I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
4/30/2002 04:21:00 PM
4/30/2002 01:33:00 PM
I woke up this morning to my CD player screaming into action, around 8.35am. I set the alarm on my cd player each day but I had forgotten that the last song I listened to last night as I threw myself around into a coma was ‘flashdance’ at near full blast. That got my ass outta bed I tell you. I woke with a start and lay there until the chorus came on and I could take it no more. I literally threw myself out of bed into a split leap and landed into a lunge with excessive jazz hands going on. There was then multiple front kicks going faster than I could keep up with and mucho shoulder shimmeying and my final burst of energy thrusted me into painful ground level splits with arms thrown aloft. For 2 minutes and 33 seconds I really was out of control. I’m typing this from floor position, the same position I have remained in since I hurled myself into the splits. If I ever make it off the floor I will find walking painful with the pulled fanny muscle I am now the proud owner of. High energy dancing at that time in the morning should be illegal. I just couldn’t help it, the beat really did control my body. I love a dance as much as the next fat person but really I do not have the physical stamina for it. Yesterday I tried pulling off some Britney Spears chair dancing (surely you have seen the Stronger video??) which involved spinning and standing on chairs and breaking said chairs and some bones. I looked hot, yeah over perspired hot. Britney has got nothing on me I tell you. I used to dance from the ages of 5-17. In know this is hard to believe and feel free to not hold your laughs back as fairy elephant Fee tells you that she did disco, tap and wait for it, BALLET. Imagine me in a tuto??! Imagine all you like cause it’s a memory I have tried very hard to block out. More often than not I was found strutting around in lilac lycra tights with a navy leotard and my andre agassi tee shirt with my fringe bouncing around like a whore on a cock. Actually I wasn’t even shit at dancing. I’m sure I should have been. I thought I was too much of a heffer but to be honest, I have seen worse. I even did exams almost to teacher level, really. I used to take in my mum’s ‘rescue remedy’ pre exams and get everyone so hyper that we flew around the room sticking our fingers up at the ancient fat ass judges who would grade you good if she thought she might get a lick or two. These exam days were the only days I was forced to take my tee off and it was like belly city. I knocked at least four people out with my jiggly gut as I spun around like a nob. Not a good look. One day we even got our pictures taken for the paper and me and my mate were shoved in the back, refusing to take our tees off but we were beautiful. And at least the whole of Aberdeen could not see the size of our non tits. Oh how I loved those days of uncomfortable pants and scraped back hair. My favourite memory, apart from being so obsessed with the dancing teacher that I’m sure I gave her anonymous calls, was when my friend was taking part in a festival in orange lycra and at age 13 was told to bleach her bush cos her soot black pubes were shining though and that’s all the pervy judges could see. She won that day. My dancing days came to a close when I got glandular fever however and by this time I had grown attached to my new dancing teacher. What is it about ladies in skimpy clothes thrusting themselves around the room that I love so much? She didn’t love me though. Fuck no. She hated me with more than a fiery passion. I know one reason behind this was because I took in a mixy one week which contained such delights as gin, vodka, rum and curdled Baileys and got at least 3 people wasted. Not bad for a 14 year old and considering I was the oldest I was termed a bad influence and had to go grovelling and kiss jazz pumps. I quite enjoyed that part and she still never told my mum. Ladies in lycra with over the top smiley faces I salute you and thank you for making my fat years so pleasurable.
Listening to: the locomotion
4/30/2002 10:33:00 AM
4/29/2002 02:36:00 PM
Before I come to tell you anything else about yesterday I have a story that really must be recounted first. Beautiful Boy phones me last night: BB “ Fee, have you heard from Luscious L?” Fee “Well he did call me on Saturday night around 4am but I ignored it. Why?” BB “Oh my god you so should have answered that phone call”. Ok so here I start to panic and have images of Luscious L getting queer bashed and calling me to plead for help and I’m ignoring his call in favour of sleep. I start to feel guilty until I realise that BB isn’t crying down the phone, he is in fact laughing like a maniac and trying to explain the story behind Luscious L’s early morning phone call. Now, for anyone who knows Luscious L, this is hilarious, if you don’t I will try and build up a picture for you. So, Luscious L goes to his home in a rough part of the city, walking and drunk and very gay. He arrives at his tenement to discover that he has the wrong key. Not seeing the problem with forcing his own door he hurls his full body weight against the door, repeatedly, over and over. He’s still at it, shoulder bruised and face all sweaty when he hears the sirens. And still he continues with the determination of a lesbian forcing tongue down a straight girl and the police are there. Living where Luscious L is residing at the moment I’m sure when the police got the call to say there was someone breaking in they were expecting 3 junkies, multiple scars and maybe 4 knives between the 3. And instead, here’s Luscious L, in his full gay glory, battering a door down. Luscious L is stood there, 6ft tall, quite big built, bleached blond hair, with gold puma trainers on, bleached jeans slashed in various places with a knee length tassel belt and a white girlie clutchie swung over his shoulder. Oh to see those policemen’s faces as they scramble out of their car in full riot gear and tear gas at the ready to be faced with Lily Savage. Pure comedy. Who needs a show when Luscious L IS the show? And so they manhandle Luscious L, or maybe that’s just the story he’s telling – rough handled by 3 police men – into the car and the poof is lifted. He’s forced to sit in a cell with infamous junkies till his mummy comes to collect him. Bless his little gay socks, had he of had any on of course.
And so I’m sitting there in a shopping centre waiting for Slains (hangover pub of choice) to open yesterday with Young B, feeling like a skanky ho, minding my own business when I look up and coming toward me at full speed is an accentuated fanny. This bad girl was collosol in it’s triangular shape and I could do nothing but stare at it’s enormity. And then, as though by accident, everywhere we looked all we could see was jumbo muffs. Sunday must be visible fanny day (there were no major lippage however, just a mass of distinguished minge). Ladies as young as 19 who should know better, were walking around showing off the size of their muff. It’s all wrong ladies, I like the element of surprise.
And from here the conversation turned to MILFS (Mother’s I’d Like to Fuck, a fav of mister trashwhore). My favoured MILF of the moment, aside from Queen of Fun’s hottie auntie (sorry!) has to be Lorraine Kelly. I wish I could explain this fascination but really I can’t. Lorraine Kelly is a UK breakfast television presenter who rules my morning, or she would were I to get up at such a ridiculous time. She’s got this posh Scottish accent (yup, they really do exist but are an endangered species) and says things like “thongs are teeerible, they get stuck up the craaack of your booottom”. I’m sorry but anyone who can use the word ‘bottom’ eloquently has my vote any day of the week. She's like over forty, odd hair, strange eyebrows, good boobs adn slightly fit (?). I don't get it.
Here's my MILF of the day
I can’t say I found any other MILFs yesterday, I guess the prospect of finding an Aberdonian one is pretty difficult and I will settle for hottie auntie who’s hotter than a pizza oven.
