I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
How people many do u have to kiss in one night to qualify as a slag? I’d say anything upwards of 4. Well that makes me offcially a slag. I never thought I would ever be titled with such an achievement. And it's not exactly something I have wanted to be christened but hey, makes for a slightly (or does it?) interesting weblog entry. Hurrah, Miss Fee got a pull, of 5 (rough estimate). I know no one will believe that The Fee managed to find even one sorry bastard to lock lips with let alone five of the suckers. And no, it wasn’t spin the bottle. It was more of a partner swapping thing but I imagine that had there been enough room on the glass ridden fag ashed table then there would have been a bit of spinning and possibly even a bit of bottling going on. Immature? We most definitely are. ActuallyI think I am pretty cool. Five is my new favourite number. Could I be more of a stud? Forget the fact that 4 of these snogs were with poofs and the final with a straight girl, I am The Lady. There was no ‘romantic’ feelings within these kisses but it’s still five snogs which is more than I have had in my life. As a rule I don’t do blokes but now and again, very infrequently, the odd fag boy does slip through the net or my lips, which ever you prefer. I was out with my straight male mate and I didn’t kiss him, that might have been wrong. Poofs snogging lesbians is odd as there can be no feelin on anyone’s part so why bloody bother? Lager and flattery plays a massive part in this for me, it has to be said. And I am very selective about the nob lickers that I chose to snog, these aint just some random leather faced benders that I do not know. Anyway, more importantly, all I really need to say about the lady I was kissin is, Foxy American Chick (the original) is home. The lady has impeccable timing I tell you. I was just wiping my lunchtime crisps from my chin after a major 3 days worth of shite spew when I heard the lady calling for ‘pretty lady Fee’. I don’t know who she is but I knew the voice was my Foxy American Chick. As I brushed the toilet roll and pubes from my knees and attempted to rid myself of mingin breath and fuzzy hair, I presented myself to the sweet chick. She hugged me despite my warnings of foul breathness. Now that’s real love for you. I didn’t expect to see her so it was all good that she came. And I am never disappointed when I see her. I didn’t get the pleasure of dancing with pretty girl, she reserved her one dance for a sexy older poof (The Beautiful Host from last weekend actually) and as a girl who appreciates the beauty of gay men it was understood. The night was good but I did manage to miss dancing to dannii minogue cos lazyness got the better of me, as always. Another ‘early’ one lasted til 3.20 am, til we were physically removed from the building along with the rest of the lazy fuckers who were clinging onto their dregs for dear life. And then came the fight. It wasn’t my fight but I sure did get jostled as I tried to drag a 6’3 guy off some randoms who were clearly in the mood for no love. It wasn’t much fun but after the police quietened the rabble the rest of the journey home was a pleasant one. Food was uneventful as I munched into a cheese and runny jobbie sandwich that got deposited somewhere around the foot of the sofa. People went their own ways and Beautiful Boy stayed with me, tucked up all cosy in the otherwise freezing bedroom. Beautiful Boy made sure he had a good pick of his beak pre sleep to ensure a non-whistling nose this time around. What a thoughtful lad. There was much confusion about which direction to turn the clocks and eventually it worked out we had a rough 4 hours sleep. We smoked some tabs on awaking, picked 2 bits of fluff off the carpet in an effort to leave the place tidy for my brother’s return and farted with all our mights. I have never called in sick to work because of hangovers, the £40 always seems more appealing but today I was close. I swithered till it was too late to call in and had to go. I still cannot see further than 2 cm in front of my face and my tongue needs another shave. I had an unproductive day and with a head full of nastiness I fully thought I had tipped over the edge, maybe I have. Paranoia is such a terrible thing and I remembered that I had forgotten to take my pills for 2 days. Yeah my homeopathic tablets that is. Yeah, that’s why I feel mad today. I also have not been doing my positive things and am still seeing everything in the worst possible light (like most people in Castros when the lights go up). I know I need to fix that along with a bunch of other stuff but I am very impatient. If I don’t get results within a day I get bored and if I do get results then I stop working at things cos they seem to be working and then they go all shit again cos I stopped working on them. Confused? Me too. I will start again now. I love me, who do you love?
Listening to: Britney baby one more time album
People who are good enough to help me
Breath so mingin’ that no amount of gum will cure it
Hair needing a wash
3/31/2002 07:41:00 PM
Yesterday was all about fanny, shit and ET. Not in that order. In our delirious hangover
states every conversation revolved around fanny (to shave or not to shave
that is the question) and jobbies (releasing chocolate hostages and dropping
the kids off at the pool and so on). We arose around 11am and realised we
had missed the £2.75 showing of ET. There were tears, mainly on my part
because my pennies would more than likely not stretch to 2 full price films
and on Beautiful Boy’s part cos he’d have to wait at least 2 more hours to
see ET in the bath with Elliot. To fill in time we decided to go for a walk,
seeing as it was sunny enough to do this leisure activity, to TK Maxx was
in order. For those of you unfamiliar with this establishment of all
things vile, it’s a sloppy seconds kinda place. Luscious L had been there
only 2 days before and appeared out in some gold number that we really had
to replicate… Disapponited we most definitely were. I had a good rummage
and came away with a pink shirt, complete with shoulder pants and flouncy
padded buttons. That’s my Saturday night’s outfit sorted then. Beautiful
Boy searched in vain to find at least one quality item and even contemplated
a knee length yellow T Versace t shirt. In the end he was happy with his DKNY pants
and made a point of getting these out all day. They were heavily soiled by the time he even got them on. We then headed to meet the
wonderful J Bo who was holding herself by a large wall, swinging her
Markies cola around desperately trying not to pass out with the hangover
flush. The only thing that makes a hangover worthwhile is laughing and
trashy food. It had to be chips and cheese (gravy for some) all round. The
chips tasted like chalky carboard laced with puke and the cheese looked like
grated carrots as J Bo pointed out and tasted not unlike plastic with a hint
of jobbie. Upset at our bad food we booked our tickets for ET but had a
good hour to kill. There was only one place to go, back to the pub we had
left only 10 hours before. The alcopops went down as bad as a poof trying
out minge and the sugar settled like a blood clot in my gut. But I didn't have to suffer it long, it was
time for ET. The cinema was overrun with lice infested small children. And then the trailers came
on. And here was my lady, a full cinema screen sized Britney, looking ultra
hot in her ‘casuals’, yes it’s true. I was so overcome that I almost had to
borrow J Bo’s mammoth ghetto blaster sized phone for its powerful vibrating
facility. I almost left at this point, fuck ET I wanted my baby.
