Diary of a Glitter Splashed Britney Lovin' Lesbo

I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else

Name:Miss Fee


My 100 Things

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Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Thursday, October 31

Text of the day:

Received from Beautiful Boy: "Happy Halloween. There's a monster in my toilet... and it just wont flush."

And you wonder where I get it all from??

Anyway, it's halloween, for the unobservant or for those who could care less. Halloween to me means dark, apples and looking like a fanny. I don't do halloween. It's not simply because i'm scared of the dark - I am to a point, it seems as though over the past couple of years I have developed many 'childhood' fears which had I developed as a small child would probably have eradicated themselves by now but having 'new' fears in your early twenties means they are harder to shift as the mind gets more and more stubborn and insecure. So, yeah I don't like the dark much. I hate sitting with dimmed lights, so you can dress darkness up as 'atmospheric' if you like but don't expect me to sit in a candle lit room and not panic attack.

The apple part of halloween reminds me of being a kid and doing that 'trick or treat' thing which was actually kinda degrading. i was always a 'fat witch' or a 'fat hippy' or something equally stupid and fat and so was always the first to hand over my entire black bin bag gagging for it to be filled (this sentence appears to be going somehwere else...) with goodies after telling a shit punchline-less joke. Most people would offer a small sandwich style bag out to the sad losers who listened to out sad tales to be handed a bloody tangerine and a snack sized milky way but I would stand there and wait till the whole bag of mini treats was emptied into my extra large carrier bag. Greedy? Don't you know it? I still would if I were allowed to trick or treat my way into unknown people's houses. I may also steal things.

I used to go round the doors with my friends who prefered the money you got and none of the neighbours ever liked our stupid songs or got our pathetic jokes but they'd pay you anyway just to get rid of the sooty children who had congregated on their doorstep like stubborn shit. Either that or they didn't answer the door. Or if they were really clever, they would invite you in to their homes and forget to tell you they had a glass door and laugh as the chubby kid walked into it or they would let Rover sniff up your bin bag skirt before escorting you to the door sweeping up the mess behind you. And all for 10p and a bad apple. Then it would be back to the popular girl's house for a party and of course to dish out the money and treats. No one had much of a chance with the treats once this green faced porker got her dollop hands in the way however. And then came the apples. It's actually kinda gross not to mention cruel, having someone shove your face in a bowl of gunk, water and apples and hold you there till you retrieved one and came up desperate for air with all that slivers dribbling down your chin only for the next person to swallow mouthfuls of everyone elses' saliva. I always made sure I went first and left many gobs on the way. I'm sure I was always left under for longer than anyone else.

Then of course came the 'donuts on a string' game which I never really got the point of when you could just stand on a chair and pick them off with your hands and stuff them in your gob 6 at a time. It may not seem like it but I really did enjoy halloween and have the tubby pictures to proof it. I was always caught on camera with sweets and chocolate crammed in my face. Mind you it was near to impossible to find a time when i i didn't fit this pose. Halloween to me was all bout looking like the fat shit I was/am.

Oh and as for the part about looking like a fanny. I don't mean people go around looking like real schmuffs or hairy gashes, I just mean that the costumes inspire me to pull no one. Who wants to see a hot girl dressed as warty witch? I could be pulling anything if I were to pull someone n a scream mask. Maybe Halloween is the only chance I have of pulling a hottie because no one can see this face. Of course if, like the J Bo suggested, they were to dress as a pussy, all would be good. Hot girls in lycra? I'm seeing another side to this ol Halloween malarky and I kinda like it.

Fatness and twatness aside, we are having a halloween party on Saturday night. We are having it on saturday mainly because everything will be on sale by then so my dead fairy outfit (any excuse to buy wings, despite the fact they are so1999) will cost hopefully less than 4 beers. Of course there are plans to decorate the house into some spectacular haunted house but if I know everyone, all we will get is the customary strobe light and maybe a spider of 2 thrown in somewhere for all good measure. That's all good for me. We thought about going out guising and seeing what money and silverware we could get ahold of but reckon we would get battered like fresh fish as soon as we step out the door. We even considered putting The Queen and Gypsy Frills Anon on their knees and passing them off as broad children but then we realised that 1) they would fool no one under those floaty wide capes and 2) they don't even need to be on their knees to be passed off as small children. So, on the whole I am very excited bout Saturday night and I even hope not to pass out before 11pm and enjoy the entire party without a ragey thought or fit in sight. Well we can all dream and a party wouldn't be a party without a Fee fit. It would be a good party though. And a very momentous occasion.

And so dear readers I go plan where to slit my bin bag and where to buy a mask that looks more hideous than my usual face. It's going to be a long day.

Tonight I want to go into town and see Hitler goes femme

Britney Wannabe

10/31/2002 09:26:00 AM

Wednesday, October 30

Text of the day (although technically it was received on Monday)

With regards to a conversation about our weekend Halloween party

J Bo: “I’ll dress up as a cat if you are gonna be a witch and then I can be your pussy”

Now it’s not every day The Fee gets an offer from a hot straight girl to play the part of her pussy. Does that mean I get to slip her a digit??

Britney Wannabe

10/30/2002 11:30:00 AM

Tuesday, October 29

I have been thinking about hot ladies a considerable amount of late. I think it's the winter. I think it plays havoc with my hormones. The other day I spent about half my meagre pay on videos featuring hot ladies jumping around to lame plots and shite scripts. Some of the beauties were Legally Blonde for lil Reesey, Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle for the oh so stunning Piper Perabo and Josie and The Pussycats for a bunch of random hot tottie. Quite horrendous films mainly but too many blondes too oogle over. Of course Britney in pants was thrown my way on the day of its release and then there was the final part of Tipping the Velvet which concluded sadly on Wednesday night so, every inght for the past week and a day I've watched a different sexy lady in action. I think this is normal behaviour for a lesbo and I probably shouldn't be too concerned. I'm just coming to realise that there is room in my life for more than just Britney who will always remain number 1 so don't worry your tight ass about that lady.