So myself and Young B hung out drinking tea again in several pubs (is it normal to drink tea in pubs? Even Earl Grey?) with Young B’s imminent 4 hour bus journey looming over our heads like a cloud of turd. We smoked none and drank no alcohol so in effect we are both on detox. Even on Saturday night I did not veer off my detox too severely. With my 4 drinks (and 3 of other people’s drinks) and the total of 5 cigarettes I smoked I think I did rather well. Yesterday there was cheese strings and chips but that aside I am surviving well and my fresh orange juice picked me right up this morning. Anyway, so in the rain, with my now curly hair (curly is not a good look for me) we made off for the bus station to say our goodbyes and good lucks that Young B was not going to vomit with her love for travelling. And I went home with my new Shirley Temple look to cry a river of Buffy tears. I have been warned about watching the last Buffy episode (season 5) to expect a slight sniffle. And so I had put off watching it, till yesterday. I don’t think there has been a time in my life when I have cried so much. Dead Buffy? Hello? And every person that called me afterwards wondered why I was all choked up and miserable, thinking it was slit wrists time or something but no, it was Buffy heartbreak. I need a new, shiny happy obsession.
Listening to: Shakira, the dance mix
I came home yesterday to have my mum moaning at me so in my rebellious non teen state I stormed up stairs slamming everything in sight and yelling abuse about washing and thought I’d add a final touch of cranking the tunes up full blast. Only, all I had to hand was Shakira. It really didn’t have the same effect as Marilyn Manson or something mean and sweary and my mum just laughed as Shakira shook her hips and the floor and the walls. Gutted at my lack of ability to wind my mum up.
4/29/2002 12:12:00 PM
Firstly, what the hell are random ugly arse feelers about? These are people who would have no hope in hell of ever talking to you, let alone ever getting a legitimate chance to feel your cheeks so they walk around clubs copping a feel or tickling any bum in sight. I know the Beautiful Host also has an issue with this as some full on minger dived in for a rub and BH sounded off. The guy was offended at his bollocking, as though this beut had every right to feel any bum he wanted. It's my ass and if I want you to touch it I'll put a fuckin notice on it saying' hey come on over and squeeze me' but as it is, my ass remains my property. This rant is dedictaed mostly to the 'straight' guy who appeared to be in Castros alone and who would not leave me and me ass alone as he groped and pinched till there was bruising. I guess it was my own fault tho. Yeah cause I did smile at him once thinking he was a poof on his first outing. That's why I shouldn't even bother trying to be nice because what do i get in return? A bunch of slimy kisses and clammy hands making their way over my every inch. That's a lot of distance for one pair of hand. This rant also goes out to the other randoms who think it's funny to have a tickle on the way past and pretend it was their mate. At least I have the decency to admit my ass grabs.
Rant numero dos is dedicated to all the fag hags who seem to come to castros with the intention of fighting with real lesbians. Ok, faghags will always be a part of the gay scene, even in Aberdeen where the club can hold about 200 people and around 120 of these are fag hags who have their choice of any straight bar still come to castros to look 'glam', but does this mean they need to come every week and slag off the lesbians and start fights with them? No i don't think it does but they still do it. Every week I am glared at for no non reason, with sly comments made when I walk past and I know given the chance they'd take me outside and give me a good fisting. In their dreams. It's lesbians that are supposed to fight and here's these 'ladies' sitting pretty and talking like trash trying to take on any lesbian that swaggers through the door. It's all wrong. I mean imagine punching a dolled up straight girl? I'd be scraping the foundation from my knuckles for weeks and the stench of cheap perfume on my shirt would never wash out.
My final issue of the evening is gold. Why oh why does such a colour exist? I saw not one, not 2 but 3 fag hags strutting around in floaty gold outfits with bellies popping out. The light seemed to catch them at every angle to make everyone regret not having adhered to the theme night guidelines i.e wearing shades. It was real painful to watch and I may never be able to wear contacts. And gold jewellry, what's that all about? 'hey look at me, i got no money so i'm wearing a heap of massive gold chains to compensate for this'. Who cares about bling bling when these Mr T clones don't even have a sparkling wit to reflect their bad taste in attire/jewellry. It's cheap, it's nasty, it's flashy, it's shit. So please just stop it.
And my rants are over, for today at least. Off I go to nurse my beachball bruised face and think about revenge.
4/28/2002 07:22:00 PM
4/28/2002 05:10:00 PM
Hurrah! I survived my experience of small child watching. The newly turned 5 year old who is "super at talking and eating" to quote the mini adult herself, made sure I was beautified and knackered within 10 minutes. Because Queen of Fun is evil personified she thought it would be damn funny to buy a gloopy make up set for small child which did closely resemble paint. I had lipstick in places make up should never go and I know I will be picking it out of my once light coloured eyebrows for at least 2 months. I just hope the blotcheyness goes before I go out tonight. I thought I'd as good as scrubbed it off till I got in the taxi and the driver enquired as to whether I'd had a 'wild night'. Well he did pick me up around the harbour area. But Queen of Fun did look like something out of the Moulin Rouge only more whorish and far more skankier. As Queen of Fun burnt body parts with flying popcorn kernels, myself and small child tore around the living room playing tag and throwing stuff. That kid packs a mean punch btw. Kid watching gave me all the excuse I needed to fill every orifice with popcorn, sweets, biscuits and milkshake. So much so in fact that the small child threw a tantrum cause the fat adult had eaten 3 bowls of popcorn, including all of hers. I managed to sit through my first Disney film and even came away smiling, probably cause it was finished. I protested heavily when Disney part deux came on and sneakily fast forwarded it so all we saw was the last 10 minutes. And I never got to see hot auntie. When the buzzer went I did do a sprint for the stairs only to be chased by Queen of Fun and I gave up once she shoulder barged me out of the way with her small bulk. Damn those hot bitches. So with small child in sparkely pyjamas I was jealous of and Queen of Fun looking more like Queen of the Damned, home was the only place for me, to try and sleep off this popcorn induced indigestion, trying in vain to avoid the revisit because of the known bad consistency of popcorn.
And so I am on detox. Physical detox this time around. Not that I’ve had enough of the smiling at strangers cause that’s always fun and even more so when someone gives you a great big grin and you know they are on the ‘mind detox’ also but because I’m wrecked. After waking up on Tuesday and being in no fit state to converse and do much aside form look homeless, I decided to forego alcohol for awhile. I have had no alcohol and no cigarettes for 5 days now and am feeling all good about it. I know that IF I venture out tonight there will be alcohol involved but I am done with the double strength hangovers I get when I smoke a pack of 20 so no more smokes. I also thought I’d try drinking only water and freshly squeezed orange juice and so far, apart from a slight coke and milkshake lapse yesterday I think I am doing pretty well. Food wise I should be eating no sugar and no dairy. With the amount of cheese strings I have guzzled since Monday I guess this hasn’t worked. Mind you, the amount of actual cheese contained in cheese strings is rather limited. The are rather flavourless but there is something satisfying about peeling them apart but I guess they must gather a great deal of germs with grubby fingers continually pawing at them. And as for sugar, well I ate so much sugar last nite that I have yet to sleep. Maybe I will begin again tomorrow when alcohol is no longer beckoning me and I will be able to dedicate more of time to perfecting my detox and possibly my weight which has ballooned once again.