Everything seemed hilarious. We were the annoying people that sit and
giggle throughout films much to the annoyance of oh just about everybody. I
am sure we are not normally so rude but every time a serious bit came on I
thought of Beautiful Boy’s story he had recounted earlier, about the world’s
most massive fanny. Enough said. For the first 20 minutes of the film
something was oddly wrong. There seemed to be a 3 minute delayed reaction
between the sound and the actual lips moving. It was like watching a badly
dubbed Kung Fu film only funnier. Beautiful Boy was not amused. He threw
on his shoes (because you really are supposed to take your shoes off and
make yourself at home in the cinema), did up his Velcro and tried to make a
dramatic exit. Not realising that his leg was still wrapped around his huge
turtle shell ruck sack he did indeed get his dramatic exit as he flew head
first down the stairs. Kids like a good laugh. The film got fixed and he
was happy and Et was in the bath, not with Elliot which caused disappointment
all round but in the bath at any rate. I almost felt a tear welling towards
the end as ET flew off home to the soundtrack of sobbing 4 year olds and
wailing adults but couldn’t quite contain the laughter after Beautiful Boy
let go a succession of eggy farts. Pure nasty by the way. And after
thinking we had lost J Bo to a dicky tummy we saw the ugliest couple making
out in the quiet yet massive windowed cinema bar. What a sight that was to
take away I tell you. It was like pay per view but the only fee they could
have charged would have been one to make them stop. I have seen pensioners
kiss with more grace than that and is there really a need to smooch nose, eyes, ears and hair at the same time as mouth? Not on your life. Oh and there was ‘cupping’. In full view, these Most Uglies were
embroiled in a session heavier than my full body weight and he defintley
cupped her baggy fanny. He needed two hands by the way and it made me
wonder if this was the girl that was given the title ‘Biggest muff in the
World’ that we had discussed only 2 hours previously. After this most foul
experience we needed beer. And back it was to the vodka bar for me and the
Beautiful Boy as J Bo took her fluffy nest off home for a good wash. We
forced two pints down and realised that there was no way we would be seeing
my Britney tonight. When I see her I need to gratify her by giving her my full
attention and today this was not going to happen. We left and Beautiful Boy
stocked up enough burgers to feed the starving thousands and I went home.
All promises of tidying up got broken as I sat my fat ass down and couldn’t
get back up again. I went to bed at 9.30pm and awoke this morning 12 hours
later, feeling no more refresehed than the taste of puke on my breath.
How far Turd will travel?
Beautiful Boy and I questioned what would be the furthest a poop has
travelled? Is it possible that one of my dogs has had one of it’s dumps
trailed into a car, trailed to the airport and then trailed all the way to
austrailia? Would there be anyway to find out the farthest travalled poo?
I know the black poo (a Guiness shit we reckon) I trampled on made it only a
few streets and is now on the embedded on the stairs at my work. But some craps must go for
miles, depending on the consistency of course and their reluctance to come un
Friday 30th March
My Thusday was beautiful (my most over used word of the moment). Work was
made more exciting knowing that I would be off today (Friday) and that it
would be spent hanging with Beautiful Boy and what ever hangers on we could
acquire. Beautiful Boy was working till 8pm so I made a dash to Vodka Bar
to score a 2 pint pitcher for a whole £3 before ‘happy hour’ ended. The only
thing ‘happy’ about this hour is the pretty staff that serve you bad beer.
In there I met a bunch of Beautiful Boy’s friends, being Beautiful has its
perks I tell you. The vodka and bad Fanta twist I had downed pre leaving my
house made the pints slip down nicely. I was drunk by 8.30pm. Nothing new
there then. J Bo made a dramatic entrance around 10pm and my night could
only get better. My night was made complete by one thing, not by pulling J
Bo (read further for that instalment, it doesn’t get any more exciting
however) or by snogging the face off myself in the mirror but by my hearty
puke that was an awkward mutha trying to make itself known. Recently,
despite the fluid filled pints I have been necking, it seems only possible
to hack up a bunch of mucas. Not pretty. The room spun, I puked, I
carried on drinking, to take my drinks total for the evening to a big 3.
Good eh? I hung out on the balcony cos you have to do these things after
not so copious amounts of alcohol, got hypothermia and pissed in my fav
double bog with me on one bog and Luscious L pissing in the other. My yells
of ‘turn around I don’t want you to see my fanny’ proved fruitless and
stared he did. Not that he has interest in fanny, he just likes to be a
pain in the ass, all in a good way of course. I met my friend who I was
convinced was Cameron Diaz, the likeness is real good believe me. And after suitably embarrasing myself we moved onto the Priory
which may well be the most brightly lit club I have ever been. While that
may be fine during the day so you can see the food you are actually eating,
(do they even serve food? Fucked if I know) at night, when the rosy blotchy
cheeks have taken ahold, it’s so not a good thing. I created my own dance
floor with only me on it and shook my trembly ass to Billie Jean. And then
boredom kicked in. Personally I blame the bar where every crease in my
clothes and old face was visible but what ever the reason we decided to move
on. Our numbers had diminished from a hearty 18 to a measley 5. We lost
someone to a bus cos she had enough of me and a rather drunken favourite
shop staff member downing her drinks and smoking her harsh cigarettes. Oh
well, all consideration gets kicked to the kerb when the effects of lager
kick in. We persuaded one boy lover J Bo that her life would be perfect if
she were to come to Aberdeen’s finest meat market (Castros) and off we set.
I remember leaving the Priory around 12.20 and do not have many memories of
Castros after 12.40pm. Maybe because the place itself is as memorable as
dick. I do remember J Bo not being up for a snog, and it wasn’t for the
want of trying. I qualified as a tryhardloser, I really did. Needy? I
most certainly am. But even in a druken stupor J Bo was having none of my
obvious lesbian charm and dedication to the cause. That really doesn’t say
much for my chat up lines and pulling power. She did pass out for a good 10
minutes which gave me time to try and force my tongue in between her lips
(always facial) but even unconscious, the bitch bit me. After paying a
hefty £2 for the non pleasure of J Bo’s kiss and no dancing we set off home.
A 4 minute journey took 4 hours. We tried all tactics to get a taxi but
seeing drunken tits and cock were obviously not on top of taxi drivers
agenda. J Bo even called her mother accidently to get a taxi home to the
land of J Bo-ness but to no avail. And then food seemed more important, as
did pissing. An egg baguette called my name the way a beautiful lesbian
might and it was here I got tongued by a BO ridden crusty faced kebab
seeker. I was followed into the shop with such kind offers from the foul
beast to pay for my snacks and smokes and was then accosted. The man had a
good grasp of the English language, knowing only how to say ‘Where’s kebab?’
and ‘You beautiful’. It was then that I was taken unawares and felt a long
tongue prodding my lips (first time for everything at least). I can still
smell his asian delicacys on my clothes and hope as he tried to maul me that
he came away with more than one piece of my crusty lips which are in the
need of a good moisturise. How on earth could someone so grotesque think
that I, The Fee., would be interested in feeling his pimpled tongue slippin’
around in my mouth. This was even after I introduced J Bo as my girlfriend.