I was gutted that Tipping came to an end on Wednesday night and even more gutted that for reasons outwith my control, that I had to wait til I was hungover on Sunday to finally watch. It was well worth the wait however as it was wall to wall with hot dykes. Okay there were two. My new favourite lady is the quite delectable Rachel Stirling (aka Nan King) whose voice is slightly annoying but you gotta let something like that go when a lady is as hot as she is, especially when she is kissing Jodhi May with all that tongue... Hmmmm.

And now for the concluding part of Fee's daliance with hot chicks: After walking home in the biting wind (hello I'd had a curry the previous evening)I decided to reward my lack of appearance at uni with porn. I couldn't resist. Aside from the Jordan porn I bought last week I hadn't bought porn in since I was as good as pre pubescent. Anyway, Jordan doen't count as she was purchased over the Internet and therefore involved no public humiliation. I brazenly walked into the local newsagent, pulled my choice from the higher than 8ft top shelf, slapped it in front of the red boy and ordered some paracetamol to go. Porn should only be purchased in groups for group mockery or as a joke like sliding it under a flatmates door. Otherwise it gets worrying. It wasn't just any porn though. It was the November edition of Playboy featuring the original Buffy; nude. I had to. As a rule I don't really wanna see naked celebs as I think it kinda cheapens them but I really had to have naked Kirsty Swanson in my collection of scanitly clad women magazines. It just so happens that she was less than scantily clad and I may never look at her face again, having witnessed her other set of far prettier lips but hey. I'm a perv, so what about it??

Oh and just prior to this porn buying incident I saw a hottie jogging toward me grinning. It was my hairdresser that I completly worship and who is hotter than my Sunday night curry. She is a pure, unadulterated MILF and I love her.

And so I go to see an invalid and maybe clean up some vomit for the pure ill lesbo.

Britney Wannabe

10/29/2002 12:34:00 PM

Monday, October 28

I had about as much motivation to go out on Saturday night as I have the motivation to eat less. I was also real tired and exceedingly fucked off and had images of my usual abusive drunken episodes where I to drink more than half a pint and shout for no known reason. Despite this, I found myself downing mini beer bottles and when they were polished off, vodka and diluting juice. I was wasted and surprisingly happy so with Lil Red, Lesbo Bob, Beautiful Boy and Sexy G, I went to the dive that is Out. I hadn't been in what felt like months but I really wanted to dance to my Britney, Shakira, and Pink with a bit of Justin thrown in for good measure and this is the only place to do this without being surrounded by leering men and wannabe London girls who look as good in gypsy frills as I do in a sequined evening gown. Nothing had changed since my last visit. There were the same people, the same music (thankfully) and the same lack of free water. Am I right in thinking that every nightclub has a legal obligation to provide free drinking water, be that from the bar or via a special tap in the bog? I wanted to argue but I didn't want to offend the new barmaid who was no more lesbo than Britney. The fag hags bothered me on Saturday night. They bother me every night but on Saturday I couldn't see the homos for the coiffed hair, cheap perfume and skin tight trousers which were always badly teamed with those damn gypsy frills. In London homo bars I'm sure they have policies to let in only a certain amount of straight people and I wish they had the same here. One time we decided to frequent G.A.Y and Straight Man A was harrassed at the door by the bouncers, demanding to know if he'd been in gay bars before. This was rather amusing as Straight Man A is about as offensive and threatening as a puff of wind. But at least it kept the numbers of gay peolpe to straight people much higher. Obviously I don't have an issue with straight people being in gay bars as I love it when J Bo and SMA come out with us, it's just the fag hags I have issues with. It just pisses me off when the place is over run with women who think they are so much more beautiful than the lesbos. I'm sure when fag hags were around years ago they were hot. Fag hags are supposed to be hot but now all I see is too much make up and loose boobs. If you're gonna be a fag hag then at least be something pretty special to give the lesbos that you glare at something to gawp at. Sometimes I even forget it's a gay bar. I go into the toilets and wait in a queue with 6 fag hags all talking about how 'tidy' the gay men are and how ugly the dykes are. They feel quite free to run off a tirade of abuse about the dykes, thinking that I am one of their permed crew. Hello I know I aint the butchest thing you ever did see but that don't make me straight and it certainly doesn't mean I'm gonna join in and slag all the lesbos that go there. Even though many are butch, they are still cuter than these fake tanned gobby cows with nothing better to do than gyrate their bonny hips against any unwilling gay male they see who are about as turned on by this as the fag hags by lesbo puss. It's vile. I say too much about my disliking for fag hags so I will stop now but I really do wish is they are gonna come to gay bars that they shouldn; get all uptight when they see chicks snogging. They make people feel like they are doing wrong and surely we shouldn't be made to feel like that in a gay bar of all places. There's plenty of straight bars so go and start fights and curl your lip (facial only please) in them.

Aside from moaning too much, I also got to munch carpet. I know I'm a lesbo but the thought of chomping down on OUT's skanky pube filled carpet with all my bellies flopping out was not a situation I looked forward to but one that inevitably had to happen. Luscious L made his usual dramatic entry with his 14 inch mohawk, cut up jeans and funny sleeved wooly jumper and took one look at Miss Fee and had to throw his whole body weight in my direction for extra hugs. It was so clear that I would not come out of the situation with diginity as Luscious L thrust his arms around me and and I was thrust into the floor with all bellies, chins and asses wobbling like they were going out of wobbling fashion. It was a horrendous sight to witness and I did not regain my composure all night and lay on the floor a bit too long for all manners of gays and fag hags to spill their drink over me as they walked on by. I felt like a urinal.

Not to worry. Like a face full of rug is enough to ruin my night. I danced like a twatt, showing off my 'wedding' moves as well as 'getting ready to rumble' a bit too comfortably. I tried to get Lesbo Bob to pull off moonwalking while dancing with a high waisted Spaniard and I'm sure it went down as well as a straight man but hey it was all in the name of fun. Or vodka.

I had more to tell you but my mind is thinking about cheese and how much I should be at lectures. Oh well sometimes my mind is so easily convinced not to go to uni that I wonder why I even bothered to do this final year. c'est la vie. Yeah, French was not my stronger point.