Percy Pigs, damn you pigs for teasing me so
Days off, every day is one of these for me
Summer colds, don’t do contradictions
Slander, it’s all wrong
People singing at 8am
4/27/2002 09:40:00 AM
4/26/2002 03:01:00 PM
4/26/2002 02:51:00 PM
4/26/2002 10:45:00 AM
What is it about Aberdeen (places in general?) that if the sun comes out, the bad skirts and pedal pushers also make an unwanted appearance? Myself and tryhardloser and sparklecat contemplated this after spectating many a hideous sight as we tried to avoid university food poisoning by eating the safe sandwich option. Every second person was decked out in shit skirts or ¾ length trousers which made for many a bad bum. All the skirts did nothing for anyone’s calves. Justice was done for no ankles either so why bother? What difference does it make to the good of your health to flash a little ankle in summer? If your ankles are fully covered will you perspire more and require the usage of anit perspirant around the ankle area? I think not so why swan around with fat ankles for the sake of a breeze around calf? We saw misshapen skirts, floral granny print skirts and brown tweed goddamn. Buy nice skirts ladies. Please. Pedal pushers what are they all about? No one has ever explained these cropped leggings to me and I don’t think I will ever understand the point. I guess ¾ length trousers aint as bad as pedal pushers as at least there is room for fanny to breath in ¾ lengths. Still, very unflattering around the ass area so really, don’t do it. Normally I love summer. Pretty much because pretty people are scantily clad. However, for every half nude hottie there is always about 15 uggers who should remain indoors until the sun goes and they can come back out in their parkers and balaclavas. I am one of these people but thankfully because I am considerate, I have various items of clothing off the agenda for ever. I don’t do sleeveless because while, like cellulite, bingo wings (flabby upper arms) are a major part of life for most, mine’s shake without even touching them so to free them of material would be torture for anyone around me as they would get knocked from side to side like a weeble. I never do shorts. Not only cause it would mean having to partake in the activity that is shaving legs regularly but because fat legs all over are my forte and no one needs to see that. This also rules out ¾ length trousers (chubby ankles) thankfully. Sometimes I do tee shirts. Usually floor length and revealing nothing. The only real skin showing I do is facial and even that’s only when my all over body suit and helmet is being dry cleaned. I have been known to wear flip flops (trendy with jeans you know) and thankfully I grew out of hairy toes syndrome when I was 19. Apart from the fact that I nearly die of heat suffocation every year due to the amount of clothes I wear I still love it. Even though no one loves a sweaty Fee in all her layers (of clothes and chubs) but hey, at least I can still check out the beautiful people who are quite entitled to wear very little. Shallow? Well yes sometimes I am. Jealous? Well yes most times I am.
I got one of my courseworks back yesterday and it made me wonder why I even bothered doing it. And then I remembered I didn’t exactly bother doing it. It was begun and finished during about 17 hangovers and within the space of 7 hours. I really did deserve to fail. The fact that it was the ‘worst piece of work’ I have ever dared hand in, in my 3 years of doing this course made me feel ok about still passing it, just. I feel my first resits coming on and I do not relish my summer being overrun with uni work. Pah.
Oh I am very excited, somebody who has looked at my site has translated it into Spanish! In it’s entirety. It’s very exciting. If anyone has any knowledge of gaelic (bad scots dialect that doenst translate ‘tescos’ and ‘sainsburys’ and makes for much amusement) then please, translate my site :-) Someone cares enough to read my site in Spanish, yay! Might not sleep tonight. Gracias senorita/senora/senor.
Me in Espanol!
4/25/2002 01:29:00 PM
The stupidest thing about yesterday was that people everywhere were cycling around on fuckin stupid bikes. Why pedal your way down Union Street on a penny-farthing getting your slacks stuck in the spokes and looking fuckin stupid? Why do fuckin stupid people not realise that a non-fuckin stupid bike can be purchased for the likes of £35. If I had such a stupid bike I’d even steal one to avoid looking so fuckin stupid. What’s a night in a cell if it saves you for even one day from looking fuckin stupid? I’d so rather piss in front of 40 lesbos on smack than ride around on a fuckin stupid bike. But instead, these people choose to cycle around on rusted kids bikes with massive wheels (an over compensation for tiny tits I guess) and mud guards (heaven help they may get a muddy back) that go slower than a virgin couple. It’s not only fuckin stupid but also fuckin dangerous and makes for a very irritable Fee.
People wear such fuckin stupid clothes. Stupid tops with only one sleeve, one shoulder and no tits to put inside the stupid thing. Make the decision, are you hot or are you cold? Contradictions suck and are fuckin stupid. And attachable flowers for day wear? I don’t think so. You wouldn’t see J Bo pulling off the stick on Rosie of the River look while popping into Boots for her feminine hygiene. Fuckin stupid.
And asses. The amount of fuckin stupid asses I saw yesterday was unbelievable. Young B and I, caffeined up through much tea drinking, decided to play a game. It began when we saw another long bum banging against the back of knees. Why are people so fuckin stupid that they think ‘blue jeans arse’ is attractive and gropeable? You wouldn’t know which part of cheek to go for first (top, middle or bottom? There’d be a hefty money prize in it if you could get your hands on all three areas at once, not bloody likely) And those fuckin stupid jeans with no pockets on the ass make for a lot of wide saggy asses. Fit one of these asses into a pair of bootcut jeans and it’d probably look quite hot. We thought about investing in a digital camera to have a lasting memory of people and their stupid arses. We are gonna dedicate an entire website to this ‘trend’ of bad asses. Any submissions gladly accepted. When the long bums departed we thought we’d check out every other arse in the place for any other misdemeanours. One ass we saw was stood at the bar and was clenched and unclenched more times than I’ve said the words ‘fuckin stupid’ but clearly this chick’s arse tensing exercises had not paid off. She just looked fuckin stupid, grimacing away looking like she was raising both cheeks to let a huge fart go while her cheeks jiggled away nicely.
The amount of bums that ‘spoke’ to us as they sashayed on by was funny. The bouncy cheeks appeared to be chatting away to each other with all the creasing and rearranging of pants that went on. Many others just looked like they had a whole packet of hubba bubba stuffed in, chewing away trying to force out a bubble.
We saw one ‘global bum’ which even in bootcuts was still the size of Aberdeen and the surrounding areas. The lass wasn’t even big all over which made it unnormal. She had like a tiny head, skinny waist and this gigantic arse which would have served at least four people well. That’s greed that is.
And while cellulite is a fact of life, why advertise how much you have by wearing light coloured tights ass trousers that make yer ass look like a fruit scone. Poc marked is regular on faces but on asses? Please, keep it to yourself.