He thought this was fuckin’ hilarious but she didn’t as I tried to slip
her the tongue to prove to our facially and mentally challenged acquaintance
that I was indeed a lesbian. I finally shook off the nobless wonder and
made a bolt for the bog, to piss and throw up any remnants of Mister Eager
Kebab. And so it was bed time. A time I looked forward to because it meant
bedtime hugs with Beautiful Boy. We drifted off to sleep mid hug and hand
hold and for once I woke up smiling.
Listening to: fuck all
Ear plugs drowning out Beautiful Boy’s whistling nose
Baby pink studded bracelets
Waking up to a pretty face
Fun, I don’t get a lot
Smoking like a nervo
Bad hair extensions
Well lit clubs, shows up my crows feet nicely
3/30/2002 10:51:00 AM
does just fine but when I tried to submit it to various sites to give myself
a bit of free advertising I was informed that it contravened many criteria.
For one it was deemed to contain too much ‘foul language’. Apparently
‘fuck’ is an unacceptable swear word. Fucked if I knew that. Only swear
words that are used pre watershed or something to that effect are allowed.
Oh so maybe the word ‘twit’ definitely not twat and possibly the popular
aussie phrase ‘rack off’ may have snuck through the rigid guidelines. And
secondly, it was termed bordering on the pornographic… What the fuck? Now
maybe my interpretaion of pornographic is different from those folks that
decided this but where is the porn in my site? I do not think that talking
about buying porn is classified as pornographic writing. Not the way I
write anyhow. I could write pornographically if I really wanted and while I
would love to give you an example of such apparently I do not need to cos
apparently my site is filled to the brim (something as a lesbian I know
nothing about). Now the trashwhore diaries, that’s pornographic. It’s
supposed to be, a bit of light pornographic fun but to classify the Glitter
Diaries as porn? Where’s the doing dogs and shaggin sisters in my site?
Well the ‘doing dogs’ is kinda reminiscent to the various breeds of mutt I
met on my visits to lesbian bars... I should be flattered that I am deemed
worthy of writing such grotesqueness really. Mr Tryhardloser got his site
accepted. Not an ‘F’ word in sight. No fanny no fisting and definitely no
fucking. You gotta feel for the guy… I am so only joking Straight Man A!
Finally, as if I need anymore evidence that my site was ‘inappropriate’,
they classed it ‘offensive’. Me offensive? I’m about as offensive as that
awkward booger that finally dislodges itself into someone else’s napkin. So
yeah I guess if you find that offensive then offensive I am As long as it
aint my napkin it’s sloppin’ about in
Yesterday I stood in a black shit. A real soot coloured shit that stuck to
my shoe with the consistency of tar. How can shit be black? What the fuck
do people eat, because believe me no animal I know could ever foul the
street with a turd this collosol, to make their shit look like a steamin’
mound of charred remains? It took me a good 2 hours to drag my foot along
the ground to get the clumps off and then a further 2 days to remove all the
tougher bits from the grooves. Today I will not bite my nails for fear of
what juiciness I mite stumble upon. People really need to be more
considerate when they are eating if they plan on taking a crap on a side
As if I wasn’t mad enough by this point, I took my wibbly ass over to work
and trailed any last remaining bits of thick shit up the wooden stairs only
to come back down them in my stunning red ensemble to be faced with a common
trash green eye-shadowed 14 year old wearing my classy playboy bag. How
dare she?! Does she know who I am? Clearly not or she would not have dared
put herself on the same level as ME and worn a bag identical to the clearly
not so original get up that I bought in London. That bag was my pride and
joy and now it has so been devalued. As SHE swaggered her fat ass around my
shop with her curled lip and greashen 2000 hair she swung her bag around
thinking she was Victoria Beckham, only fatter uglier and gobbier. Yes it’s
possible. Not only did she have the ordacity to think she could pull off MY
bag but she didn’t even have the decency to wear it correctly. Shoulder
straps are for maximum shoulder comfort you Aberdonian trashy bitch. I was
mad, still am. Not that I think I am the coolest person in Aberdeen but I
am certainly a lot fucking cooler that this nob who thought she was in
London Fashion week, despite her face like an arse being to the contrary.
Oh to be so perfect.
So, today was supposed to be a day of ‘niceness’. I was to carry out one
satisfying task (and sex toys were out of the question) to make me feel all
warm and glowy (sex toys still out of the question). I almost failed but as
I am only talking in positive affirmations, I almost passed. A girl had
printer problems and was stood there for 40 minutes trying to loosen the
paper drawer. Had she just been trying to loosen her drawers I would have
lent her a finger or a fist much sooner. Normally I would have continued to
watch her struggle and grow redder but I turned to her and let her beg me
for help. I couldn’t help her. And so I passed her onto the good man that
is Straight Man A who eased all drawers and left all parties satisfied.
That was my good deed for the day. She was real pretty mind you. Would I
have been so willing to adjust her drawers had she been Cruella de Ville
turned inside out? Yes. And so I go to bed to ponder happy thoughts and
wonder why the fuck no one told me unitl now that Giles from Buffy opened
our new Forbidden Planet shop. I would have been on the first plane home
from London baby. London, I miss that place. sigh
Listening to: Shit TV
Party time on Thursday
Excitement at Britney film
Surprise calls, again
No phone credit
Chewed mouth feeling
Humphy backs, I have one
24 hours til party time
3/28/2002 04:08:00 PM
MILF lover K
Yesterday I discovered my work’s new first aid kit. It was like discovering Britney for the first time. The box was shiny and untouched, sorry am now talking about the fresh young virgin I met just 2 days ago. Anyway, only
one seal was broken, shit here I go again, enough of those school girl thoughts. So, the only seal to be tampered with on this bright green briefcase was the ‘emergency tampon’ one. I do not want to know who broke that one, the thought of hemoraging work collegues is enough to put Miss Fee off her love for lumpy ketchup. I love first aid kits. They contain such wonders. Such oddly shaped instruments which can serve no pleasurable purpose and extra long bandages that I haven’t see since I visited the dead person museum. This first aid kit would have done a small ambulance service proud, and still have enough eye patches left over to go round all the gammy eyed people of Aberdeen twice over. That’s a heck of a lot of bandages. The gammy eye is an Aberdonian trait. I had a rummage to see what I could borrow for personal use and thought of all the patch up jobs that could be carried out for the rest of my life. I need never limp into Boots and face the glares from overrated and over suspicious shop assistants again. I came away with a number of ‘moist’ tissues, medicated soap, leg sized plasters and safety pins, to carry out the damage which may or may not require the use of such pilfered items. My night was made.