Today's Likes

Wanting to know J Bo's good news.. tho i can guess what it's about
Wensleydale cheese and cranberry
Hot ladies
Buffy porn

Today's Dislikes

My puffy eyes
Being ragey
Being selfish (I always have been you know)
My sore head
Being so angry, one day I'll figure it out

Britney Wannabe

10/28/2002 02:34:00 PM

Saturday, October 26

I forgot to tell you that my quest for Jordan porn was fulfilled a few days ago. I succumbed to the Queen's demands and ordered it from Jordan's 'official' website, paying way too much for a signed copy that was no doubt signed by the cleaner in the office. It arrived 6 days after the Queen's actual birthday so she had almost given up hope that I would buy it for her. The Queen didn't know I had actually got it for her despite her pleadings she'd been handing out for over 2 months. It was nice to be woken up by plastic bouncing tits on Monday morning as it was shoved a bit violently through the letterbox by a flustered postman. I slapped it on the table of classy establishment 'CHI' on Thursday night. She was so grateful I think she even said thank you twice. That's twice more than I've heard her say in the years I have known her. (Am kinda kidding, lady). She was quite impressed with the marker pen scroll which read 'All my love, wet dreams and dribbles, jordan". Pretty foul I'm sure most of you will agree but that was nothing compared with the contents of Jordan's normally minimal clothing which was now regrettably removed. That woman is fake all over. Fake tits, fake tan, fake lips and even fake hair. I don;t know if the tattoo on her fanny in the shape of a heart was a stick on but I hope for the sake of Gareth Gates or her next young boy that it was because it was grotesque and tacky but I suppose that sums up Jordan completely. As if it wasn't bad enough that we have to look at her 54ffff tits on every second page in every shit tabloid, here we were treated to her bush. Or rather lack of it. I really will sleep so well, safe in the knowledge that Jordan has a shmuff (shaven muff) which emphasised her one lip bigger than the other problem.

The other 2 Playboy girls were more 'beckham' style and equally as offensive. Especially the girl who was lucky enough to get a fold out page all to herself. The rest of the mag was quite entertaining and more FHM than Readers Wives and not a split beaver in sight. So nothing to put you off your mushy cornflakes. I do love porn but I don't love Jordan and a 'classy' girl like the Queen of Fun should really have better taste than silicon smut but hey, we all have our vices. Hers is just bigger than anyone elses'. Yeah about 46 bra sizes bigger.

I need to look at degrading porn now to earse the image of Jordan's loose lip that's embedded in my mind.

Listeing to: Chicks on Speeeeed

Today's Likes

My updated video collection...
People who link to my site :-) I'm needy...
People who leave nice comments...
Impending snow... better than rain and sleet

Today's Dislikes

People who take hours to reply to a simple text
Being to tired to party
Will and Grace being serious, lighten up chicas
Tipping is finished and i still aint seen the last episode

Britney Wannabe

10/26/2002 10:01:00 AM

Friday, October 25

I felt like I was in London again last night. It was Lil Red’s birthday (Happy Birthday lady :-) )so we thought we’d all go for drinks and get wasted on 4. We went to various places and ended up in The Priory, Aberdeen’s wannabe London bar/club. I was shocked when I entered the toilet to see a member of staff grinning quite horrificly at us as she arranged her toiletries for public use. She was a toilet attendant! In Aberdeen! Aberdonians are known as ultra grippy types so why they think we deserve someone to mop us up and make us smell good is beyond me. I tried to avoid Miss Sickly Happy’s gaze as I left the cubicle so I wouldn’t have to use any of the services on offer (perfume, gum, soap, towels and friendly chat, etc) and have to tip her anything as I do live up to the Aberdonian stereotype. I don’t wanna have to hold my pee in for fear of having to ‘tip’ everytime I gotta let it go. I wanna pee safe in the knowledge that I can dry my own hands and wipe my own fanny. I made a run for the hand dryer and was happily drying my hands unaided when a manky over used towel was thrust in my face and I was good as ordered to use it. The attendant had only 2 towels so god knows how many people had already used it and god knows how many diseases I had picked up from that obligatory wipe. I wasn’t gonna tip her for that. I thought I’d tip her had she gone into the toilet before me and wiped the seat clean but apparently her job description didn’t stretch that far. Lil Red grabbed a pile of gum on the way out and we guiltily ran away like school kids stealing penny sweets. The attendant thought we just didn’t get it. But we knew that the services of this wide smiled teenager were not supposedto be free but unless you give me a top rate club where music is divine, ladies are more divine and all hot lesbos then there’s no way I will ever pay to use a filthy towel in Aberdeen. It’s sick. The only place I have ever seen such pampering is in gay bars in London. The boys get them everywhere but I only came across one in the ladies toilet and that was in Mantos – a pretty boy bar where the boys are prim and the fag hags are everywhere. Here I treated myself to a spray of Jean Paul for old time’s sake as well as some facial moisturiser to conceal the hideous colour of red I’d gone having drank too much once again.

I didn’t go back to the toilet last night after that. Despite wanting to say 'fuck you Happy Lady and your stinky cosmetics' and pee without paying a pound I really didn't want to hear her grating voice ever again. And I knew that was I to use the towel once more I'd catch scabies or something far worse. Aberdeen please get a grip. You can try so hard to be trendy but unless you change half the ned-ish inhabitants and their pathetic attitudes you are in no way ready for toilet attendants. It’s a money loser and the perfumes sucked. I wanted to go into the guys toilets so I could spray on a bit of testosterone but I wasn’t allowed because I pee squint when standing up.

The night was swell and prior to getting into a taxi I proceeded to batter Lesbo Bob who removed her offensive shoes and smacked me round the head 4 times with the bricks, leaving me quite disfigured. Bobby, wear smaller less heavy shoes.

And so I go to spend Friday night with many many ladies. It’s just a case of selecting which to go to first.

Britney Wannabe

10/25/2002 07:45:00 PM

Thursday, October 24

Shoplifters never fail to astound me with their stupid ways. Just when I think I'm getting used to the idoitic things they do and just when after 4 years I'm starting to actually apprehend them all on my own they go ahead and do something even more unsual than the last one. I really despise thieves. I don't mind the ones that come in so twatted that they think they are in Asda as there's no way they can even lift a book never mind slip it down their stonewashed jeans. These are also the ones that are incapable of hurling obscenities at you as in the state they are in, their voacbularly is limited to "oooarg, burghtghs, zyutgvbas". The worst they can do is offer you the 2 fingered salute and it's usually done with at least 4 fingers and offends not even the old dear stocking up on her cheap spit through cards.