Why do people impose such atrocities upon their unsuspecting asses? Such a pretty face, such a long, badly done up ass. Why make so much effort to make your face beautiful only to turn round and have an ass like a mashed up pie speaking away to you as if it’s your best mate? I don’t get it. Ladies sort your asses out, please.
One final point, if you’re a guy it’s real good to have a big nob right? Does this work with girls and their fannies? Do they have competitions to see whose measures up best? ‘Hey my muff is bigger than yours, jealous?’ ‘Mine’s is a good half metre while you only got 20 cm and that includes pubes.’ I can’t imagine this happening so why oh why do fuckin stupid people wear trousers that ‘accentuate’ the size of their fannies? One fanny began around the belly button area and seemed to go on to mid thigh. That’s a large fanny. Possibly not the world’s biggest but pretty close. Nob lovers tend to get excited when they see the shape of nob through trousers but I don't know any fanny fan that appreciates the view of minge through tight trousers. We all know the shape of a fanny but that doesn’t mean we need to look at the huge triangles while drinking a beer does it?
4/24/2002 10:35:00 AM
On the other extreme are the frenetic dancers who take over the entire dance floor, skipping around tits bouncing and getting every word wrong. One such girl who had a mane of eighties hair that badly needed a good condition hurled herself around the room like she were a shampoo commercial. The best bit was when she did a dramatic interpretation of a forward roll onto the stage which resulted in minor carpet burns to the face and elbows and gave everyone else a nice view of her over sized ass. It was quite coincidental that myself and Young B witnessed this sight as not 2 hours previously we had been discussing the decline of the forward roll and were even gonna find the space to introduce these mini gymnastics back into society. I drew the line at backwards rolls as had images of my ass getting stuck in the air as my chubbs fell out of my jeans and people pointed and jeered at what is my comedy ass. Young B did seriously contemplate a free standing handstand but couldn’t stand the attention her pants may receive.
Back to the dancing. System of a Down came on, not a group I am familiar or at ease with but you should have seen this collection of mini moshers, punk wannabes and trendy girls too young for Amadeus trying to adjust their dancing/moshing style to this bad boy. It made for great amusement all round as people kicked their legs out front as though they were in caberet and jumped in the air, arms and hair flailing while trying to touch the roof with said bouncy hair. These people really were flying without wings. Not a jammy rag in sight.
My favourites of the evening however were the people shuffling around like contortionists who’d left a jobbie in their pants and were trying desperately not to let it slip out the bottom of their made-for-3 trousers onto the already shit filled dancefloor. They all looked very uncomfortable but that’s to be expected when a slippy lil stool is sliding around in your Y fronts.
Actually what was funnier than any of these clowns was the 3 bams [nob ends who listen to happy hardcore with tapered jeans and long white polished trainers] sporting striped polo shirts and ted baker jeans lunging themselves into the mosh pit. I kept waiting for a knife to appear as they went barging in the moshpit with fists flinging, reminiscent of a lesbo in a women only ‘disco’.
I dance like an arse to any type of music (mostly accidently which is worse than taking the piss to Aha goes Ska) so I feel no guilt about slagging the delights of drunkenness I witnessed. Anyone who wears tights up their arms deserves to be berated.
Oh on Monday night I also got to see balls. Twice. I gotta scare the first time around cos I wasn’t quite sure what it was I was looking at. These balls were pierced and while I’m sure to a ball girl they looked beautiful (well the ball bearer was Beautiful Boy after all) I was taken aback by the fur. I got to feel balls also. Not naked. That’d have been weird and very wrong. Myself and Young B flanked (I said ‘flanked…) Beautiful Boy and I copped a feel. I wasn’t too offended when he didn’t crack a hard on, despite his best efforts to do so. Bless him and his non sexual love for lesbians.
Long Ass The Return on the way soon.
4/24/2002 09:31:00 AM
Yesterday a pair of mutha fucka breasts bounded their way across the dance floor to greet me with a head snuggle. These massive mammories had a mind of their own and they were begging to be groped or at least put quietly to bed somewhere. This pair of jumbos had at least one flimsy bit of vest not holding them in place. I saw nipple and disk. Not nice. Breasts that big… what would you do with them? It’d be a case of hunt the nipple while being careful to avoid suffocation. Personally I do not have a breast preference and usually do not take notice of other people’s belongings but some you can’t help but notice and stare in wonder/confusion at. I think large breasts intimidate me. Like boys and their ‘mine is bigger than yours’ issue with nobs, I have a breast one. Jealousy will not get me bigger paps however. Just thought I’d say.
Speaking of breasts and thinking bout underwear I went to see Britney again yesterday (for free, even better). Explain something to me. A film is scheduled to start at 3.50pm, trailers and erotic ads usually take up at least 15 minutes so how was it possible for myself and Young B to stroll into to see the Queen of hotness at 4.05pm and already have missed the first 20 minutes of the film? Of course that means we did infact miss not one but 2 underwear scenes. No wiggly lil ass cheeks for the lesbos. Being rather drunk it was hard not to leer at the screen in the loudest possible voice and incite others to yell ‘lesbos’ at us. We tried.
We played a mean game of mini bowling, well more like 2 cos Fee is a real bad loser and wanted to prove a point and still got her ass whipped. No, that was the lady I gave the wedgie to. You can’t beat a wedgie. Wedgie definition: pulling the back of someone’s pants upwards so they dig right into the crack and cause severe pain (if carried out correctly) and also causing major pant discomfort. I give a mean wedgie, so I have been told. Once I ripped someone’s DKNY pants in the process, think I caused someone to skid their bifs also. Not nice.
Well as I am being boring yet again and as I have uni in an hour I should slip out of my cheked PJs and into something a little less comfortable but I will return to tell you all about pained Goths and jobbies in pants dancers.
4/23/2002 12:06:00 PM
After my meagre sleep from sat to sun I went off to meet Young B who was up equally early and feeling equally as rough as me. No she was worse. I met her about 20 minutes after she had a ribena spew and whereas I had no spew. I should really have had a bet on about that btw. And so we walked listlessly around shops searching for nothin in particular and not even really browsing, not having the actual mental power to do so. We headed to Slains in order to tempt Young B with melted cheese and other such hangover wonderments. Two hours, 4 Irn Brus and 1 water later we managed to successfully consume pepper dusted fries (a recommendation btw) over about the course of an hour. Hangover's not cured we had to go to Marks and Spencers, the smell of the Bakery can perk anyone up. And back to the pub for much lattes and mochas (without the chocolate so technically just a coffee). We were beginning to awaken as Beautiful Boy walks in looking all pretty and hangover free. Enter said long arse and enter much amusement. Finishing off the coffees we headed for Siberia/Vodka bar in search of pints for Beautiful Boy and please no more liquid for the bloated Fee and Young B. You'd think by this time it would be at least 9pm but no, it was approaching only 5pm and so I left in order to fulfill some family duties which I wanted to do.