And in this happy mood I came home, raked through someone else’s freezer and found god three times over. There was chips, there was cheese and there was tomato sauce. I thought that after my packet of opal fruits and marmite
crisps that I didn’t qualify as over eater of the year (it’s not often I fail this achievement) so I whacked them in the oven and waited. So eager was I tuck into this culinary delight that two bad things happened. First I forgot about the usefulness of oven gloves and left the skin of my thumb on the side of the dish (those patches will serve there purpose quicker than I thought). At least I will now be able to rob things and leave no fingerprints. But it got worse. My snack-for-six looked so divine that I did not take into account cooking time. The chips were raw soggy potatoes. My snack was ruined. I cried and then decided to pick off the salvagable bits of cheese and chilli and eat them anyway. It tasted like stringy lard so there had to be a revisit. Trying to pull mozzarella out of your throat when it has already settled somewhere around your arse is a mission and a half. I felt like a comedy sketch but I was the only one laughing. It was either laugh or cry, again, at the demise of my tasty non nutritional snack. Junk food is bad but cheese IS the ultimate enemy.
I also discovered another herbal way to cure my sleeping problems. It wasn’t camomile tea. When I eventually got over my ‘shit I am going to die in my sleep’ paranoia and my heart started beating at a rate more suitable to humans I had a good sleep. Bad dreams but good sleep. Once again I dreamt that a certain person was being all nasty to Miss Fee although thankfully this time there was no attempt made on my life by a VW Golf. This time she smothered me with me overly large coat, well actually the fur hood of it. What a way to go I tell you, choking on fake fur. My new herbal cure is clearly not something that I, Miss Paranoid 2002, should be partaking in alone in future. Or maybe ever again.
Today I also decided, mid herbal cigarettes and pre burning mind syndrome where I envisioned my head exploding for a good hour, that I would do something ‘nice’ everyday. I sent a nice tex to someone last night and it made me feel so good. And they responded with an equally nice tex. What you give, you get. And as one tex msg gave me so much joy I decided that it was good to feel happy and thoughtful toward other people. So, every day I have to be either ‘nice’ or gentlemanly. This may involve simple things such as helping a lovely old person, not swearing at Aberdeen neds (bomber jacket crew 2002), complimenting somebody or maybe even letting a homeless person into my shop without screwing up my face with the smell they leave 2 hours after departure, cos that is just mean. It has to be something that I would not ordinarily do so the options are plenty. I could also allow a person of unable body to walk me across the road and hold my shopping for me. I am going to be a nice person, don’t cross anything in anticipation however as my promises are wide and normally unfulfilled. But if being nice to other people makes you feel good, why does nobody else do it?? Maybe it was my leafy cigarettes talking.
Annoying neds (not sworn at) discussing something dull
Some Indian compilation through someone else’s headphones
Going to class, although it’s dull
Surprise phone calls
Plasters that stay on under water
Black Nails (not varnish)
Smells that remind you of nice stuff
Boy in class who reeks of various pollutedness
People who replace you
3/27/2002 12:08:00 PM
I’m sitting here having a silk cut which even I am surprised my minimal funds have stretched to. I would have been enjoying it more had I not have drank Fanta fruit twist prior to lighting up. Why bother inventing ‘new flavours’ that taste of tangy piss? Not that I know what tangy piss tastes like of course. I do know what Guinness flavoured piss tastes like but that is another story completely. I also fulfilled my one of my quests, not to find depraved porn or to get thin cos let’s face it, neither of them are likely to occur within my lifetime but I did manage to track down a packet of Marmite crisps. Disappointed I was not. While tasting not unlike traditional roast beef flavour, they were even more beefy and more salty (rather like unwashed lady parts I imagine) so I am left satisfied. I also had a packet of opal fruits not 2 hours ago so I think I have almost reached full nutritional value for today.
For the past 2 days I have attended university. I managed half a class yesterday. As soon as the ‘group work’ exercise was announced I had to leave. I do not work well with others. I really don’t. I am kinda left sitting on the edge of the group thinking about what colour to do my nails or endlessly checking my phone for the text messages I never get while the others debate and discuss our set project. Desperate not to put myself through this torture I considered holding my stomach and blaming the over
indulgence in tap water as my reason to leave. But I simply announced to the lecturer I was leaving and she said ‘fine’. No questions asked. Jeez, lecturers make skiving off far too easy so I did not feel bad about wandering around in town unproductively. I met Beautiful Boy briefly and we made some Friday plans. It’s one of them movie marathon days. There was much debate over whether we would go and see Britney’s new film or ET, both of which are released on Friday. We will do both. We will sit like big turds, me panting heavily at 2 hours of Britney and Beautiful Boy panting heavily at ET in the bath with Elliot.
I had coursework due in today, deadline of 1pm. I should have been up all night working on my masterpiece. I went to bed at 9.30pm. I should have risen at dawn today. I got up at 10am. I pieced it together as badly as a three year old attempting a 1000 piece jigsaw doped up on calpol. It’s not that I don’t care about my marks. Writing formally is really not my thing. I now have to come up with some PowerPoint creation and present my placement experience to the class. I have already selected the Jo Guest pictures that will be the main focal point. Anything to take the attention from my shaky red face which gives everyone a great laugh, myself not included. I don’t speak well in public either. In fact I don’t think I do anything well unless I am sat here on my own. But then I think badly. I conjure up all sorts of images that should never be made public. I shouldn’t be left on my own. So, I am by far from a people person but then spending time on my own makes me mad so what’s to do? I considered checking myself into Cornhill
(psychiatric hospital) for awhile as I felt I would be the least mad person in there and come out diagnosed ‘unmad’. But then I thought of all the non-possibilities for meeting potential ladies so decided against it. It would give some interesting tales however. Maybe I will reconsider it for the sake of research.
Another reason my coursework was shit (apart from the utter lack of effort put into it) is because of Britney. No, for once she wasn’t sat on my knee distracting me but I came across a ‘test your Britney IQ’ on the Internet. Rather than try not to fail my course I had to pass a Britney test. I just had to. I got a perfect score. I always do. I am a Britney genius, or as they put it, a Britney stalker. I wish. You can’t stalk someone you are going out with, it doesn’t work. I also heard nasty rumours that MY Britney was booed at at her premier yesterday. Those vicious little fucks are gonna feel my wrath (as well as my fist up their various orifices). How dare
they?! The only people I know who would boo at my baby are my evil friends who think its lots of fun to tell me that Christina is better than Britney. People can be so cruel, but don’t you worry Britney, I still love you.
