I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
But back to the matter in hand, American chick’s bra and her begging me to look at it. In the end, the only glimpse I got of her bra (and ultimately her 'boobs') was through a sneaky glance sideways as she pulled her top down, sniggerin cos she had embarrassed me so. I am so easily tormented. Yet so easily pleased.
2/28/2002 03:39:00 PM
Celeb spotting began straight away as we happened to stroll past a charity premier and see way too many Z lists to mention. I should also point out that to actively seek out a celebrity (turning up with your camera and microphone at a premiere for instance) was not allowed.
I have seen numerous celebs in my time here and still get flustered and jaw droppingly star struck every time I see a new one. Even Sanjay from Eastenders brought about a little flutter. While this might seem like a sad little hobby (it is also that) it has a more serious side. I have become obssessed. My compulsive personality has ensured that. Every corner I turn my heart pounds with the excitement of who could be round it. Every sunglasses wearer is a model and each pashmeena I come across belongs to an actress from Friends. I have seen Kylie on the tube reading Penthouse, I have seen Mel Gibson is full Irish regalia at the Aberdeen Angus Steakhouse. Everyone is a celeb to me and these people who try so hard to look famous convince me so well. At a rather trendy market I attended last week I even saw a Geri Halliwell, complete with ferret like dog which was not allowed to dirty its paws on the ground. Why do people tease me so? Do you know I even saw Halyey the transexual from Coronation Street in a lesbian bar? Well that is not hard to take in. For the duration of my stay in the bar I had my scrunched up receipt all ready for her to sign until I was dragged out screamin ‘Hayley I love you’. It wasn’t her. It’s now officially all I think about (apart from food of course). I will be glad to go home to my little city where the only ‘famous’ people I will ever see are local newsreaders and politicians and attempt to quash my obsession. I mean, in Aberdeen there is certainly no mistaking anyone for someone famous (apart from the odd Martine McCutheon or Kelly McDonald of Angie from Emmerdale) so there will be no temptation. And when try to spoil my friends with all the amazing celebs I saw I will no longer be believed and this will force me to get a hold of my life and no longer see soap actors everytime I close my eyes. Oh for the record the Jo Guest encounter was not a myth.
I guess for the remainder of my stay I will continue to sweat profusely when I get a glimpse of someone wearing fur and tassels, as well as waving my hands ridiculously and gibbering and jumpin on the spot when I see a smoker’s hat glide past me. And I will pray that my obsession is allowed to witter away when I return to my life of uncool people wearing sunglasses for only geniune reasons. And while these London wannabes will continue to poke fun at my life and pretend they are famous, I will continue my search for Janice Battersby. Tomorrow I go to Manchester to fulfil my quest.
People who eat chocolate like it’s a work of art
Bad Girls (TV and otherwise)
Seein’ people you haven’t seen in awhile
Long feet in bright white trainers
Soggy floors that gather loose pubes
2/28/2002 11:58:00 AM
An Ode to Chins and Bellies
Feely and Jeely do like the flab
The way it hangs over, we always look fab
Feely's chins are loose and many
Jeely has to lift her bellies up when she goes to spend a penny
So to hell with salad, fruit and exercise
we love our burgers, pizzas and pies.