I hate the ones who are kinda compesmentous (sp??) as they hang around longer than a lingering fart and wonder why the hell you are shadowing them closer than you would your own girlfriend. These are the types that wear huges labelled gear, with Versace splashed across their sweaters or DYKN grafittied on their jeans as their stolen goods were obvisouly imported from somewhere that specialises in bad spelling and cheap knock offs. This little lot of greasey haired criminals love to tell you they would never dream of stealing from your shop. Not because they can't read and only understand bold brightly coloured pictures (which is also true) but because they can afford to buy the whole shop if they wanted. They then often proceed to take off their reebok classics and then holey socks to reveal a wad of cash bigger than Linford Christies package and we can do nothing but smirk as they scramble to retrieve the small packets of powder that have gone awry from their rotten feet.

I've been called many things by these would be cell mates but it's more fun when they gob all over the floor or come so close to your face that you can smell the stale buckfast and burger they consumed four days ago. Really it is. The females are the worst. They often have a baby in a pram as an accessory and try to stuff things into the buggy and blame the 2 week old baby that looks about 56 years old due to the amount of passive smoking it has done since it was first conceived. We had one broad in the other day asking for a plastic bag. I'm not supposed to give out bags to these people as they then fill them up with all the goods in your store or someone elses or sniff glue on your front step from them. On this occasion I felt sorry for the girl. She was the youngest I'd seen yet and she looked quite pitiful so I relented and gave her a bag. And because she stood there dripping her loose dog food all over the floor and I knew it would be me that would be given the job of cleaning it up. I watched her put the soggy dog food in the bag and was quite impressed that she was thinking of her dog when she could barely afford to clothe herself and saw the pint of milk and realised it probably wasn't even for the dog she didn't have. She got chatting to me, told me about how she was only 14 and had been on the streets for 3 months and before that she hadn't even touched alcohol. Now apparently she was a full fledged junkie. It felt really bad for her and turned round for one second to fix a heavy book that had fallen on my stupid head and when I turned back she had legged it out the door with her dinner and a small pocket diary from the counter. How rude? Oh very. And a diary? What the hell is she gonna write in a diary? When her next beating is due? When her next baby will find its way into the world so she too can use it as an accomplice to her thieving lifestyle? I was so mad. I'd have given her the bloody diary for fucks sake. Actually no I wouldn't but I would have thought about it.

What is worse than all those incoherant or gobby thieves is the ones you suspect least who are ultimately taking the piss out of you. We rarely catch these ones. It's not till well after they've 'cheerio-ed' us that we notice the gaps on the shleves and by which time we feel like total fools and there is nothing we can do. The amount of stuff these people get away with is unbelievable. I've seen a dozen lavalamps go missing from right beside me and then there was the time when a whole bucket of books just disappeared. I don't know how they do it and I know it's always the ones that are so pleasant to you, make chat about books, value your opinion (on what to steal) and generally go about making you feel like you've helped someone. Well you did. They distracted you so well that they took half the contents of the shop. I do love a bit of gratitude. The funniest time was when Albert, the 78 year old retired teacher was caught shoving a monopoly up his thin patterned jumper. When accosted all he said was "I've been doing this for years and you catch me pilfering a bloody monopoly. I've already got 5 more of yours at home.". We got the monopoly back and never saw Albert again. You gotta watch these old sneaks. They pretend they are just in town to pick up some new pop socks and are just passing by your shop to get some heat when the next thing you know, your whole back wall's been emptied and that's their Christmas pressies for the next decade sorted. And in return all you get is a waft of pish and a cheesey false tooth grin as the sidle out of the door. I love people I really do.

And so it is time for Miss Fee to face the world of 'all you can eat buffets' for only the second time today.

Oh and will the person who stole the £2 vibrator out of its packaging the other day please note that had s/he taken the time to read the instructions on the cast aside packaging, they would have realised there was a health warning on itwhich reads "Please note that this woman's phalic tool is for novelty use only and is not to be used internally as there are loose connections." Happy pleasuring you thievin whore.

Britney Wannabe

10/24/2002 11:08:00 AM

Wednesday, October 23

It's finally stopped raining. It has rained here in shit Aberdeen for days now. Or it seems as though it has. You just get round to getting your glittery socks dry when you have to go face the rain once more and get soaked though all over again. The glitter runs into your trainers and makes pretty patterns on the carpet when shoes are removed.

The rain may have stopped but it hasn't gotten any warmer. Yesterday I had 4 layers on as well as a silly hat and scarf combo and still I froze and looked as huge as Japan. While I'd rather freeze than sweat, the Winter is as equally unflattering as Summer. Instead of mingers stepping out in tiny clothes with all their bulges hanging out, now they step out in bulgey clothes which make them look as though they are eating for 19. I'm no exception. My mum did something to my cordy coat and now it is mishapen to the point where people exclaim 'is it a tent?'. Not one part of the coat sits on the body where it should. The shoulders are all the way down past my ass and the hood sits around my waist somewhere. Cordy coats were not meant to be washed in the machine, mum. Not to worry, with everyone else looking so massive I know I wont be the only one who wouldn't look out of place in fat camp. And that's without the coat. While, as Straight Man A pointed out, Winter means (or should mean) more hugs, it also equals chill blains, bubbly beaks and thick pants. Hugs are the only plus side I can see today. I do love a good hug. Actually I also love people with colds. It makes them more vulnerable, wiping the snot from their nose with a balled up hankerchief. I think I'm weird.

I had to work last night in the lovely book shop from 6-9pm and in those hours we had 4 customers. Why did we have any customers when I'm sure the temperature was minus and the rain was stormy? Why were these people hanging around town on a night like that? Didn't they have partners to go home to for hugs? Two of the customers only bought umbrellas. Fair enough but the other two? Christmas shopping in the rain? I guess they did have the whole shop at their own disposal and I suppose they did have a two on one relationship with us shop assistants who were too cold to do anything but stand around and gawp at the new Shakira calendars that had arrived. Well I'm sorry but in that cold, who needs to be stocking the shelves when no one has bought anything all day when I could be dribbling over the Columbian beauty? Britney apparently got lost in the post. Gutted.

