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


Sunday, December 29

I'm really concerned about my lack of puking of late and couple this with the fact that I am listening to Westlife, I think my life has either just ended or has taken a turn into the deep wilderness of insanity. It's not right for The Fee to not vomit after over indulging in alcoholic substances or heavy fatty food stuffs. I mean you all know I can handle 3 beers at a push and anymore than that and I am flying to the bog holding my hair back and reproducing my pie and chips. And you all know that sometimes I eat more than double my body weight and there is so much food in this usually very accommodating gut that there is no place else for it go than back out of my mouth. I have always been a serial vomiter. I don’t know why I continue to stuff myself shamefully with cheese and beer when I know the revisit is always far less pretty than the initial introductions but in the last 3 weeks or so I have been as good as puke-free. I was rather happy with this new-found no sick in hair state for the first few occasions when I drank a whole 2 litres of beer(jeez get me, aint I the hardcore?) but it wasn’t until after a recent night out where myself and Lil Red shook our booties that I came to accept the need for after-drinking regurgitation. I’d been to a wickedly fancy restaurant, a restaurant way beyond the standards of Fee and had chosen some licquer-filled soup as starter. I thought I would get to set it alight but alas, I was begged to sip it daintily, not to give the lesbo waitress a dirty look and pretend I was savouring every ingredient individually. This was all well and good until I ate my 4 course meal and everyone else’s leftovers and proceeded to down shots and take my lady dancing, on a very full stomach. After much dancing like a granny on whiz I found myself in bed and all pukeless. I was all ready to congratulate myself for having eating more than the combined weight of all my friends put together and for having drunk more in one night than I had in all the years of my drinking life without even a trace of a gag, when I awoke in the morning with my face stuck to a plate of tomato ketchup and I found myself hurling this body out of bed and spewing for dear life. All that produced itself from my over eager gut however was food, not a sniff of beer or vodka in sight. And that soup! That was possibly the most painful puke I have ever experienced. It was worse than ring sting and felt as though a sharp nailed wench was extracting my innards with her 5” false nails. Damn it hurt so bad. Anyway, my point being (hurrah there is one, kinda), had I of vomited pre going to bed all the alcohol would have released itself from my fragile system but as I waited until the morning for my gag reflex to kick in, the alcohol was all absorbed and there was only food left to make its second cameo. And, wait for it, this is the best part, because of this, because the stubborn alcohol soaked into my liver and kidneys and heart and arms, I was so utterly hungover that I was seeing treble, shaking like a crab in a nun’s fanny and too incapable of even washing and therefore smelling like stale nob and thus got all the personal space I required at work as no one was brave enough to speak to me or even stand in the same room as me and my fresh odour. Ok, for anyone that didn’t get that completely pointless story that I rambled all out of control, I will sum it up. I am gutted I am not throwing up after drinking straight away because I get even more hungover in the morning. I just wasted a good 15 minutes recounting my tale and I just summed it up adequately in less than 25 words. And it’s not even a new revelation. Everyone knows if you vomit after drinking that you feel better in the morning. Well done Fee. What a waste of all that spare time you have on your dollop hands. But let’s just say that my reputation as Pukey Fee will not abandon me because there is no way I can ever suffer the trauma of sweaty armpits and chipped nails at work again and so will make a return to my favoured chucking up way of life. Aaaaah. *Breathes deep sigh of relief*

Actually, I should be more disturbed by the fact I am listening to Westlife and actually confessed that publicly. There are many things in this world that there is no excuse for (such as natural coloured nail varnish, the colour brown and tapered jeans) and Westlife is one of them. I hope you readers are suitably appalled with me and will inform the social services about my crime against humanity. And now it is likely that I will slip into a Westlife induced coma and not regain consciousness for 5 weeks and 2 days.

PS Bo, how’s Westlife’s Greatest Hits? You tape it for me?