By J bo
2/27/2002 04:42:00 PM
Here’s your mention and do know that I am always thinkin’ about you and your bellies. I have grown 3 since arriving here, which brings my belly count to a total of 7. I know that you have lost one, it must have been traumatic, and while I am upset that you are slimming down, I still respect and adore every last one of your bellies. I also believe that you are missin my chins ‘swingin in the wind’ but me and 43 chins will be home in just over a week which is as long as it will take for me to gather up my bellies and chins and get them onto the plane. Me and my excess face and gut have had a good ol’ time in London and it has been swell (and my how they are always swelling). The food is the only thing I am concerned with and it has been immense. I told you that I lost a chin to the London Underground after it got jammed in the doors but I didn’t tell you about my other unfortunate accident. I went to the Zoo and despite being continually mistaken for one of the attractions (hippos or rhinos mainly, sometimes a shed) I lost another chin. My flopping chins were greasey due to the over indulgence in chinese noodles and steak pie and apple danishes and bombay mix and as my chins are plentiful they hang down low. Now, on this occasion it was a blustery day and my chins kept untucking themselves from the waistband of my baggy fanny jeans as it was very gusty (as was my arse after the bombay mix). I tried to throw my many chins over my shoulder but alas, they were too heavy and so I just had to mind where I was standing. I was making my way to the apes, where I swear I saw you, with all the birds peckin at my loose skin when I caught the heel of my brown boot (because I am unfortunate enuff to have a gammy leg also) in chin number 39 and over I went, scuffing all 43 chins horrifically along the ground. And as if this wasn’t bad enough, the Zoo keeper approached me cautiously and netted a chin! The man stood their in all his glory and held aloft my detached chin. And I could do nothin but weep for my loss. And that is the story of how I lost another chin, its not because I cut down on my meat feast pizzas to 76 per day, honest, J Bo. Please don’t be upset, I forgave you when you lost a belly and left me and my chins stranded at Fat Club all on our own. My layers of chubs are always there for you, no matter how slender and lean you get (cos you’ll still always be ginger and therefore afflicted). And so I beg for your forgiveness.
Lovingly yours, F. Bo and her many chins
2/27/2002 02:38:00 PM
And so onto the dramatic event that is chip shop chips that has clouded my lesbian experience. On the way home myself and Straight Man A discovered the hidden delights of Finchley, there really was a chip shop and there really was a god. I took no consideration for the consequences as I bullied my way into the queue to order my portion of chips, extra vinegar. I had my chubby fingers delving in the bag before I could even say ‘fat bastard’. And then it was off to bed to scoff the remainder of them down my wide neck. It wasn’t’ til I was licking the polestirine tray and noticed my entire elbow was in the jar of reduced fat mayo that the guilt struck. Being a lesbian I guess I am in the category that should worry least about weight (and too much of it). Gay men and straight women endlessly bore those not fanatical about their size by continually counting very miligram of fat and wondering whether their arse, thighs and flabby upper arms look good in whatever they wear. But here I was in tears about the 80 grams of fat(more than a days average intake) I had just devoured. I thought about throwing it up in order to ease my ‘you fat bitch conscience’ but I couldn’t. Not because I am averse to shoving my polished fingers down my throat but because I would have woken my flatmates with my grotesque gagging and contrary to popular belief, I am considerate, to others at least. I finally drifted off to an uneasy sleep in which my dreams consisted of me being so obese that I was tripping over my chins and was photographed for a freak show. I hoped to forget my guilt this morning but the smell of stale chips and the feel of cold potato in my ear ensured I would not. And instead of fixing myself some cereal as a healthy snack to get me back onto feeling good about myself, I toasted a bagel (pretty healthy so far) and smothered it with not only butter but layered it so thick with spreading cheese that I could no longer taste the bagel. I still cannot stop thinkin about my gross misconduct with my chip shop chips last nite. Even KFC chips would have made me less guilty but no, I had to go for the oozing fat option. And for someone who for her entire life has been obsessing over her weight, I really shouldn’t do these things that make me feel so bad afterwards. I guess it relates to wot I was saying yesterday. No matter how much I piss myself off and get upset over stuff, I repeat my mistakes over and over. This pattern is really beginning to bore me. I guess I could do that thing people call diet but I simply find it impossible to refuse food of almost any description and for this I pay heavilly (literally). And so I will leave you as I ponder over may many bellies while I shovel a tuna sandwich into my gob.