Today I'm boycotting university as we have a 'guest' lecturer visiting us and apparently the guy is a self absorbed asshole and is bullish and annoying. It would have meant I would have had to thoroughly read the notes we are supposed to prepare for his scary visit and really I was as motivated as a lesbo licking cock in doing this. Instead, I painted my nails a shade of 'climax'. Tell me what climax is lilac with a pink tinge? Maybe I'm doing something wrong. Once these babies dry off I'm visiting Lesbo Bob for Earl Grey and a re run of 'But I'm a Cheerleader'. Bobby is expecting Britney which Lil Red the life sized Smurf bought me on Monday but Britney in her underwear will have to wait another day as I can't quite lay my hands on her right now. Frigid cow.

Today's Likes

Cute texts
Climax on my nails (ahem) (or I wish)
Buying presents
Hugs a plenty
Diminishing Bruises

Today's Dislikes

Last episode of Tipping tonight but Jodhi may looks real hot
My dog has a gammy paw :-(
Leaks (vegetables and the drippy water type)
Pubes on papasans
Debt companies phoning me constantly

Listening to: Soulwax - too many DJs
Want to be listening to: Holly Valance...

Britney Wannabe

10/23/2002 11:18:00 AM

Monday, October 21

so, this is moi...looking not unlike a monkey... a monkey that smokes that is...

Britney Wannabe

10/21/2002 01:25:00 PM

I'd love to tell you all about the fancy dress party that was supposed to be my social event of the week but I only know the details of what occured between the hours of 7pm and 11pm and missed the vital 'wasted' hours between 11 and beyond. It's not because I got so twatted that my memory has inconveniently erased itself, it's more to do with the combination of homemade punch, funny fags and the worst migraine in history. These factors made sure that I was closed upstairs in a darkened room with only a chilly floor and randomly undressing people for company. I felt the sore head come on around half seven but having no drugs I thought if I drank seriously strong punch then the pain would eradicate itself by the time I was on glass number 4. Many glasses later the pain was so severe that I'd have happily sliced the top off my head, stuffed my fingers inside and pulled on some veins to make it stop. It was horrendous. I was getting gobby anyway so it was probably a wise idea for me to shut myself in a room all alone. People came and went and I heard people changing and kissing and then yelling and screaming the wrong words to Moulin Rouge. I don't really know what I missed. I got to see everyone dressed up which was highly amusing. So, who were the guests of honour? Myself as Rainbow Shite made a good coupling with Cross Dress Smurf who was the cutest smurf I ever did see, the Sumo and the Geisha complemented each other as well as gerkins and fish, Bananaman and 60s Chic Chick were more beauitiful when they swapped outfits and Bananaman became a woman, Lebso Bob was amazing as butch Madonna complete with cone tits and jumbo frizzy wig, J Bo was hot as a gangsta with the longest (somehow sexy) cigarette holder which could have pleasured any lesbian, Beautiful Boy was the most unfeminine Dorothy I've ever seen with hairy legs and wool wig to match and s/he was hand in hand with a wannabe Eminem style Sexy G. Dorothy would never stoop so low but oh how sparkley were her ruby slippers... Oh and how could I forget Straight Man A's ingenious costume of a plain clothes policeman?? :-) It was all very entertaining but there were possibly too many butches in skirts... (myself included) The punch was potent and probably the last thing I was aware of was another fake jobbie floating around quite conspiciously in said punch. I don't know what else went in there, aside from an OXO cude, pizza, dregs, lighters and pretty much anything else that was lying around but I do know that much of it was drank and that there was more than 1 anrgy person over the state of the punch the following morning. Many people came to check I hadn't choked on my own vomit ("shame" many of you will be saying) and I appreciated their gestures, despite having thrown up more of my stomach lining than I had food. One Mad A thought I would be cured by her stupidity and she strutted in with J BO's heels on with the fake jobbie (soggy from the punch) speared through one of the scarily sharp heels. I think she clumped about with a poop on her shoe for most of the evening but of course, I can't be sure of this, not being there to witness anything except the inside of the toilet. Sadly I didn't die in my sleep and about 24 hours later, my migraine finally subsided as did my foul mood. So, I'm actually rather gutted about having missed so much of the party but I think 3 hours in a skirt was more than long enough for me and these legs. Lecturers to see, bad breath to fix.

Today's Likes

Lack of sore heads
Surprise Calls
Getting to watch Crossroads tonight for Britney in teeny underwear
Nelly & Kelly the remix
Hardly any classes this week

Today's Dislikes

Swollen fingers...
Zero Cash
Being here til 6pm

Oh and for the record, Justin rules

Britney Wannabe

10/21/2002 11:55:00 AM

Friday, October 18

All I am inspired to do today is bounce around in multi coloured clothing to ultra cheesy pop. I aint talking Britney or Shakira here, I'm talking the Dairy Lea of all pop with tunes by the hideous Lolly and stuff by teen Abba rip off 'bands'. I can't help it. I don't know if it has something to do with the fact that I'm sitting here in a canary yellow tank top with a bright green tee underneath. It's all too much for a lover of all things purple blue black and pink. These luminous colours, apart from ensuring that I will not get knocked down in the dark tonight, seem to make me wanna get up and air punch viciously to worse music that I normally listen to. I was searching through my CD collection for goodies to take along to the fancy dress party tomorrow and I'm ashamed of more than 3/4 of the CDS in my vast collection. I found at least 7 Smurfy CDs. Some English, some dutch, some german and some unclassifiable. I had forgotten that my Smurf obsession had gone as far as buying the ridiculously happy and sick music they were never really famous for. And if Lil Red thinks she can turn up to a fancy dress party dressed as Cross Dresser Smurf then she better makes sure that she gets down and shakes her ass to the theme tune (in any language she prefers). My outfit is almost complete and comprises of a pink frilly skirt, yellow tank top and green tee, a multi coloured tu-tu, puke yellow hair, knee length rainbow socks and various other accessories to add to the effect of being Miss Multi Coloured 2002. I'm quite concerned about wearing a skirt for the first time since I swaned around in tie dye at age 16. Not only should these legs always be kept in baggy jeans but I'm worried that with the amount of tumbles and dirty dancing lifts that I get involved in when drunk that my fat ass is gonna make more than 83 appearances. Just make sure I don't commit myself to the immenent game of Twister, for the sake of all participants. I must go, i have to paint a rainbow and buy some really large pants.

