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I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else My Profile
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A girl at my work just asked if I wanted to see her bra. Being a lesbian there really was only one answer. She laughed as she hoisted her top to show me her new ‘markies’ bra, yelling out loud, ‘you only want to see my boobs’. Right enough. And so red was my face that I could not blatantly stare at her lacy get up as she so expected me to do, and offer any comments or criticism on the garment. I wouldn’t have cared if this were some ‘beast of the fields’ but it was an American chick. I like American chicks, maybe cos I have only come across good looking ones. I don’t really know what it is about them, their bolshyness, their friendliness or their flirtyness. Well I guess the latter helps a lot but I suppose it’s a mixture of all three. And the accents. Well that’s something else, anything with a twang does it for me. I could be with Attilla the Hun in a pink velour sweatsuit but as long as I just shut my eyes…
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. Britney Wannabe 
2/28/2002 03:39:00 PM I have been staying in London now for 5 weeks with only one more week remaining. I ask myself, is there really more to London than celeb spotting? Sharing a flat with 3 people, 2 of which have sunk into the sofa due to doin’ nothing but watch trashy soaps and Footballers Wives, I believe the answer is no, not really. The first few hours in our new flat was spent devising our new game of celeb spotting. This proved endless and the rules were meticulous. A table was placed on the wall to chart our successes and categories were arranged, denoting which classification certain celebs were. For example, the A list consisted of Hollywood stars while the C list contained National treasures (Cilla Black and so on) and the Z list was all the washed out freaks who were really goin nowhere (glamour models and children’s TV presenters. NB Not Blue Peter presenters, they were in a class of their own). We also drew up our own list of ‘dream spots’ (mine included Kate Winslot but was not allowed to add Janice Battersby, or sister Janet) and ‘assholes I don’t want to lay eyes on’ (mine included Christian from A1 and ANYONE from Crossroads). Catching a glimpse of anyone on your own personal lists meant game over, you have won.
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. Today’s Likes People who eat chocolate like it’s a work of art Bueno Bars Bad Girls (TV and otherwise) Seein’ people you haven’t seen in awhile Pretty People Today’s Dislikes Long feet in bright white trainers Soggy floors that gather loose pubes Saggy jowls Non-stickable glitter Smelly Hair Britney Wannabe
2/28/2002 11:58:00 AM After my last entry which was dedictated to J.Bo (aka Jeely) by one F.Bo (aka Feely/moi) I was astounded that my generosity was reciprocated by Miss Jeely who wrote me a wee poem as a sign of her gratitude and here it is for everyone else to delight in.
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 Britney Wannabe
2/27/2002 04:42:00 PM This is a simple dedication to the one, the only J.Bo.
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 Britney Wannabe
2/27/2002 02:38:00 PM Well I guess my trip to the lesbo bar has been overshadowed by chip shop chips and indigestion. This however will become clear as I progress. Firstly I will tell you briefly about my escapades in man ville. The Vespa Lounge was nothin like I rememebered it from Saturday nite. For one, it wasn’t at Kings Cross and for two, there was actual floor space and noticable wall décor this time around due to a minimal amount of lesbians compared to the stampede of blokes/dykes that there was on Saturday night. On arriving I could tell I was the most beautiful person in there, except from my two male counterparts who were suitable camping it up for the evening. Actually the barmaid had a few more graces of beauty than I did but she works there, she’s supposed to make an effort. Of course it really wasn’t like Miss World 2002, more like Crufts (poor dogs) so if I hadnt been close to being the non ugliest, there really wouldn’t be much hope for me. My favourite pussy munchers were 2 chicks in mechanic (grease free) overalls, I’m sure I saw a hammer in one pocket, maybe she thought she was eminem. Mind you I reckon she could have had eminem in a fight anyday. As the evening progressed we were not delighted by any startling arrivals but much amusement at the Arnie lookalike was had. And the toilets really were an experience not to be repeated, a bit like fistin with rings on (so I have been told). None of the locks worked and while the gymnastics I had to endure trying to keep the door shut were painful, it was either that or run the risk of bein barged in on by jimmy and johny and all their mates. And our evening of 3 pints and a bacardi breezer was over, event free and spinningly drunk after a lack of food and the inability to hold my alcohol. There really is much more I could tell you about but I guess the picture is clear and hasn’t erased any stereotypes whatsoever.
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. Todays Likes Surprise Texts Enrique Inglesias (that song, I just cant help it) Going to the laundry (pauline fowler esque) Toilets with locks My new cords Todays Dislikes Drunken food binges Sore nose from over blowing Peppery Coffee My chubs Finsbury Park Britney Wannabe
2/27/2002 02:03:00 PM Monday was rather uneventful and for once i do not feel the need to bore you with the rather unsordid details. I have a cold. I do not take bein sick well so am clearly not in the best mood.