My social skills however were severly limited and I made my excuses around 7pm in favour of no thought involved TV/videos. I had to watch 'if these walls could talk 2' again for Chloe Sevigny ('ouch') looking hot as a mini gentleman and jen from dawson's Creek lookin shaggy haired and shaggable.
Muchness butchness, not usually my kinda thang but hot as hotness nevertheless
I aimed bedward pre 10pm but was still awake at 12 and woke up in bursts throughout the night to finally get up about 9am feeling shaky and dead and with growing pains in my legs. I should have stopped growing (upwards) about 4 years ago so I guess it's simple fatigue.
And today I have no uni (public holiday) so will be hanging out with Young B before she takes off back to the better place of Glasgow. I'm surprised she has lasted this long and hasn't snuck off on an earlier train to be honest but we will have some fun, with possibly more interaction in doing 'fun' this time, while yesterday was spent slumped in various pubs drinking various non alcoholic drinks with minimal physical movement.
4/22/2002 10:05:00 AM
Today I shamefully have to admit I bought a real sad mucho pathetico album. I don't know how I have the balls to even talk about this but it's something I have to get out of my alcohol filled system. I'm blaming the hangover and the cheapness of such a purchase but really, is there even a need to buy Westlife? No as I discovered. I even had the cheek to buy it from a cool independent record store and wonder why it was literally thrown in my direction with no 'please' or 'thank you', just a look that said 'get the fuck outta here kid'. Last nite while sat in Illicit Still, westlife were blasting out and with the bad chair dancing it brought on, not to mention mucho finger clicking and hair swinging, I knew I had no option. I need to buy summit cool tomorrow to make myself feel less like a teeny bopper with a poof fixation. I will buy Tiffany.
and so I go to bed, having had a hissy fit at one person and having bored about another 7 with my hungover woes and moans. Need sleep.
4/21/2002 08:54:00 PM
Listening to: Kylie Vs New order which a lovely poof gave to me
You can check him out here if u wanna
4/21/2002 11:32:00 AM
4/20/2002 08:21:00 PM
But anyway, let's lighten the tone of this entry right up. Double buggies/prams... what the hell are they all about? If you are gonna have the unfotunate mishap of having more than one baby then get a long, one in front of the other, buggy. Double buggies not only take up the whole pavement but are a danger to babies as they encroach road space and have been the cause of many an accident. Why crucify regular members of the public with your 'i need my space and yours and yours' buggy. It aint our fault you got laid and got more than you bargained for. Sort it out over ovulating mothers.
And at least 2 people told me how much weight I had lost. It's kinda embarrasing. What are you supposed to say to that, "yeah, right enough, I keep forgetting to eat and then when I do I feel like throwing it up but thanks for noticing anyway". What's worst is when people say "my god, you look so good, you've lost so much weight." Why thanks, so 1) u think I was a fat bastardo before and 2) you think I looked shit before and finally 3) you think that cos I'm thin I'm hot. Like weight equals hotness or something. Pile of shite. If you are a bloater you can't be atrtactive or something, that's so wrong. I hate skinny bastards. The other day it was commented that my tits had disappeared which is also all wrong. the only place I have lost weight is from my once fat ankle Someone also told me I 'suited bones' though which I thought was an unusual comment to make. I had stated that I had found a bone that I had never felt before, possibly an elbow bone or something and I was then told that I did in fact suit visible bones. I like feeling my bones (some of them) but I don't think they look very pretty. How can bones be hot?
Listening to: sophie ellis bextor
edible pants, who needs a chip supper after a night out
more nights out
people that think i don't notice stuff right under my non hairy nose
4/20/2002 09:59:00 AM
The booootiful Sheryl Crow, who is not me...
Today I feel lost. Not lost as in 'where am i going with my life' or any other deep bullshit that I aint so fond of, but lost because it has been 22 hours since I last caught glimpse of my mobile phone. I accidently left it at home and have not been able to retrieve it for a very long time. When I do eventually manage to collect it, there better be 'no space for new messages' and a queue of said messages as long as a straight boy's white trainers. How is it possible to become so attached to a fone and the messages that do or not come with it? ANother one of my obsessions that tell me I have no friends and need to find some real quick.
And so yesterday was a day not quite for death cos due to drinking excessive water on wed night i really wasn't that hungover. I was exceedingly tired and grouchy however and then Queen of Fun phones. She's had stressful day at work and she wants beer (cider to be precise, she is a lady of little taste [buds]. This may not seem like anything out of the ordinary for a regular working person but lil Queen of Fun is not big on alcohol or fun for that matter (just kiddin lil lady :-) ) and so this would be the day that she wants to go party and here's me, normally so willing to oblige her every whim, fully wrecked and lookin shit. What's a girl to do? Sit in the pub looking bored? Thats exactly what I did. If you'd have been in the company we were you'd have understood. Take one loud ginger with her fat pigs feet oozing out of her lady shoes, add 1 sleepy beer, mix well and then it's bed time. It would have made for an otherwise intersting night. I mean for the mere fact that Queen of Fun was even out was like a lesbian refusing minge, just amazing. I wish I had been able to share her unusual enthusiasm but we have promised ourselves much fun in the summer. There are going to be picnics, alcohol, sun and more to the point, 5 months of real fun.
For some reason I got a lot of male attention on Wednesday night. Men in kilts and men with their beer goggles on all wanting a bit of The Fee. One went to the lengths of knocking me flying just so he and his groups could talk to me while another blatently smashed my drink for the excuse of buying me another. Why? My straight mate Bouncy A (thanks slutwhoreprostituetart) told me I was 'hot'. As this has happened only twice in my life I relished the moment and almost did bad things to the boy to show my appreciation. Or possibly not. So I asked him why he came to this rather unlikely conclusion that I was 'hot'. He said I had a sherly crow thing going on for me. I will point out that NO, I do not look like Sherly Crow, my god that really would explain the attention but nope, while I may look birdie and Crow like (not in the weight stakes tho), I do not look like Sherly crow. She is very hot. He explained that I have her style thing on the go. Apparently. I think that's a good thing but not necessarily true. But like I say, flattery almost does get you everywhere.
Today I feel like many postings on here so i will post more later when I am not supposed to be at work.
4/19/2002 11:01:00 AM
It seems that I have been out quite a lot of late. you'd think I was already on my 5 month break from uni by the way i'm going. I have 2 more days of class left, 1 coursework and 1 exam. You'd at least think I could get all this out of the way before I drink myself into oblivion, or death. Not sure which one would be worst. For Miss Depressive 2002, I think I am doing rather well with the 'finding the fun' thing. I don't know why it needs to involve alcohol and excessive pukin cos that's surely not a good thing, nor a good look and defintely not a good smell. I am Pukey Fee. Nevertheless, pukes aside (which actually don't really bother me anymore, it's part of my daily routine) I am having fun and at least it makes me think less about serious stuff and gives me a mind for good stuff only, even if only for the 3 hours that I am actually drinking. Oh the depression is out in force. Cheery thoughts all round from this second on :-) Seriousness sucks, forget that game.
