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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The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Tuesday, December 10

I wish there were such a thing as taxi queue etiquette. The other night myself and Gobby Bobby found ourselves very drunk and in the midst of World War 8. The taxi queues at the weekend are ridiculous. We must have stood in one for around an hour surrounded by middle-aged people lecturing us on politics and child labour in Kuala Lumpa and polo necked men intent on starting ruckuses. It was embarrassing and actually rather scary. All I wanted to do was go home but the queue was never ending because of all the inconsiderate twatts in shiny shoes who skipped the queue. Usually no one is brave enough or stupid enough to say anything to these assholes because you know they are the ones who will happily swing a fist or bottle at your head but on this occasion, Papa Smurf decided it was his call to tell the square-jawed man with red glary eyes that he must go to the back of the queue. Gone were our awe-inspiring conversations with this couple as the old guy in his large rimmed specs tried to stand up for the whole of Aberdeen to a towering giant. Anything would have been ‘towering’ to this guy whose height would have taken the piss out of a dwarf. I wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter, that yes, I was freezing and soaking and exhausted but that I didn’t want to be embroiled in some fight where I’d end up getting to my bed only after a 5 hour wait in a hospital waiting room. But, neither of us could say anything for fear of turning the brunt of the fight toward us and just as the giant drew so close to the dwarf that he could have been kissing him and invaded any sense of personal space with a fist raised, we saw the luminous body warmers of the never-usually-there-when-you-need-them police. The situation was diffused and I was left hoping that my mum and dad would not conduct themselves in such a fashion in a taxi queue on a Friday night. Maybe we should have been grateful for our ‘elders on a power trip’ who probably did think they were doing everyone a favour but really they should have had more sense because I’m quite sure that old boy didn’t want a shiner to show his mates, he was a perfectly respectable guy who probably had 2.4 children and 5 seater car. I would hope that when I am grown up enough to stay home and drink wine that I will do just that or at least stop kidding myself that I am only 25 again and try and be king of the taxi rank. Sadly ‘age’ does not equal superiority in Aberdeen’s nightlife, grandpa. They should employ a taxi queue warden. You know, someone who patrols the queue all night to ensure that things run smoothly and cooperatively so people like me can get a decent nights sleep. They’d need a hell of a lot of body armour and a skin thicker than horse turd though. Or maybe if the police were more available. Instead they sit in McDonalds scoffing cheap burgers and downing tar-like coffee all night and pretending they are oblivious to the smashed windows and smashed faces. That really helps. It’s just so fucking rude to be standing there and all you can think about is your bed and how you are now only 32nd in the queue when a bunch of arrogant assholes come sneaking in with a ‘alright darlin’ you don’t mind if we stand in here do u?’ Of course the question is rhetorical and you only need to glance at the amount of bruises and cuts they share between them to know that there is no way you will be answering back. These are the same ‘people’ (I use the term ‘people’ but really I mean ‘brutes’) that will grope your ass if you pass them in the streets and you’re supposed to laugh it off or get called a ‘fat ugly dyke’ because you must be fat and ugly and a dyke if you don’t fancy them in their chinos and checked shirts and burberry caps. Far too many people find these vile attentions flattering but I don’t want ned man hands on my ass thank you very much. This ass is for special people only and I don’t want their calluses and warts tainting my new jeans. That kind of pollution is hard to shift you know. There’s only so much Stain Devils can do.

And so I go to do some cheese tasting (as if I am so capable of anything as dainty as simply ‘tasting’…) as a congratulations to myself for drinking 5 whole pints without major spewage last night.

Listening to; Buffy the Musical…