Enrique Inglesias (that song, I just cant help it)
Going to the laundry (pauline fowler esque)
Toilets with locks
My new cords
Drunken food binges
Sore nose from over blowing
2/27/2002 02:03:00 PM
There were some things I noticed today about stuff I do and i thought I'd pose the question to other people. Is it just me or does anyone else do things that really make them mad but keep doing them over and over, making yourself madder and madder?? For instance, I frequently walk up steep stairs (and thats an effort in itself believe me) with a cup of scalding tea and try and drink it mid route. Everytime I spill profusely, burn my massive gob and stain my good tee shirts but still i keep on doing it. At this rate I will be walkin around in bibs with no roof on my mouth.
I also have an issue with people eating and the way the do it so vilely. But yet, depsite the rage I feel when I see someone eating with their mouth fully open or hear every last slurp, I still continue to watch them carry out this gruesome task they call eating. Mostly I do it for the purpose of giving them dirty looks but they mock my evil glares and continue to eat like animals. I want to physically remove the food from their fat gobs with a sledge hammer and of course, this innner turmoil could be completely remedied if i JUST STOPPED LOOKING AT THEM. But stare and go mental I do till my face boils and shakes, not a pretty sight.
Also, every month I buy a certain lesbian magazine which is shit every month but I still buy it in the hope it will get better even knowing that everytime I will be sourly disappointed. And I cry and I moan to the point of breakdown about it but still I find myself strutting into the newsagent around the 20th of each month to purchase it. Why do I do these things that torment me so?? Am I trying to drive myself even closer to insanity? I'm pretty sure it's working. I seem to find everything that annoys me and go at these things full force, tipping my little mind closer to the edge. Am now going to put the wrong stamps on hundreds of envelopes so I then have to do them all over again. Why?!
Fingerless sparkley gloves
Dark Hair and Blue Eyes combined
Fitted Shirts and ties on ladies
Blue's song... 'if you come back'... or something, cheesey but needed
Full Fat Mayo, like eatin lard
Publics singing outbursts (in shops etc)
So Solid Crew
2/26/2002 02:06:00 PM
Lil Ol' Me
Babs the poof
Today was spent trawling (not in that sense you people) Camden for leather goods. By that I mean that Babs was after some slim fitting Viv Windsor getup while I was aiming for the slightly more stylish blazer kinda thang. Neither of our searches proved joyous but Babs thought he was close to god in some skin tight beige number… and this from a fashion designing guru poof?? I did find numerous belts, most of which were sparkley, along with soggy hair (my own) due to London snow in Febraury. Nuff said.
We decided that our blistering hangovers would not deter us from shakin our booties in London on a Saturday night and set of to "pop idol" ourselves sporting fitted shirts and jeans. Dear Babs picked up a stunning shirt, dripping expense from the £10 Bargain Rail at Selfridges thinkin he had done the world proud by finding such a steal, only to cast it in front of the ‘up her own arse’ shop assistant who rang up a sale of £89.99. Agast, Babs explained there had clearly been a mistake as it was only £10 to which the shop assistant replied ‘the only mistake is you’ or something. Putting his broadest Scots accent on Babs muttered something intelligible to only a trained ear and stormed off. I guess you had to be there but the dramatics were good, believe me.