Have a swell weekend.

Britney Wannabe

10/18/2002 02:09:00 PM

Thursday, October 17

This is how I kiss, incase you ever were that interested. Pretty accurate if you ask me... or someone else that's had first hand/tongue knowlegde... I have been told... honest :-)

juicy kisser

You Are A Juicy Kisser!

Your lips are totally kissable baby, and you know how to use them.

You are the perfect kisser - with the right combo of lips and tongue.

It's important to flaunt it, so kiss early and often on dates!

Britney Wannabe

10/17/2002 04:47:00 PM

In the 3 years I have been studying my course I have never been inspired or even slightly motivated by any lecture. Until yesterday. And it wasn't even anything to do with our course really. We got a lecture on creativity and innovation and included in this was ways to boost your creativity. Simple things such as eating somewhere different, watching badly reviewed films and generally doing slight things that you wouldn't normally do because they are not already a part of your life. Now, I'm about as creative as I am thin and have no real desire to innovate but it made me look at the things I do and I realised how routine my life is. I mean, I eat the same sandwiches (tuna and sweetcorn), I walk the same way into town, I order the same food in restaurants (mushroom pizza), I read the same magazines (heat and FHM) and I listen to the same music endlessly (britney and the like). It seems that all this stuff has become such a habit that I didn't even realise what was going on. I have decided that I will do something different every day, to make things less stale. This may be something totally trivial like trying a different sandwich filling or maybe I'll try something bigger (like trying out a rollercoaster for the 1st time). I know I do all the stuff that seems monotonous out of a matter of taste, I mean I love tuna sweetcorn sanwiches and Britney and my walk into town but I have realised that I'm doing all these things without thinking about them anymore. You don't notice stuff anymore, once you start doing the same thing over and over. I mean, in a half hour walk into town I couldn't tell you any of the street names or whether there are any notable houses or buildings because I don't think about it anymore, I just do it. How do I know I wont like some fancy named dish if I keep on having the same thing every time and how do I know wont like the contents of ID magazine if I never read it? I suppose it comes down to fear of the unknown. For example, I don't like roller coasters because I don't like the idea of them but I don't know for a fact that I would hate them and spew bile after trying them out because I've never been on one. So I have decided that I should at least try things out before I rule them out of my life completely. I don't think I'll be giving cock a go though. I guess you just know about some things... :-)

Yesterday I walked home from uni which I never do for 2 reasons: 1) It's uphill and I'm lazy and 2) I'm lazy. It took a good 35 minutes of brisk walking in the sore ear kinda cold and appart from the sweaty mess I turned into afterward, I felt all kinds of good. I don't know what I'll do today. I don't imagine it will be anything particularly exciting but I'm sure something will crop up.

I'm not changing anything permanently but just adding extra things into the things I already have and do in my life. I aint talking about 'seizing the day' because that would involve too much thought and a change in my thinking perspective and also, I'm too lazy to be spontaneous. My thinking is much simpler than that. Change is good but variation is even better. I'm branching out if you like. I will not restrict myself to the same music, films, food and thought patterns. I give it 4 days till I return to the mantra of 'if it aint broke, don't fix it'. My optimism astounds me.

Listening to: Beverly Knight who I hated for no known reason until about yesterday.

Britney Wannabe

10/17/2002 03:05:00 PM

Here, as promised is a bunch of hideous poetry composed by hideously drunk individuals. Read it if you may. I will return later with a rant about something that matters to no one which I have yet to think up.

This is where it all begun: A poem for Jbo (after 4 pints)

Hello there J Bo
You make us laugh
like ho ho ho
you sit with horlicks
and think of politics
You are the lady in red
and you sleep in a bed
You say 'I doubt it'
and have a laughing fit
you break a fake shit
I will see you in fancy dress
and fuck knows about the rest

by Lesbo Bob

There was a young J named Bo
she smoked her Lam-Bam down low
she pulled out her tits
and stroked her clit
and thats why we call her a ho.....

by Sexy G

There was a young guy called G
He was soooo jelous of me
He said I was a ho
But he always stoops low
and thats why we say 'Da think so'

by J Bo

I love J Bo and her bellies
To me they are like 18 jellies
She wears massive hoops
and loves chat about poops
She's jealous of my chins
But it's me that has fat shins
But most of all, of all
She's a doll
Thats close to my heart
Especially when I do a huge fart

by miss fee

Greig thinks he's smart
Alison's a start
Kerri is so nice
Natalie is Bev's vice
Fee always fights
and J Bo never smokes lights

by J Bo

There is a young lady named Fee
She'll drink and need to go pee
She'll go to the boys
and drop fake jobs
instead of going to wee

by Lesbo Bob

We all know the lezzy called Bevvy
She holds her fag like it's real heavy
But when she gives tongue
She's the girls number 1
and that makes her presence so merry

by Sexy G

There's a lady called Alison
She works in the Pier
According to rumours
I heard she was queer
She drinks Smirnoff ice
It's maybe a vice
But at least she doesn't drink beer

by Lesbo Bob

Fee likes to spill drink
She likes a bit of kink
J Bo wishes she was gay
Just so Fee may
But J Bo fancies someone called Ray........

by J Bo

Kerri is a berry
Who is nae often merry
She rarely has a smile
And is often vile
But for anyone...........She'd go a mile! (*cue real vomit*)

by miss fee

Greig's name is spelled posh
J Bo and Fee like to mosh

by J Bo

My name is Bevlee
I think I'm so funny
i throw french sticks
I've got all kinds of tricks
I fling fake jobbies
and get in trouble with the bobbies
i do eat meet
But I drink before I eat
I've got huge feet
and sit in a wooden seat
Estaminet is my poetry muse
While I sit down and booze
I smoke Marlboro lights
and almost get into fights

by Lesbo Bob

As can be seen, The Queen and Lil Red sensibly avoided all attempts at poetry and instead tried to fist each other, sorry, batter each other.