And this weblog entry has unimpressed me greatly and I really have to find something of interest to write about in future. I know I keep promising this and maybe one day (probably around the same time I find quality porn and lose 5 stone) it will happen. Iapologise profusely readers, if there are actually any of you left.
Listening to: britney
Having my own flat for 6 days
Not being at work
British Flavour Crisps
People who at least pretend to care
Trying to get over stuff
Waiting for texts
The coughing hack in my class
My baggy fanny jeans
Being shit in the Fame Game
3/26/2002 10:13:00 PM
Beautiful Boy tried to change the world on Saturday, well the Aberdeen gay world anyway. He stood on the stairs for a good part of the night, the stairs are the hive of social activity, the only place you can hear yourself think and each time he met different groups of people and every time all these people did was to slag off everyone that walked past. He had enough. He told the people he was with that instead of being so nasty to all these people they had never met to try and say something nice. They didn’t understand, where was the fun in that. Someone walked past and they tried to put it to the test, ‘eh, nice jacket’, said some flabby ankled fag hag to a passing poof, whose jacket was clearly foul but it was the best she could do. Beautiful Boy asked how it felt to make someone smile instead of pissing them off and hurting their feelings. She said it was boring and she missed the point completely. I thought this was such a nice thing to do and so out of the normal for that place where everyone thinks they are better than anyone else and if they were all really that good they wouldn’t need to be slagging off everyone else in the first place. Did that make any sense to anyone? Nope, didn’t to me either. It got me thinking. Slagging people is a sign of insecurity, why else would you care what everyone else is wearing or looking like. And then I thought what the fuck I would write about in my weblog if I stopped slagging other people and myself. In my ‘positive thinking’ mode, which is supposed to be ongoing, I am not supposed to self criticise which leads to not criticising others. Jesus. My weblog would turn into a blow by blow account of toilet activities and nail varnish. That so will not be allowed to happen, please God let me keep slagging off everyone for the sake of a story. I don’t mean any of it, honest I don’t. Away to worry about what might happen if I start being a nice person.
PS Is it possible to overdose on iron tablets?
Listenting to: savage garden – affirmation
Clean smelling Fee
Hanging out not smoking
Watching other people smoke
Calling someone after a while and things being all good
Sun peeking through
Not slagging people
Not enough time for coursework
Broken washing machines
3/25/2002 12:13:00 PM
Listening to: Bjork – Post
Femme gals in caps
Butches dancing with big coats on
Waking up in the night in a sweat cos you’ve forgotten to take off your sweat bands
Cool kids bracelets which my wrists r 2 chubby for
3/24/2002 09:30:00 PM
Tonight I am supposed to be going for an evening of Kylie/Madonna/Janet DVDs whilst putting my party frock on and necking cheap wine. And then I will be showing off my not so beautiful ass in Castros I guess. As Aberdeen aint exactly the thrive of excitement there’s pretty much nowhere else to go. I know there will be at least one person that I would like to be there, not in attendance and it makes me wonder if it’s worth even going but as I have mentioned, I like to dance, albeit badly but dance nevertheless.
The thought of Cadbury crème egg Mcflurrys
Scatman john (even though ‘scat’ is shit referenced)
Early nights, alone
Getting over things
Weight taking ages to dislodge itself
3/23/2002 10:24:00 AM
Yesterday in order to ease myself into some sort of sleep I bought various homeopathic pills and lotions. I am adverse to taking anything chemical (even Proplus makes me see triple and convulse) so I spent a small credit card fortune on stuff that I hoped would help me get a good 4 hours sleep. I bought Kalms because they are centuries old and I trust old stuff as well as enough lavender to start my own garden which will ensure I attract many an old person. Like I say, I like old stuff.
I guess my evening was ok. I can feel shit and shove on some Britney or anything with a hip swinging beat and that’s me, up dancing like a mad person. Sometimes I don’t even get up and remain in my chair swinging the shoulders clicking my freezin’ fingers. WHY? WHY god did you invent chair dancing? It’s so uncool. I loate chicks that think they are Madonna on LSD and and wiggle everything and even manage to rotate their hips while sunk into a large sofa that was made for losing your arse. I don’t get it. I mean I love to dance and have even been known to pull off a tap dance mid routine to Steps but I just don’t do chair dancing. I think it’s mainly the head motions that accompany this ‘sport’. Funky chicken has never been a good look. Even hot chicks can’t pull this off and hot chicks I normally let off with pretty much anything.
I watched Badgirls with as much interest as a lesbian viewing nob and worried about how much sleep I needed before I could go party on Saturday. Instead of lying there eyes open for hours thinking about all the stuff I don’t wanna ever think about, I shut my eyes and before I knew it, it was 4.30am. Impressive. However, I think the Kalms decided their work was done and needed to help no more so I lay for bout an hour thinking about all the stuff I don’t even wanna think about. Well at least the ‘bruises’ under my eyes have slightly decreased which is a shame in a way cos I looked like I was in Badgirls for awhile, no one would have messed with me and my battered junkie look.
Yesterday I ate half a tin of beans smothered in brown sauce (a Straight Man A favourite also. Any excuse for a link huh?) with a liberal sprinkling of cheese. It should have tasted good. It felt too much like effort. As much effort as it is gonna take to stop myself from letting one go every 4 seconds. Please, if anyone sees me on the bus, do not, I repeat, do not come within shouting distance of me. I fuckin stink.