4/18/2002 01:52:00 PM
4/18/2002 09:26:00 AM
Feelin naughty? I'm just feelin myself...
Quote of the day: "The worst thing I've done in bed is a fanny fart." Good to know Caprice
Being drunk and not so disorderly on Monday night, I missed possibly the best TV programme to be screened this year. I mean having missed it I can’t say this for definite but from what the trailers revealed I was in for quite a good ride, plenty of puns intended. Of course for those of you who, like me, only have the joys of terrestrial television, to see such scandal[?] on normal TV is quite something else and more expected of Bravo or something else trashy and Cabel channelly. The programme I am wittering on about is of course ‘The Secret of Lesbian Sex’. Anyone else who saw the ads will be with me on this one. Actually I am lying. Now, I like a good bit of smut as much as the next fish breathed lady but this looked real pathetic. A TV programme on lesbians geared toward straight men. Yes, this still is 1952. No offensive all u curious straight men who hold lesbians as precious as u do your cocks but really, who cares what lesbians do in bed? I'm a lesbian and it doesn't even hold my pervy interest. If anyone wants to know what pussy punchers do in bed I’ll tell you. Don’t hold your breath (unless I burp and blow after said fishyness) for any excitement here though. In bed I:
sleep too much,
read just enough
watch buffy, hands above duvet
snore like a brute
throw up bile
dream bout people running me over
hug teddies (nope that's not a metaphor for anything more sinister)
It’s all very lacklustre. I’m sure the programme would have made for interesting viewing were I interested in how far one man lookalike can get her fist in places no fist should go. They didn't even have hot ladies advertising the prog. What's that about? Two mini man having a feel, nice one. I will watch the repeat.
Someone told me I looked good yesterday. The fact that this is someone who doesn't like me cause he wanted my girlfriend could mean that really he thinks I look shit and is a cheeky nob or it could mean that he was genuinely shocked about how hot Miss Me looked. I'll go with the latter, even though hangover breath and face are really not attractive. So yeah I guess he was lying.
I hope you have all noticed my 'guestbook' on the left hand side... Once again when lectures were supposed to be attended I rewarded myself, after 2 days of report/essay writing, by going over the score with my weblog. It would be smashin' if all you lovely people who are reading this would like to drop me a note, you can even change your name to something like Brenda or Simon. It would be real nice and would make for a very happy Britney Wannabe (oh type 'britney wannabe' in in google and I come out top...). And if the animated graphics have yet to bother your eyes and distract you from reading my weblog, don't worry, they will. And when this happens, tell me, I will add even more ;-)
Oh and the other day I was informed that I have to produce a website for my final piece of coursework. 'A ha' I thought out loud, i will submit my pretty weblog cause it demsonstrates a knowledge of html and has actual interactive features and fulfills the technical criteria. Somehow, however, I do not think I need my lecturers to be reading about my weekend antics and the lack of effort put into uni work. And after reading about trashwhore's experience of submitting coursework about oral sex I think too much censorship would be in order. Something boring it will have to be. For a boring bastardo like myself, that poses no threat.
Check back for more graphics... It's an obession. It's sad. I need friends.
4/17/2002 10:42:00 AM
4/16/2002 02:55:00 PM
4/16/2002 02:54:00 PM
This is so how I feel today, what with the self pitying hangover state that I am so fond of :-)
4/16/2002 01:26:00 PM
I haven't spewed in my bed or the surrounding carpet area since a bacardi incident around the age of 18. I don't know why I decided that last night, the night before my two courseworks were due, was the night that I needed to re-indulge in this not so pleasant sport, but I did. Everything about yesterday was accidental. I went to uni with Straight Man A around 11am with all the best intentions in the world of doing actual work. It came to 2pm and while my weblog was looking semi ok, no words of merit had been written in my report and/or essay. It was lunch time. And then it was 5pm. It was tea time. And there were some hot chocolate breaks in there too. It wasnt till about 7pm that I finally decided to rack my brain for some clever words to input into my report. I never found them yet. It was also around this time I decided there was definitely no way I could go to the Muff Club. But then the phone goes. Beautiful Boy and his Beautiful Boyf demanding I come out. They offered to pick me up from uni and who am I lazy arse to refuse a free lift. And i really did want to go out. I was collected around 9.30, essays and reports half done and off to drink beer and do the herbal. My plan of no more than 4 drinks worked well. Or was it 6? We were met by Foxy American Chick (the original) and Lucious L before heading to the land of dirt and skank. It was here we were joined by a couple of randoms, aka Glaswegian Chicks. I made sure at least one of these ladies was dancing to Crazy, rock version. I was escorted out of the building by poofs before receiving a lift from the Foxy One and her mates. It was then I remembered why I like to throw up at the start of the night. I came home, tried to puke quietly for fear of waking sleeping parents and swayed my way to bed. I tried shutting my eyes but it was going all wrong. I could feel the puke part deux coming on so instead of actually getting out of bed, i was THAT incapable, I reached for a magazine (thankfully Britney escaped the wrath of my bile) and spewed my ringer till it hurt more than I care to remember. I passed out only to awake an hour later for more hacking and slivering. I woke real early this morning to a face of sticky tuna cucumber sandwiches and an aroma of something far worse. What a way to wake up; on my hands and knees at 8.30am with the rubber gloves (I'm sure this sentence started out somewhere different) scrubbing my pretty new carpet, and throwing up again. And here I am, 10.30, having had enough of all things uni and having no idea how my unsettled stomach is going to make it to uni without regurgitating the cup of sugary tea I just took an hour to drink.
Oh how I love postal surprises. Feeling as bad as I do today it was beautiful to find a letter addressed to Miss Fee that wasn't demanding overdue debts be paid. Inside was a double page spread of my Flick from Neighbours, being kinda nude and very hot. Queen of Fun knows me all too well. And off I go to inspect the pictures more closely, for a glimpse of a sneaky nipple.
Listening to: My head telling me that cheese is called for
Today's Likes (this may be hard)
My pretty pictures on this site
Andrews Liver salts, i have none
Eminem vs New Order
Taste of bile
Declined Credit Cards
Not eating pre drinking
4/16/2002 10:38:00 AM
How excited am I? My graphics work, thank you mister tryhardloser so here's Flick from Neighbours who's hotter than something real hot.
4/15/2002 12:18:00 PM
One essay almost down, one more [report] to go. I finally begun the 'history of university presses' around 6.45pm last night. This was after I called everyone I knew to give them Saturday night's non gossip, ate half a tortilla, watched a bit of buffy and danced around like a hairy arse to my new CD. I finished it around 9.30. It reads like a sex manual: basic, easy to follow, matter of fact and with no pleasure involved for anyone. The word 'plagerism' also springs to mind. And so I should be starting essay numero deux which is a report, even worse, on the impact of digital technology on publishing houses. Wow, who cares? But, once again I find myself doing everything else but the actual work. Even toe pickin seems more appealing. Actually the best thing I did yesterday (jeez this is sad) was search google looking for my weblog. I found if I type in Aberdeen lesbo my site comes up top and even if I type in "queen of fun" I get a mention around numero 8. That is one lucky lady, having her name situted around royalty websites. Where's the fun in royalty? Plenty of 'funny' but not much fun. My favourite finding of this dullness was that if I type in Britney Spears lesbo my site comes up somewhere on the first page. Hmm, maybe that's why there have been some horny fuckers sending me wank mail, wanting to spear me. I need to get out more.