And so we made ourselves beautiful and agreed on one lesbo bar for me, one poof bar for him. And off we went, red alcohol faced to The Vespa Lounge. The bouncer gave me a smile on the way in but I am guessing this was not a smile reserved for little Miss Me. I was kinda scared but am not sure why… My first exclusive lesbo bar in my 7 years out as a queer… This was quite a milestone. The bar itself was kinda dingy, but just in an underlit way. This was good as my crows feet do have a tendency to sneak out under flourescent lighting. As I imagined, there was a pool table. I had hope there would not be, just to dispel with some stereotyping. But then I guess the stereotyping was in the lesbians and the least said about some of them the better. I was not, however, on the pull so did not find my eye wandering toward anyone in particular, I was simply there for the experience and the view (not necessarily a good one). It was odd how in most of the lesbians I recognised some one from my very own scene back home. And I wondered if there are some standard lesbians that are fixtures in every lesbo bar. I mean there was the ageing blonde with the perfect bob who was probably the ‘stud’ in her day. There was the ageing blonde’s cling ons who’d probably been after her for years and of course there were the druggy lesbians who would dance badly had there been a dance floor (or was there and I missed it?). I guess if I had looked hard enough I would have even found a me. We stayed for only one drink which was long enuff for Babs to spot someone he thought was cute, shame the object of his affection turned out to be a lesbian. It was a simple mistake. Oh there was this one girl who looked like a 16 year old boy. She was petite, with bleached short hair, mans trousers and belt and a striped shirt tucked in. She had a pretty face and the way she stared at me was unbelievable. I thought she was gonna offer me a cigar and to take me dancin’ or something. I can honestly say I have never known anyone to make eye contact for as long as she did. I felt like the proverbial fish in a bowl. And she did all this blatant staring as she walked behind her girlfiend to leave the bar. She was a cocky wee shit but I guess my ego was flattered sufficiently. But Butches really are not my thing.
The reason I appreciated this lesbian bar, not for the lesbians that were in it, although I am sure they are delightful people but because for once no one thought I was a fag hag. Clearly, the fact I was in that bar made me a real lesbian, there was no disputing that fact and I enjoyed that. For once people were actually lookin at me to say "she’s ok" instead of "check her wanting to shag her best poof mate". I am going again tomorrow.
2/25/2002 06:14:00 PM
My poof, Babs
Straight Man A
I wanted to say that my Friday was porn themed. It was, in a kinda boring way but I will tell you about it anyway. I ventured into Europe’s biggest porn store with my poof, Babs. Obviously we have differing opinions on porn content, him likin’ a good dick lickin’ while I like nothing better than staring into the abyss that is snatch… or something. While it wasn’t my first porn store visit, it was almost the most disappointing. I wanted something foul, and while there was a host of brutish magazines for those with funny (haha funny not odd funny) preferences such as chicks with dicks and a bunch of s&m stuff they had nothing out of the ordinary. I expected to enter this realm of all things sleaze and find something I could get nowhere else but all it was all novelty hen night shite and standard PVC outfits with material-less thongs to match. In short it was a three floor Anne Summers with hefty prices to match. There was a ‘sale’ section but nothing caught my eager eye although there did seem to be a lot of interest in Anal Rama. I didn’t want to purchase pure unadulterated filth simply for my own amusement; I also wanted to post it under my flatmate’s door so the first thing she saw when she awoke would be a big shiny wet beaver. To a force this image onto a straight girl with a hangover is just plain cruel, but funny nevertheless. It never happened tho and my quest for depraved dirty flabby granny slags was unfulfilled. Whilst in the porn shop I did begin another search… an erection hunt. I have no interest in the male sex organ but I wanted to see how many men were crackin a fat at all the tits (of varying sizes) and fanny (also of varying sizes) on display. Most men came prepared in baggy trousers and longer coats so peering pervy eyes such as mine could see nothing, and to aid their comfort but there were some men notably getting flustered and denting their jeans as they self consciously flicked thru pages of Pussy World. The best treasure in my hunt was the geezer who had not carefully thought his visit to the porn store thru and was crouched in a corner in motorcycle leathers lookin very pained and was visibly shakin and unable to get out of his bending position. I understand he had been there some time.
Needless to say I did not buy anything and instead went drinkin in a gay bar before quaffing cheap alcopops and heading to Popstarz with poofs and straight man A (who is really likin’ these homo bars…!) in tow. There was no porn to be had here… The last time I came here I met Jo Guest, glamour model extraordinairre, and had to be dragged away from the rampant beast before I stuck to her rubber dress. Jo (on familiar terms with her) did in fact offer me a drink and I have talked about nothing ever since. And who can blame me? But alas, the lady was nowhere to be found this week and so I made it my mission to visit my local 24hour shop on the way home with a view to purchasin porn, again. I browsed thru the shelves at a leisurely rate but all the good stuff was wrapped in cellophane and cost at least £10. Usually this would b reasonable, I guess, but the ‘drinkin head’ is not a voice of reason so I dramatically exited the shop buying peanuts and diet coke. Wot a woman.