Britney Wannabe

10/17/2002 11:18:00 AM

Wednesday, October 16

It was the Queen of Fun's birthday yesterday. The usual crowd gathered in a cold yet classy pub for over priced food and drink and didn't leave until around 6 hours later in a swaying, yelling, under-fed and over-drunk kinda way. I had vowed not to drink, knowing I would have to go to uni at 9.50am for a 10 miniute tutorial the following morning but spirits were high and I had to ensure mine stayed higher in order to keep these heavy eyes open and so I was easily persuaded to down beer after beer after diet coke. The Queen's obsession with glamour model Jordan reared it's puffed up head once again as she as good as licked and sucked at the scantily clad poster I had stupidly given her. She didn;t care that she almost left her wallet behind as long as Jordan made it the distance home she'd be ok. Worrying I know. The Queen got drunk and 'spinny' on cider which I did my best to spill all over her light jeans after knocking just about everyone elses' drinks across tables and photographs. How unusual that I would be off balance. We even entered a pub quiz and our high hopes of winning were quashed when it turned out that between 10 of us, our most intelligent answers were 'Jammi Dodger', 'A boat' and 'Ainsley Harriet' which related to the questions as much as I relate to penis size worry. We were rowdy and quite drunkenly abusive to the 'sweaty students' who were dressed in scarves which wrapped around about 18 times and who wore brown and green a bit too comfortably. They took the quiz as seriously as I take 'poo chat' and threw more that a dirty look at us as we bellowed 'repeat! repeat!' to the disgust of the other players of the quiz who clearly spent too much time playing pub quizes and even had 'ingenious' names for their well established teams. It made me vomit.

And then, for some reason, a plastic jobbie was circulated around our group. I have no idea where such a phallic looking turd came from, although it may have something to do with my visit to the toy shop earlier in the day. And I also have no idea why we were so amused by a bit of brown plastic but it was hilarious when the cheery barmaid stood on it after it had been strategically placed in her path and simply kicked it aside and walked on quite graciously. Then Mr Brown was placed on my head and as it had such a sheen to it, like a freshly laid job, it slide right off and before we could say 'watch the poop', it flew over the balcony and was chased by the barman who retrieved it from a group of lardy lads in rugby shirts and skinny jeans who were less than impressed about our little flying gift. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd see poo fly but yesterday I did. And I never knew that anyone could be killed or seriously injured by a falling turd but yesterday someon almost was. Oh the shame. "Johny, why do you have a fracture to the skull?" "Oh you know, the usual aerial poo thing". It was held aloft on it's return and used for various purposes such as a cigar prop, a dildo and an object of worship. We had begun our own cult and we were praising a jobbie. It should have been time to go home then. J Bo waved the shit around and managed to snap it it half where it was revealed that poop was not a plastic dump made of left over Barbie bits but this poop was pure Woody Woodpecker wood. Splinters in yer ass is not a pleasant thought. Now we were in possession of 2 distinctively oaty lookin poops and there was nothing else to do but leave them in the toilet and wait for them to get flushed and make revist after revist. There was no way poops that heavy were going anywhere. There wasn't even any toilet roll so all them girles who went in after would have been wondering who the 2 girls (or one with a real bad bowel) were that were sitting around with the skiddy bifs. I hate no toilet roll. A lesbian should never drip dry. We watched in cheeky glee as all the wannabe glamourous girls strutted out of the toilet because we knew there was moist panties all round, and not in a good way. And the way they walked awkwardly with their legs slightly parted for the rest of the evening gave everything away.

After we had well and truly out-stayed our welcome and riled every person in the place from customers to the bar staff who I'm sure served our drinks with extra gob and a wide grin, we moved on to Po Na Na. Our numbers now diminished, we left with only myself, The Queen, Lil Red, Lesbo Bob, J Bo and Sexy G. Here there were plenty of drink traumas and lost belongings as well as a 'piley on' Lil Red who appreciated that about as much as she appreciates the Queen of Fun's taunts to dress up as a clown on Saturday night when Lil Red fears clowns as much as she'd fear a penis. Anyway, we were all pretty gobby and dancing horrendously so it was time to leave, and because at least 4 of us had to get up real early. That 4 reduced to 2 as Bob decided to not bother with photography and I set my alarm to call my tutor and tell her I was ragey, tired and ill and would not be in for that 10 minute tutorial.

Someone woman in large glasses with a sherbet lemon up her ass is throwing me out of the lab. I must go. I think I'm typing too loudly. It's hurting my head.

Oh and be warned, a great deal of 'poetry' was concocted to the amusement of all and I have been asked to publish it on here. It's vile. It's coming soon...

Britney Wannabe

10/16/2002 01:30:00 PM

Monday, October 14

I hate going out dancing when it is as cold as it is at the moment. Thursday through to the present day has seen the weather turn cold as Winter and it puts no one in a mood to donn small clothes and strutt their asses out to the clubs of Aberdeen. Instead, I favoured a night in with the usual crew at The Queen of Fun's house. I decided that I did not need alcohol in my life on Saturday nite and instead found myself drinking gallons of perfect tea and tropical Tango and watched as a few others also gave up alcool for the sake of a few hours. This did not make our evening less sedated and the conversations were as vile as always, mainly about shagging whores (Beautiful Boy and Sexy G had been gaying it up in Blackpool and had the unfortunate experience of checking into a B&B from hell and hearing every sordid detail of a whore and her men and every last scream and wince to boot), fanny farts and who can do them on call (can't reveal any names) and the usual shit. Literally. Queen of Fun and Lesbo Bob drooled their way to sleep as we waited a good 3 hours for a taxi as clearly every other Aberdonian fucker had the same idea of not walking home and freezing to death. Funny that.