While arranging my 'nasty fashion' list the other day I came across some whoppers (not a word usually in a lesbian vocabulary) that I wished would make return back into the world of fashion. I would also like to point out at this point that some bay city rollered fringey bitch said my distressed denim dunlops look like they came out of the bin. Hello? I know they are a hygiene risk but come on, they are way cool. I didn't take this to heart when I caught a glimpse of her 1982 style DM brown boots. I think it's a medical condition. Speaking of which, I was informed on Saturday that a lil lady who is as good as flawless, almost had to wear a 'heavy' shoe cos she had one leg longer than the other. Imagine that. Looking as beautiful as she does with her hot ass and everything and she's clobbering around in an orthapedic shoe? Clear the way, foxy lady and wooden foot coming through. Guaranteed dance floor space not to mention a deadly weapon. 'Fuck you or I'll batter you with my fat shoe'. And so here's my list of stuff I wanna wear all over again.
Fashion: The Sequel
Hec Tic Toc Shoes
For anyone who doesn't remember these fashions musts, they were shoes with clocks on them. Not only very handy if u needed to know the time and are double jointed but also make a good imprint on people's faces. Wonderful
These did make a return for about a day. Not long enough for the trend to re catch on but I thought they were wonderful. They went good over my cords but did make for a sweaty evening.
These also kinda came back for one day of snow. I think they are fuckin' stupid but the name always pleases.
These were kinda like balaclavas that sat around your neck in major ruffles and you could pull them over your head to keep your ears and head and entire body warm. Sensible.
These should be worn by all hot chicks, esp. the ones that highkick
Naughty pants couples with these cheerleader esque skirts are an essential for any lady with a nice set of pins/lips
Hyper Globic Tee Shirts
Let's face it, any tee shirts that change colour due to body temperature which leave leave massive breast imprints in blue while the rest of the tee is white, is a real good thing. A cause of embarrassment for some, enjoyment only for me.
While these really should be on the 'nasty fashion' list, anything that makes your waist look thin is winning plus points with me. Alexis Colby has nothing on me.
I haven't seen a hottie in leather in a long time so if any sexy young thangs are reading this, do me a favour, invest in leathers. I like the way they make people all moist between the thighs... I pretend that it was me that induced this excitement in straight girls, not the trousers chaffing away.
Checked Trousers - Pyjama Style
These trousers coupled with a little tee or vest are very very hot and girsl should wear these more, for my pleasure. I don't see enough chicks in pyjamas that's why they must wear them as an outdoor outfit.
Boys in Cardies
If girls must look like their grannies in cardies, so should boys.
Anything that itches the skin that is not sexually transmitted has to be a good thing.
And as I ponder over the other items in my wardrobe that I would like to make a reappearance (I draw the line at jeans with pictures on them however) I will go and then contemplate that thing called report writing.
Listening to: The Strokes Vs Christina Aguilera
People hotter than you that think you look good
The Glitter that is everywhere
6 days til the weekend
Freak like me
Unknown Itchniess caused by neither STDs or mo hair,
No Muff Club tonight
Chubs hangin over ma jeans
Toenails that rip your socks
4/15/2002 09:42:00 AM
I have an apology to make. It would appear that I have scandalised the otherwise good name of the Queen of Fun by suggesting that she likes Britney Spears in a blog entry dated 12 April, Friday. Apparently if I do not give her a full written apology I will be sued for slander. So, for the record, Queen of Fun does not like Britney Spears. Unless of course Britney in her tiny white pants which did infact cause Queen of Fun to be moist to the touch. Despite the excitement felt by Queen of Fun during this scene, she is NOT a Britney fan. Samantha Mumba is far more her style. So I am eternally sorry for any embarrassment caused and the beatings your received because of my 'wrongful' admission.
4/14/2002 03:24:00 PM
With reference to my 'nasty fashion' list yesterday I have another bad boy to add.
For anyone who doesnt remember this fashion faux pas, they are the bits of material that look not unlike baby grows and for some unknown reason clasp under your fanny. They make your tits look saggy, your gut look massive and at the end of the day are sodden in pish and other nastiness and the stench of lady fish never washes out. I never wore body suits.
When my brain really starts to function I will write more and will even do an essay. Just the one mind.
Listening to: DC vs Nirvana
4/14/2002 03:11:00 PM
After contemplating a full cheese pizza on Thursday night I rejoiced in the fact that I thought my accidentally self induced starvation was all over. While the pizza was out of my financial budget I did eat nearly a whole meal, soup, complete with toast, a veggie spring roll (half of) and a fuit salad. I was quite pleased with myself. then I awoke in the morning and once again the feeling of rather barfing than eating was a prominent one. I wonder if my 16 hour headache has anything to do with my lack of nutrition. Iron tablets here I come.
As a non religious fashion follower I decided I was not really in a posistion to discuss trends but today after witnessing some real bad sights throughout the week I thought i would anyway.
Let's start with bad fashions that I pray will never return
Why oh why do people insist on such badly designed jeans? Not only do these ill fitting jeans emphasise the size of ones' arse but sit so tighly over the ankle of shoe that shoes look like an extra leg. These flatter no one.
Big Tongued Trainers
MC Hammer and 2 Unlimited went out a decade ago as should these shoes have. Who cares that you can pull the laces so tight to make the tongue look massive that walking is a definte problem. Big tongued shoes are an over compensation for small dicks ot tiny tits.
Spiral, acid, relaxed, none of these 'turds in hair' hairstyles are good looks. Get the straightners out.
I have never been a fan of these fire hazards after mine caught fire while dancing to 'Let the beat control your body'. They make stupid swishing noises and come in all colours of the rainbow (pref. all at once).
Heavy Coloured Eye Shadow
Who needs thick green eye shadow? Oh apart from the crazystalkerex of sparklecat who pulls it off as well as I pull of lycra
Anyone who counted the rolls per ankle will understand that the time consuming effort involved in a pair of socks is unnessecary
The only thing in this world made for crinkling was chips and crisps. the back combed look cloud look is wrong
Blue Jeans Arse (aka Mothers' Arse)
This is where the pockets of jeans at the rear, end about a metre before the actual arse, giving the appearance that there are four arses contained within the confines of the jeans, as opposed to just the one. If you gotta a small ass why make it look so huge, the way your mother does?
No one suits white jeans let's face it. It seems to be an issue of many a poof that to prove your gayness you must be seen in white. Please don't.
This is a personal unfavourite of mine, as u may well know. Boys with your elevated fuzzy hair, sort it out.