Listening to: snap
People who can talk to you more than once a day, if needs be
Pulled arse muscles…
After effects of beans
Coursework due in next week, fuck
3/22/2002 09:15:00 AM
Listening to: radio
Sleep, cos I would love some
Willpower, none of which I have
People who can’t make the effort to reply to texts even when they know how important it is
Wednesday 20th March
I forgot to write about my wonderful Tuesday, or rather had no time in between smashing my head off something actually rather soft and trying to force myself to eat… yes it’s true, fat fuck fee has given up food. Well substantial food at least. I do still shovel sugary jelly sweets into my gob by the fistful (jeeesus, do I do everything by the fistful?) but that’s about it. It’s just a phase, just like the overeating and the throwing up, it’s all just a big phase, like many a straight girl’s night of lesbian passion. I am sure I will start again soon. It’s not that I am telling myself not to eat cos that’s pretty much like telling britney to start fucking, I just can’t be arsed. It seems like such a waste of time, to prepare food and take 7 minutes to actually eat it or to walk to the shop (you know me and exercise) to decide what you want and then ravish it within the minute. It’s not that I have so much going on in my life that I don’t have time to eat. Heaven help the day that Fee has too much in her life that it stops her munching biscuits by the ovenful. It just involves a great deal of energy and that’s a whole host of energy that I do not have right now. This lack of energy could be attributed to the lack of food in which case I am in a vicious circle. Vicious circle’s are only fun when you are getting your arse bit. It’s a fact. I think there have maybe been 2 whole times in my life where I stopped eating and I’m pretty sure that both times I was ill and while on those occasions I would have been distraught to not be able to eat my favourite meal of pies then I guess starving myself for one day would have been better than chewing on my vomit. Pastry is so rough the second time over. I am not worried about this lack of digesting much however, I know it can only benefit me in the long run and help me squeeze into my age 13 jeans. Fuck no, those jeans would still hang off my ass even if I were clinically obese. I was shopping in the maternity section way before puberty. I know someone who is. Clinically obese that is. I never diet. I try but I never get past 11am before the hunger pains slash around my gut like the evil things they are. I thought about slimfast once but was too ashamed to buy it and I heard it makes you shit loads. Maybe its laxative properties help with the weight loss. It was discussed that a perfect way to diet (apart from the eat as much as you want and then throw it up method cos it’s a personal fav) would be the Muller Light Diet. These tasty desserts have minimal fat and calories and even have some nutritional qualities and come in so many flavours that by the time you’d chosen which one to slurp up, you’d be hungry no more. 1 for breakfast, 2 for lunch and 3 for tea, neck some multi vitamins and you’re clear of 1000 calories and vitamined up for the day. It’s near to perfect. I could be Victoria Beckham thin and pissing toffee yoghurt by the end of the week. As long as I aint so hungry that I start lapping it up again. I aint sitting here chuffin’ with some great huge simpleton grin on my face thinking how cool I am for forgoing food for as long as I have done by the way, it’s just one of these things that will pass and until I regain full appetite I feel I should chart my progress because I’m still flabbergasted that its really so. I am quite sure I have a good decade of NO food before I even come close to that ‘target’ weight so no need to be concerned.
Oh can I just say that I went to university on Tuesday. It was insightful. Or it could have been but cos my head was up my arse (it is physically possible you know) once again, my thoughts were elsewhere. Nevermind, at least I went I guess. I suppose that’s what resits are for, humph.
Listening to: Britney dance mixes
3/21/2002 09:48:00 AM
Beautiful Boy, gay bud
Well I was all set to attend uni for the first time and show everyone that I had not died in London when I got the phone call. I was trying really hard to make myself beautiful, really not a task that I relish by the way cos it involves a great deal of effort. And the phone goes and it’s Beautiful Boy, asking me if I wanted to go on a date. Well a lunch date and a day date, whatever, but still a date. You cannot hang out with Beautiful Boy and not class it as a date. He makes you feel that you are the best person in the world as he flatters and hugs you. Well that was uni out the window, the house and everything else glass, again. Hmmm. I felt guilty for at least 4 seconds as I slung on my new coat and decked myself out in pink and took my still wobbly legs off into town to meet my pretty friend. We hit some random pub for food. Having not been feeling myself (for a change someone else has been feeling me) it had been a while since I had eaten. I picked my way through a tuna cheese melt without the melt and downed a pint of beer. This was more like it. And so in search of much cheapness we headed to the union. As soon as we opened the door the pungent aroma smacked us in the face like a ball of mould thrown at full force. The stench was students. We ordered cheap pints and discussed the straight guys wearing brown and green. Why do they insist on coupling those dull Bernard Manning like colours with each other? And tapered jeans for fuck sake which sit so tightly around the ankle that it makes their shoes look like elongated shits. While I am ranting about the distasteful dress sense of many a straight boy I will also moan to fuck about fluffy hair. What harm does a bit of wax do? It doesn’t flake like gel, it’s longer lasting and it aint expensive. And if it were, hello have a bit of pride in your appearance. Wax should be distributed free on the NHS, it would save the sanity of many rejected fluffy headed boys. At least it would reduce the amount of fag hags there are who love gay men cos their hair looks so good. So please note that blown dried fuzzy hair is not a good look boys. There were a few of these creatures dressed by their mothers that would have deserved a make over however. Honestly. Mainly the ones who were checking me out.
We sat cautisoulsy on the pube and vomit strewn sofas, careful not to sit on the really dark or the really light stains. The smell of feet drove us to down 75p Vodkas and leave in haste. The next stop was Vodka Bar, a classy establishment where I got checked out by the bar maid, really. We met a sweet birthday girl who was suitable tanked up and treating us with stories of her drunken party nights. Pure porn. Actually this girl was Natasha from Atomic Kitten and her mates the other two. It’s a real good thing to stick in with people who work in your favourite shop, Claire’s Accessories. Half price glitter and Britney merchandise thank you very much. They departed to go watch Travis although it was clear they would much rather have gone for a boogey and there was no way they would even be able to focus on little Fran with the amount of alcopops they had drank (4 between 3). As they left, Queen of Fun arrived and her pretty little smile made my night even better. I threw up a bunch of mucous twice that I can remember and smoked harsh cigarretes, Dunhills, which disintigrated my throat and made puking more uncomfortable than usual. I also looked like I was smoking cigars with the fancy box these throat rippers came in. The Vodka Bar has this great toilet. Inside one cubicle there are 2 toilets bowls, the next best thing to a female urinal where girls can compare pube colours or something. Anyhow, I found it to have a better use than me pissing in one bowl and my gay mate pissing in the other which is actually plain weird. I took a piss in one and as the bog flushed I leaned over and chucked in the other, with the sound of the other bog flushing drowning out my gagging. Very inventive I must say.
Enter 2 foreign friends of the Queen of Fun and enter Fee’s sexuality confusion. As Beautiful Boy complimented the foreign lasses and flashed his pretty everything at them her held my hand. I thought I loved him. Well I do love him but it made me wish he was my boyfriend. I don’t have an issue being a dyke, I just thought for one moment that things would be easier if he were my boy. If I can’t snuggle into the girl I want to then the only person I could feel snuggly and cosy with at this moment in time would be Beautiful Boy. But then maybe that’s cos he is my friend and expects nothing else from me. It is hard to meet people and become friends without feeling that they have ulterior motives for being your friend. People don’t understand friends are more valuable and that not everyone wants to shag. This may seem uncommon for a lesbian but I am quite sure I am not the only one.