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?! Todays Likes: 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 Ciabattas, toasted Todays Dislikes Full Fat Mayo, like eatin lard Publics singing outbursts (in shops etc) Wannabes So Solid Crew Processed Cheese Britney Wannabe
2/26/2002 02:06:00 PM Sunday 24rd February
Cast List 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. Britney Wannabe
2/25/2002 06:14:00 PM Main Cast List:
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. Today’s Likes: Jean Paul Perfume, sentimental Porn, obviously Vaseline, for lips (of the facial variety) Pink nail varnish Nutra Grains Ellevenses Today’s Dislikes: 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 Britney Wannabe
2/25/2002 01:16:00 PM Last nite i met a couple of my mates (straight man 'A' and MILF lover 'K') after work. We tried in vain to find a pub that was not stuffed with over eager wine drinkers in central London but our search proved friutless... for some time at least. There were hoards of drunken shoppers everywhere, every inch of every space was utilised to the max and there was barely enough room for toes shuffling (a sport I partake in regularly). After scuffing through Carnaby for a good 5minutes which when in need of beer feels like 5 days, we came across somewhere which i think may have been called The Blue Post. I guess the giveaway was in the title but we went in oblivious. This place was wall to wall gay men and their fag hags, Homosexual Happy Hour I tell you. While this is clearly, with my lesbian status and all, not an issue it was the oddest 'gay bar' I have ever frequented. In fact i dont even think it was an official gay bar which is even more bizarre that a selection of middle aged chubby chasers and screamin' queens would hang out here. Not that there was anything wrong with the bar, it was just a weird set up for all that glitters is gay. As the night progressed, the shoppers got quite boisterous and clearly had indulged in 1 too many bacardi breezers and one particular group of jazz hand queens began bellowing out every word to celine dion while waving their empty alcopop bottles in the air. Baring in mind this was only 8.30 this was rather amusing and we wondered how on earth it took us so long to register all these batty boys who were clearly eyeing up my male friends. The -place was kinda like a theatre bar with alot of wannabe celebs and intellectuals. I am still left pondering the appeal of such a pub to masses of ordinary mincey lookin' gay men who along with their 'look at me with my beautiful gay men' fag hags seemed very much out of place yet right at home in this old man's kinda bar. ON the whole tho, we enjoyed our beers while tucked into a tiny corner by the fag (and I mean cigarttes) machine and stumbled home after such indulgences at some ridiculous hour of the night, 9.10pm to be precise in time for a stop by 24 hour tescos for some pasta salads, how quaint and refined, no chippers and KFC after a hard nights drinkin (is 3 pints classed as a hard nights drinking if you are past the age of 13?)for us classy folk... how nice that after piling on the calories with our beer that we would then watch our weight and fat content intake by tenderly enjoying a pasta delight of the low fat variety. Contradictions rule.
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'... Britney Wannabe
2/22/2002 10:26:00 AM My excitement of last night was sticking my arse in the oven cos it was the only place in my flat generating any heat. I did this well after it was past the 'comfortable' phase and only removed my hot ass when the blisters began to rise, a bit like bread only less tasty I imagine. My plight of a busted bolier has been ongoing now for almost 4 days and while it is easy enough to shove your ass in the oven to get heat, there is no easy way to have a cold shower so as you can well imagine my flat is full of stinkin' BO bettys. And while this is utterly foul, it does guarantee myself and my flatmates personal space and a great deal more on the tube. So we have turned our festering armpits and much worse to our advantage. As we are the most rottenest thing since last years malingering ooze that is toffee yoghurt which has been hanging out in our fridge since then, we find that we now attract nobody but the tramps from down the road who have picked us out to be 'one of them'. We take much pleasure in drinking flat cider with our new buds who smell slighly worse than us and therefore make us look relatively clean. So while we are havin fun in the 'under belly' of Tescos we really need a plumber... preferably a female one lookin not unlike Charlene from Neighbours in greasy overalls but without the 80s 'relaxed' perm... oh she was a mechanic... wouldn't that do?? Personally I'd say yes but thinkin we dont really need that oil change and a simple bit of warmth is all we require... but the overalls... couldnt we just hire a mechanic anyway? For my own personal use?? Will put this request to the others but am guessing the poof and straight bird (Brian and Narinder have nothin on these 2) will disagree. However, A, my bonding straight male mate will approve, the man has impeccable taste (come on, he likes Britney for god sake!)Will keep myself updated on the 'cut glass' nipple syndrome.
Britney Wannabe
2/21/2002 10:26:00 AM Last night I went to see Elizabeth Wurtzel doin a readin, mainly cos she is cute. ON publication I started readin Prozac Nation in an unfit state of mind and I'm pretty surprised I wasnt incarcerated after reading it... Thats when I figured you have to be in a pretty stable mind frame to read about the depths of hell other people go through. Needless to say I did give up half way through reading and have since never tried again. But she's still cute. And then the was Bitch which I read the first 2 sentences of and found it pretentious, a word i have never used bout anyone or anything, but maybe it was simply beyond my capabilities... yeah thats more like it.... so despite my lack of success with her work I went to see her, cos she's cute and was pleasantly surprised. After missioning thru the rain for hours on end trying to find the back street pub, anything would have been a pleasant surprise. But Miss Wurtzel was geniunely pleasing both to the ear and to the eye, well I think to the ear cos I kinda got caught up in the freaky starin thing that may have bordered on psychotic, but then she was very cute.... She was very amusing and once you got over the initial slightly annoyingness of her sqeuaky voice (a side effect of her drug days maybe) then it made for an enjoyable evening. And i realised she was more than cute, she was real pretty but less so under harsh lighting. I was that impressed by her new book (and the picture of her looking like Buffy on the cover) that I bought a copy and had it signed with my very own pink sparkley pen. This up close personal contact with Miss W gave me plenty of memories to take home to bed....
Britney Wannabe
2/20/2002 03:43:00 PM i have been trying in vain to work out why i'mbothering to write stuff that no one will ever read but I'm drawin' a blank, actually I'm drawing nuthin cos I'm artistically challenged.
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... Britney Wannabe
2/20/2002 03:28:00 PM Hello and welcome to this informal yet informtive piece of drivel about my good self. I am exactly as the title suggests so there is no need for me to elaborate further on any of that at this point. But be warned and be ready to suffer the odd Britney rant whenever I feel like doing so. Britney is my God and I like to impose this opinion onto everyone who breathes and mocks my fascination.\
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. Britney Wannabe
2/20/2002 12:13:00 PM
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