As I have very little time in which to astound you wonderful readers with my remarkable taste in all things material, I will complete my list at a later date as bright red tee shirts and filthy customers call my name like the dogs they are. Come and see me and make my day all happy.
Listening to: Hands Clean - Alanis
4/13/2002 10:18:00 AM
Yesterday I experienced the best hour and a half of my life. It's an hour and a half that I'm quite happy not to be able to get back and its an hour and a half that I will repeat, very soon. I went to see Crossroads last night. I mean I can't believe it took me 13 days since its release to actually go and see it but that's what happens when your mates prefer drinking and ET. It's not that I don't enjoy these activities, I mean clearly alcohol is a major part of my life rigt now, it's just Britney is priority number one for me, always. So Queen of Fun gave in and sat and yawned throughout the trailers and asked how long it still had to go. And then she was there. Britney Spears singing Madonna in her small underwear which revealed she has a shmuff (shaven muff) and a tiny pretty bulge. As my jaw hit the floor faster than I could yell 'pubeless wonder' Queen of Fun decided she had changed her mind, she was now officially glad she came, not to mention moist to the touch. I asked her to pass over her vibrating phone to keep me happy but she had already put it to use herself. We even sat near the back of the cinema so I could look down Britney's tops. Not that I needed to, there was plenty of cleavage flashed around for everyone to share. The rest of the film was ok, the curly olivia newton john gone wrong hair was the worst thing about the whole thing but the miniture denim skirt she wore more than compensated for that. There were some diabolically cheesey moments, such as the poetry but who cares about stuff like that when Britney is shakin' her ass cheeks around, beckoning me to grope her? My 'oh my godding' got very loud and Queen of Fun had to hush me many a time but I was so overcome with many an emotion that I really was in heaven. Wow baby. And her best look was the hair tied up, yellow tee and grey baggy track pants. Really. I love her.
And so it is Friday, another week gone by, my easter holidays are over and what have I accomplished? I got drunk, danced to eighties music til 6.30am, bought pretty things, saw my honey on the big screen and more importantly, did no work. I have not started either of these 2 essays due in on Tuesday and its now I start to panic. I am working tomorrow so i guess I will got to uni on sunday to do essay numero 1 and then essay numero deux all day monday. In some strange bizarro world that I live in I even thought I may make it to the Muff Club on Monday night. With a hand in time of 1pm Tues? I really think Muff will have to survive without the presense of the illustrious Fee for one day. I will be going out on saturday night though. Beautiful Boy has a beautiful boyfriend, currently residing in France and as he is home for the weekend, I owe it to the Beautiful People to party, til at least 1am. And off I go to fantasise more about my baby who gives me so much pleasure. I will also go think about Britney.
Listening to: Alcatraz
4/12/2002 10:50:00 AM
And you know what bugs me most about these ignorant 'I'm better than you' assholes? They always sneak up behind you just as you've got both your hands stuffed up your nose having a good rummage. they expect you to then show them where their chosen choice of crap is with 400 loosened boogies drippin down your lip cos you didn't get he job finished. It's even better when the pleasant little fuckers let a sly fart go and leave the shop so your collegues think you have perpetual wind.
the old people are always nice. they are possibly the only people who understand the meaning of 'thank you' and 'please'. they don't wait til you've worked yourself into a sweat trying to shove 18 books 32 cards and a pogo stick into a bag before saying they don't need one. And I love those who ask you for directions and then go the opposite way cause they think you are a lying attitudinal little shop assistant who does not suit the colour red.
they never trust you either. If you say 'no i don't have a book on Whoring Your Ass' they will ask every other staff member before slunking off with the regular 'sexual positions'. People who buy porn give me much amusement. one guy even went to the lengths of buying wrapping paper and sellotape with the line "it's not for me". Most porn buyers buy something classy at the same time, like a real War and Peace work of art as if to say, "Yes I'm going home for a wank but that's ok because I'm intelligent". WE sell vibrators in my work for no known reason. They cost £2 and literally fly off the shelf (especially when i leave the batteries in). I'm allowed to take readiing copies home. I wasn't allowed the vibrator and Jenny's Submissionever. As a policy I'm supposed to tell people I have put their receipt in their bag. It feels wrong saying this to porn buyers. It's like saying "please return this when you've shot your load and soiled the pages." As a novelty we also sell light up pants. A pair of these were actually returned as 'faulty'. I mean would you really return stupid pants that cost £2 cos the fanny didn't flash? These were discarded with rubber gloves and bleach, after a quick biff sniff.
And so today I feel kinda awake despite being up all hours of the night (till at least 11pm) playing my my weblog (I said weblog) only to find that my stupid graphics do not in fact work. they were so pretty too, britney and holly valence and a couple others. If anyone knows how to import graphics please get in touch cos I feel a tear coming on.
That tear will be cured toinght as I am finally going to c britney and I am way more than excited. the Queen of Fun felt sorry for me and has relented so I will do my best not to grope her in the cinema.
4/11/2002 01:53:00 PM
Needed a fix, hurrah my graphics work!
4/10/2002 10:00:00 PM
Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen. You know the lil American twins fom TV? I’m quite sure this is a different kinda like though. I worried about my American twin fascination long enough to not tell anyone for one whole day. Is 15 too young? I mean they sure as hell don’t look 15 (16 now I believe). I mean they don’t wear tracksuits, smoke badly and have relaxed perms. These are class A hot ladies. I was gutted to hear that they did a live chat on aol on Monday. I had it all worked out. It was on 5pm US time so I figured that would be around 1am our time. I was gonna go to the Muff Club, drink my self dead with 3 pints, come home and go online and chat to my honeys. J Bo and Mad ensured I missed this. I was quite upset. I found the dolls though. Thing with twins is that I can’t remember which one I fancy. In real life one is hotter than the other but in doll form the other looks cuter. Fuck, is it possible to fancy a doll? Now I think I have a problem.
I have two essays due in next Tuesday. That’s two 2,500 word essays which involves actual research (or maybe attending class would have sufficed) and actual writing. I am fucked. I have not started either of these. My motivation sucks. Playing on the internet seems far more appealing and far less likely to get me my degree.
I think I have successfully completed Day 1 of my Mind Detox. I’m a smiling wreck. My already visible laughter lines are now craters. Must stop being friendly. Stage 2 of the detox is finding some ‘me time’. My life is ‘me time’. Being the self-absorbed asshole that I am, I am going to relish this task. It only has to be half an hour and this can include watching TV or reading or something else that is mindless. I wanted to use it as an excuse (like I really need one) to watch hours of Buffy but it has to be something you don’t partake in daily. I think my me time today will be doing my nails. It’s been ages since I did and they are all skanky, chewed and nail varnish-less. I hate gross nails and I’m going to embrace this task with open everything.
Listening to: Michael Jackson: HIStory
Straight Man A’s weblog (he’s the cutest)
12 hours sleep
People who smell worse than I do
Smellin like day old vomit
Long toe nails
Uni work that there is no time to do
Un pretty bruises
Sore arse muscles
4/10/2002 12:46:00 PM