Destiny’s Child (inside my head)
Missing classes at uni where people were miming
Queen of Fun
Energy, I have none so would like some
slutwhoreprostitutetart in a suede coat
Self Pity, tis the enemy
Paint on my new coat
Arguments (all of which I cause)
3/19/2002 04:56:00 PM
So today all I have done is watch Buffy. And today’s favourire character is Cordelia for her LA girl esque one liners and of course the Buffster for looking so hot and broody as she depresses everyone by crying over Angel. I have watched these episodes at least a dozen times each and I still feel a little tear when Angel goes bad. It’s very sad I know. Actually for one part of the day I did get out of my bed to pick up the remote that my dog knocked off the bed. I was gonna go out and do things so I could at least have something interesting to write in my weblog about but the thought of getting on public transport with this hair was not one I openly entertained. While I was sad and stayed in all Saturday night, at least I did not spend it on my own with a face mask on watching Elton John, eh J. Bo? Tomorrow is university however and I really will go. I have managed to avoid all uni and most work since arriving back in this bog of crap. Think I am doing pretty well but to continue for another week would be utterly sad and it is likely my legs will cease up from the amount of lying horizontal they have been doin the past few days. And so I return to bed.
Listening to: Bob and Rose soundtrack…
Pink sparkley nails
Quiche, of the roasted vegetable variety
Glitter doing its best to hide my crows feet
Sitting next to pubes on the bus
People who moan bout skitters
3/17/2002 08:58:00 PM
The other day I was disappointed to hear someone I half respected telling her friend that it was a shame Will Young (pop idol winnner for those who've had their TV up their arse for months) was gay because he 'had' a beautiful smile. What on earth?? So because he has come out his smile has faded and he is now ugly. Gay people don't deserve to be good looking? How can people be so ignorant and and so fuckin rude? These are the types of people that do yet have access to telephones and running water. Or so you'd think. Actually these are supposed to be intelligent people thinking intelligent thoughts but instead they make judgements such as that? And people wonder why so many people are so scared of coming out. Personally i wasn't. I embraced the event with everything I could. And that's a lot of embracing I tell you. I was dying to set myself loose from my huge closet. Some people think I should still be in there but it really wasn’t all that comfy. In fact there were so many massive boots and skirts hanging around in there that I am quite surprised I managed to squeeze myself to the door, ease it open a fraction and slip out. For a lass my size there is no such thing as slippin out. Jeez I sound like fuckin Vanessa Feltz pre diet. Anyway, I was 15 when I got my first taste for ladies. I had heard rumours that my mate had been caught sniffin’ around some fanny and so a crush was developed. I confessed my desire to stroke the pussies, she told me it was normal, just a phase (if I had a girl for every time I heard that I’d never get up for air amongst all the fish) and that I would get over it. I cried and hoped she’d feel sorry for lil gay Fee and wanna lick away my tears and everything else that tastes of marmite. It took a good few weeks before we downed 2 whole bottles of K cider and were suitably drunk and she lunged in for the kiss, full tongue and everything. Now I had kissed boys before, acne ridden and cheesey balled but this was unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my life. Everything tingled and I was pleased as pussy as we skipped down the road singing delights such as ‘Saturday night’ by Whigfield (rather hot for a Scandinavian she was) and other mid nineties twaddle. I had died and gone to girl heaven. No sorry that was when I met the editor of Mayfair and he offered me free porn. She crushed me [with her mammoth mammories] when I found out she told the entire world about by my new found gayness. She kissed me about 3 times after that, but it felt like I was raping her. Something gave me the impression that she wasn’t enjoying it as much as I was. Maybe it was the way she jammed her mouth (and legs once) shut when I tried to tongue her for the 14th time. After that I told the rest of my friends who had been deaf and fucking stupid and didn’t know. It took some convincing, you know with my ass length hair and no swagger in sight. I phoned every gay number in the book. Oh no not ‘mooch my pussy for 50p a minute’ but more like the gay switchboard in every town there was one. Why the fuck I cared about gays in Luftborough I will never know. I arranged meetings with ‘helpers’ from various organisations. My first real experiences with 100% real bush chompers were disappointing. They were all after slipping you a finger or 10 and I just wanted friendship. So I made my way through some ladies and many girls as I gladly offered a lip or four to those friends wanting to check out snogging a bird. Miss Happy Slapper I salute you. It was all very token but I gotta kiss a lot of pretty ladies my male counterparts could never dream about kissin’. This whole time I was out shakin’ my checked trousered arse on the gay dancefloor, if you could ever get to it, I believe it was there. I thought I ruled the club because I was young and new. I didn’t but I did own the toilets cos my head was permanently wedged in them after the 4 drinks I had consumed. My drinking till puking started because my mate nicknamed me “Fifi la Femme Poodle Duck Crossbreed want a doggie biscuit, aha”. He was a cruel man. I could not stand the ‘femme’ jokes and was determined to prove my butchness. And so my mate devised some butch tests. One of these tests was to down a certain amount of alcohol without pukin or pissin within a certain amount of time. This was painful. Other such tests included propositioning beautiful straight birds. These tests didn’t prove my manliness but did heighten my stupidity status as straight birds set their rough handed prepubescent boyfriends on me for breaking in their girls before they had a chance and club owners set the police on me for breaching a helluva lotta peace. Immature: definitely. But so much fun. Once I grew up a fraction of a year I tried to date older ladies who turned out to be experienced in more ways than I care to remember and scared the shit outta me. I thought I was destined to be one of them spinsters that kids throw bread at and call ‘fanny licker’ (truth does not always hurt you know). But I wanted to at least share my spinster hood with a married bitch who’d use me on the side or an ugly man hater who’d batter me. I did much better than that however and I met an innocent young flame who I wish I could say I introduced to the ways of the gay but I was too much of a lady/gentleman for that. We had fun but it wasn’t too be. My inability to hold down a relationship is a source of amusement. Not my amusement mind you. And then quite unexpectedly, in walked The Queen of Fun who was very femme and grimaced her face and picked me up with the line ‘r u gay?’ Her eloquence made me want her. I wanted and I got. I was surprised and elated.
Well I guess that’s all I can be arsed telling you rite now. That was just a break down of my life as a queer which does sound very dull but the events outlined were filled with exciting anecdotes which make up a great deal of my ‘stories’. Honest, there really has been some excitement in the life of Feely Up Fee. My life as a queer fat kid would make a great book I am quite sure.