And so as of yet, I have no porn. Its not that I have a porn fixation tho you’d be forgiven for thinkin this. I mean I haven’t bought porn in years, nor have I raided my best friends bother’s porn collection in the same length of time but I’m here, in London for only 6 weeks before returing to my feeble city in Scotland and so I need porn! I really do, even if only for comedy value that only my weird self will appreciate. That’s why I love porn so. It’s funny, agree or don’t, I find it hilarious, mainly for the facial expressions and bad perms that are so unfitting of a porn star. Anything that makes me laugh is worth a lot and so I will stick by my wanting of porn and keep you updated on any developments of the sleaze variety, as well as informing you of my visit to my first lesbo bar… but enough already.
Jean Paul Perfume, sentimental
Vaseline, for lips (of the facial variety)
Pink nail varnish
Nutra Grains Ellevenses
Having the cold and not bein able to smell how bad I smel
People who don’t reply to texts, call me needy buthey
Pubes in the Shower
My hair in the rain, curly is not a good look for me
Compulsively Eating, which i do regularly
2/25/2002 01:16:00 PM
While writing about this pub and its appeal to unsuited gay men, another issue has been thrown up... fuckin' fag hags. i dont tend to swear alot but fag hags infuriate me intensely. Just cos I'm a femme kinda lookin' lesbian people always think I am hanging out with my gay male friends (or straight male friends who r often mistaken as gay men) that I am basking in their glory and wanting to shag them. They are never mistaken as the hetty betty blokes out with their lesbian mate, no always me as the fag hag. I mean how dare i have the nerve to look like a girl AND be a lesbian? what's that about?? I am often mistaken as a scene virgin and am expected to cut my hair and develop a swagger anytime soon. Its really not gonna happen. I like my hair and my nails too much and while I'm no lipstick lesbian I am certainly way off the butch mark... in my humble opinion at least. Away to apply more glitter in order to feel more girlie again as talking bout butches has made me feel all dirty... jus kiddin'...
2/22/2002 10:26:00 AM
2/21/2002 10:26:00 AM
2/20/2002 03:43:00 PM
Today I had a casualty: my prized possession that is a total crowd pleaser amongst the masses got wrecked. Yup, those who have the unfortunate pleasure of actually knowing me will know what I am talking about and I will inform the rest of you as to my misery... Hanging onto tube pole in a weird fashion with it being so packed an' all I yarked my bent wrist out of a small gap it had become wedged in and I felt it go... I held back the tears as I bent (fuck I am such a queer) over to snatch (and here I go again...lesbos are filth) my fallin Britney Spears watch which was now pinless and scratchful. There are no words to express my deep sorrow, well except the mangey 20 quid that is wingin' its way to me as I speak to get a replacement.... replacements can never really replace sentimental items tho can they?? I know it was cheap tat by my Britney Spears watch tho? To be tarnished by the London Underground in such a horrific manner? May it rest in peace...
2/20/2002 03:28:00 PM
I am 22 and for the past 3 weeks have been on a placement in London, working for a publishing company. I am having the best time, despite having watched more trashy television in the past 3 weeks than I have in my life due to TV fanatic flatmates. I only have 3 weeks left here and decided that instead o letting my bad brain rot away, I would put it to use and ramble in the form of a weblog. I return to the dooom of Aberdeen very soon and the only thing that makes that seem worthwhile are my family and friends but enough of that Parmasan like moments already.
2/20/2002 12:13:00 PM
Adventures of Charmin
Ariel Pay it Forward
Come to the Dark Side...
Dirty Little Homos
Fash Mag Slag
Het (aka Quickfit)
Hit the Jag Spot...
Knee Deep In It...
Life and Times of a Desperado
On Top of the World>