate how there are more straight people than gay people in our only gay bar and I hate how they look at you as if you’re
in the wrong place. I hate how the sequined fag hags try and undress every poof with their savage claws. I hate how people walk straight into you so their sweaty pits are in your facial area and you can smell what they ate in 1993. I hate how these inconsiderate up-their-own-ass wankers never apologise for sending you flying into a hideous creature who cops a feel. I hate random arse feelers and I hate people that get excited by a sneaky unknown finger tracing the outline of their ass. I hate how unless you are a have a dick and a pretty face it takes 40 minutes to get served at the bar. I hate how people hold grudges against you for that one time you stood too close to them 5 years ago. I hate people who purposely burst balloons against your leg just because your teeth don’t jut out at a 90 degree angle. I hate the blocked toilets which mean you have to spend 30 minutes in the company of all the fag hags who can’t believe you can be gay cos you have hair and I hate the fact there is no toilet roll in the cubicles but plenty on the floor for you to drag all around the club on your beautiful furry shoe. I hate the two-faced people who speak to you when you are with someone but as soon as all that finishes they only speak to the ‘prettier’ one who could never be offensive or ignore you in the street. I hate it when they blank you in favour of the someone else everytime while I'm left wondering why their lack of interest in me bothers me so much when I can't think of one good thing to say about them anyway. I hate the twatts who spin around on the dancefloor forgetting there are another 50 people vying for floor space too and I hate the femmes who think that because they wear a bad gypsy frill or see through shirt that they are beautiful and that it is perfectly acceptable to walk around as though they have a steel pole up their prim little ass and that everyone should be thankful of their presence and try and do them. I hate everything about that place. Everyone has such an unnecessarily high opinion of themselves. They all think they are so much better than the next femme wannabe or the next shirtless poof. They make me sick. If they looked in the mirror for one single second they would see what everyone else sees, a vain nob with stupid clothes and the personality of a decaying moth. I think the femmes that try too hard are the worst. Who cares that you can wear girly shoes and fitted trousers? That doesn’t make you any prettier than her in the baggy trousers or her with the cropped hair. And at least these people have personalities and don’t go out solely for the reason of being worshipped. I’m sure they will all live miserable existences as despite being some sort of ‘show piece’ for the blind, they have no substance, their conversations are limited to ‘you’re a dick’ and they can probably fuck as well as they dress. So, don’t stand all over my feet again and don’t bother squinting at me in an effort to give me a dirty look with all that eye liner on because I can’t even make out your eye area. I hate you. Fuck off.
So, that was my weekend. How was yours? I feel marginally better, having gotten all that out of my system. It freed up some head space and now I can tell you what I like – to even it out and to make my screwed up fingers less tense.
I like being happy. I like not feeling insecure and I like people who don’t make me feel like an oat from a turd. I like being called ‘favourite fee’ and I like being called ‘baby’. I like my new skirt and I like the trousers I wear underneath it. I like going to the pub in a group and I like phonecalls from my friends. I like a nice text and I like a surprise email (even if I am bad at replying). I like when I don’t have to eat to feel happy and I like eating cheese. I like the way my hair sits somedays and I like my sparkley nails, apart from the one that I chewed right down. I like not being hungover but I can’t remember what it feels like after drinking more than 2 drinks. I like my new cd and I like stupid things that make me smile. I like not stressing myself out by thinking too much and I like not going to that
club because it stresses me out. I like friends who don't try and do other friends and I like not thinking about this. I like hanging out with my bitches and I like it when they feel the same. I like mochas and early grey and I like coconut everything and having good smelling hair. I like other people’s hair to smell good too and I like when they remember silly trivial things that I expect them to forget. I love watching buffy which I have missed ever since the new series started and I like watching Sex and the City. I love a night in when our group gets together and I love the stupidity that goes with it. I love how people get excited over immature things and I love how I know all of my friends are always there. I love hugs and kisses and any kind of affection whenever possible from the people I like and I love to return such affection whenever possible. I like all the people who I know from weblogging and I like to blog whenever I can. I like it when I can make myself smile so it’s even better to make others do the same.
I like a lot of things but usually my head is so filled with uncalled for angst that the good stuff gets lost. Now I think I have exhausted my likes for the day but feel kinda good for doing so. No doubt my rage will have returned by tomorrow because as everyone knows, I’m angry Fee but until then I will wander around inside my head and try and catch all the good thoughts before they disappear. And while doing that I think I’m allowed to eat onion rings and ice cream and think about power walking into town.
Listening to: Billie Jean: the remix…