In the words of one pretty willow, “I think I’m kinda gay”
Listening To: Alanis (the second album)
Vodka at 2pm
Dopplegangland (buffy episode)
Other people’s beds…
Lack of sleep
People who hide things from you
Horizontal Stripes (they make me look like Mama Cass)
Chewen down nails
Things that hurt
3/16/2002 09:15:00 PM
I don’t think I had a turning point in my life when I decided that I did not need to eat everything we owned for dinner. I still do it. I still moan about it all the time but to give up food in such huge quantities is like asking a poof to give up arse. I know I changed my mode of dress and bought oversized things in all shades of tye dye and became a ‘smelly’ but I don’t think I have ever gotten any slimmer. I just wore folds of clothes to hide my folds of fat. I also needed to ditch my cardboard fringe I had come to loathe which made me look like a double porker. I had only had this fringe cut in because one day I thought it was time to transform myself into my idol so I shoved on a pair of bright green shades and cut my hair and introduced myself to my mother as Elton John. The fringe was the only way to fix my d.i.y job, so my mum said. I think it was revenge for the sight she witnessed of me as Elton John and Kiki Dee all rolled into one with a beautiful bowl cut, just at one side. So once I peeled of my thick ankle socks and adorned cardies to shame Nana Muskuri I was a changed person and actually got some cool friends who were good enough to introduce me to smoking,anything. And also to the wonderments of home made alcohol. My 15-18 years were very happy and it was around this time I got gay. That’s another day’s entry.
I have been informed of a writing competition and a kind friend mentioned I should enter. Flattery and lies do get you everywhere. Apparently I have to write my autobiog in 600 words… I can’t even write a sentence with less words than that so there really aint much hope. Ramble? I most definitely do.
Today is a dull day and will be made less dull with my return to work numero deux where I really am appreciated for the wench that I am. I also get to see at least 4 people that I have not seen for 6 weeks. That is the number of friends I have. Oh I never made it to university yesterday again. And as I have the next 2 days off I will try again on Monday. Damn that sun that looks so pretty and feels so cold.
Oh and no word from the American Chick about that date.
Listening to: SHAKIRA – Laundry Service
Travel Guides, well I aint going nowhere so why should anyone else
People who check their change after I have laboriously counted it back to them
Squint Glasses, my own
Shit on Shoes
3/14/2002 11:18:00 AM
So I found myself wandering into an old friend’s work and was delighted by his genuinely happy to see me reaction. Some people really do make you feel at home. I then coffee-ed with 2 other friends and took my first wander around the city centre that I had not laid my swollen eyes on in 6 weeks. The only 2 places to have sprung up in my absence were ‘Jimmy Chung’s’ (some Chinese chain with way too much fluorescent lighting) and Forbidden Planet (a glorified comic shop with an adequate stocking of Buffy merchandise). I was disappointed. No Diesel shops, no Buffalo Boots, not even an H&M in sight. And so there was only one thing left to do, hit the pub for a pre work pint with the old friend. It was great, I even got invites for drinks and a party, on consecutive nights so it was fab to be able to actually make an entry (or 2 even, this was a good day…) into my otherwise entryless diary.
And then came my first trip to my part time job. I was less than excited about the prospect of dressing myself in the customary red tee shirt after having been haning out in a cool publishing company doing things that didn’t involve speaking to customers, for 6 weeks. The evening was slow and passed without trauma. It will be an astoundingly slow 3 hours till I return there once again. How blessed am I? SO beyond very.
And that’s when it all went shit. Shit enough to make this the worst day of my life.
Listening to: Alanis: Under Rug Swept
Too many to mention
NB Yes I am dramatic but the reasoning behind it warrants such behaviour
3/13/2002 03:20:00 PM
Because I can no longer astound my readers with my London escapades I will today spoil you with my top 5 lesbian snogs. These are based on TV and Film and not my real life as I do not have the momentum to discuss the multitude of slivers that have dribbled down my chin or the amount of motionless tongues that have rested in my massive gob.
These are in reverse order and while I am sure there are many many more, these are all that come to mind as I type.
6 Helen and Nicki from Badgirls – their snogs have been in abundance but I liked the 1st one best, in Nicki’s cell… oh naughty
5.The entire ‘Gia’ film, with Angelina Jolie who could snog anything and look good, best when she’s snoggin me tho
4. Beth and Margaret form Brookside, an oldie but a goldie which spawned a 3 year Anna Friel obsession
3. At Home With the Braithwaites – Virginia and the older neighbour bird to the soundtrack of William Orbit, very nice
2. If These Walls Could Talk 2 – Michelle Williams & Chloe Sevigny (as a hot butch, yes really) to the soundtrack of ‘Lean on Me’ by Bill Withers
1.CRUEL INTENTIONS – Sarah Michelle Geller & Selma Blair – very hot tongue and slight sliver action to the soundtrack of Blur Coffee & TV. Heaven
Ok, as lesbians are as trendy as malboro lights and smokers’ hats they are everywhere at the moment. Not that I’m one to complain about opening up papers to find hot girls making out or anything. I do appreciate what they are trying to do for me and I know they aint gay for keeps, just so they can ‘try it’, just once, or maybe 5 or 6 times. Any publicity is good, and what better way to get yourself noticed than by slipping your female co stars the tongue? I know that when I become a Hollywood actress that I will be taking every opportunity to lick the various lips of all my leading ladies. Loads of dykes get all riled by famousstraight people going thru phases and kissing girlies when it appeals to them as much as snorting cheese but I say right on girls, you go for the girl on girl action. If it does nothing for them, that’s no problem. I aint asking them to enjoy it, just to do it and smile sweetly or provocatively and pretend they are having the best time since they rode their first Hollywood stud, horse or otherwise. Surely it can’t be a bad thing to not have only pictures of Ellen and her bird of the moment to drool over? So the more hot girlies snogging the better. Britney snogs me but I’m the only girl for her and she wont do pictures. I have tried. I will say that there is one actress who really should stay away from lady lip locking, Jennifer Aniston. As beautiful as she is, she snogs girls as badly as most people chew gum. Here’s the evidence: Exhibit 1: Episode of Friends when she ‘snogged’ Winona Ryder. This was not more than a rolling of heads with open eyes and no pleasure for anyone involved. Exhibit 2: ‘Snogging’ a woman who was a man played by a woman (confused?). This snog was similar to exhibit 1, no tongue, just fear. She wasn’t even thinking of Brad. She was clearly thinking of her wrongly inserted tampon that was causing her discomfort. That’s what her facial expression said anyway. I’d imagine that as she is going out with Mr Pitt that she cannot surely kiss like that all the time? Imagine that grimace sucking your cock. How very pleasureable.
And so I will leave you as I go ponder over the delights of famous chicks snogging [me] and doing the other bad things that sometimes go with snogging (drinking beer and eating bad crisps).
Listening To: Bjork Debut
Chattin on the phone to friends for hours
Lonely dancing in your house
Band Candy (episode of Buffy)
Being Heartbroken :-( (some think I don’t have a heart to break, but I do)
Food (just for this 10 seconds)
Going back to work
People who are always right, even when they know they are not
3/12/2002 10:17:00 AM
A Poem for Delectable D
Well foxy lady
How’s about it?
By The Fee
3/11/2002 04:49:00 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>