Sunday was spent trawling the shops for accessories to add to my outfit for the up and coming fancy dress party taking place on Saturday night. The Queen and Lil Red both have birthdays this month so we thought we'd celebrate with a lack of style and go dressed as anything we please. I'm Rainbow Brite although the thought of putting these legs in a shiny dress is just plain cruel for the viewing masses and so I may well end up going as a rainbow in purple jeans or something equally hideous. Also on the guest list, although this is not confirmed and people are open to change their minds at any point during the week..., are: Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz who Beautiful Boy will be - he needs no excuse to slip into a gingham dress, the lion from same film which may well see Straight Man A in a lovely brown ensemble, Alice in Wonderland who Lesbo Bob may be and which may even constitue her being in drag... (sorry Bob), a gansta which will have all the lesbos dribbling over J Bo and a Sumu in an ever expanding suit which will see the Queen being thrown around the room like a space hopper and subsequenttly burst in the same fashion as all space hoppers have been popped at every party. Oh and Lil Red is gonna be drunk smurf. The others have not disclosed who they will be so I'm a bit too excited at seeing the final results on Saturday. I'm counting down the hours. Once again I have too much time on my hands.

Anyway, dissertation research is calling me. Along with the need to eat shit tastless sandwiches.

Britney Wannabe

10/14/2002 11:44:00 AM

Friday, October 11

Dyke night went well. It began with Lesbo Bob hurling half a French stick accidently down a busy road which she too mortified to retrieve what was to be an accompaniment to our tea. We were more concerned by the fact that 3 minutes later, once we had safely bundled Lesbo Bob and her large shoes into a taxi where she could cause no one any harm with bread products, the stray French stick was missing. I'm sure it made someone a real good tea but I'm sure they wouldn't have appreciated it nearly as much as me, epscially knowing what us lesbos had in store for the phallic yeasty bad boy. Yeah I mean homemade garlic bread which you can still smell quite distinctively on my breath today. Anyway, we made it to The Queen's without further catastrophe and once there I made sure that my usual clumsyness had me spilling glasses of wine, my entire dinner and everything else that was certain to leave stains on the cream carpet. I don't know how I do it. I just seem to enter a room and I'm like a whirlwind, everywhere I turn I knock things or people flying. Maybe it's cos of the amount of 'shake' my ass gives out with my every move. Who knows.

Finally it was time for Tipping the Velvet. Of course it was going to disappoint. When you have such a high opinion of a book and when you have built up your own ideas of what each character should and shouldn't look like or talk like then it's impossible for a film/tv programme to live up to everyone's expectations. There was hush around the room as Nan had an extended moment about Kitty and instead of embarrassed giggles when the sex came on their was raucaus laughter. I think that was the beer and wine we were guzzling faster by the second. There was plenty of 'Nan would never talk like that' and 'Kitty and Walter did not exchange sly glances' and of course we all disagreed on who was hotter but all in all it was very enjoyable and author Sarah Waters even made a toothless cameo at the beginning of the credits (I think). The sex was minimal in this episode but I have been assured that next week will see much more action. I think the gold strap-on in the clip for next week gave that away.

The Queen kicked us out after forcing us to watch some hideous playboy porno with a curlyhaired, over lip-lined Jordan on a motor bike. I will never understand that fascination but each to their PVC own I guess.

And so I go to try and come up with a dissertation topic which I have no clue about. Why I decided to do fourth year I will never know.

Listening to: Basment Jaxx: get me off (peaches filthy remix)

Britney Wannabe

10/11/2002 01:26:00 PM

People from my class read my weblog. I'm not sure exactly how they know about it or even why they would want to read it but they do. Nothing gets past The Fee...

Britney Wannabe

10/11/2002 01:07:00 PM

Thursday, October 10

Found this little 'label' game on Ariel's site...

Who are you?

So, I'm a skater chick huh? Well I guess that's pretty accurate if you take away my inability to skate or even look good holding one and I think my men's jeans are baggy in the wrong places (i.e not all over but mainly in the crotch area) but I suppose I accesorise like a skater chick with all them cheapo bangles, sweatbands, outlandish nail colours and anything else luminous that doesn't go with anything. I'm pretty style-less actually but what little style I do have is good for me and seems to work out ok. If I had to label myself I'd say my style was the Mixmatched Identity Crisis look where basically anything is thrown together (from pink ties and orange bangles to rainbow sweatbands and pastel coloured ribbons). Really it's all wrong but I kinda like it. I follow trends as well as I follow football (I don't even know the rules) so it's much cheaper dressing myself badly in whatever I grab first as I do not have to trawl the shops daily to make sure my gypsy frill has the correct amount of ruffle or my fitted rugby shirt has the right amount of stripes. It's boring and costly and rugby shirts... ladies, do you play that sport that is so often associated with the more butch of females? No, so why pretend you do by wearing delicately coloured striped shirts just because your boy has a more masculaine one. His and Her outfits are such a no no. Worse still is hers and hers outfits. As soon as I start dressing like someone I go out with that's it, single city here I come. Of course if you go out with someone some of their style will rub off on you and vice versa but a pair of jeans is ok, as is borrowing their shoes but as soon as you start accesorising like them and mimicking their every bangle and hair bobble, it's time to get out. Or if someone starts walking around pretending to be you and trying to buy items of clothes that suit them as well as they suit any shade of individuality it's the most annoying thing in the world and they really need to sort it out. I don't think I am particularly individual (no one who shops in high street stores can ever say they are original, no matter how much they unmatch stuff up) but I don't want to be immitated by people I know who cannot pull of fingerless gloves teamed with a Barbie hat. It's not big and it's not clever and it's by no means cool to want to dress like someone as oddly matched as me so for the sake of your own fashion sense you really shouldn't do it. Now I'm away to slit my writs because the sweat band is becoming a bit too fashionable once again.

And if any one did see Tipping the Velvet... was there much nudity?? Will I really go as red as a clotted period when I watch it in the company of 3 other lady queers? Answers on a postcard please.

Britney Wannabe

10/10/2002 09:28:00 AM

Wednesday, October 9

Nan and Kitty
i.e Rachel Stirling and Keely Hawes

Oh the excitement is a bit too much for Miss Fee

Britney Wannabe

10/09/2002 01:20:00 PM

You have no idea how excited I am about a certain TV programme on tonight. My favourite book has been turned into a 3 part drama featuring the most explicit lesbian sex ever to be shown on television. Tipping the Velvet airs tonight at 9pm, I have waited for ages for it to come on and guess who can't even watch it till tomorrow? Oh me. The joys of working til 9pm are not particularly joyous so instead of watching only half of it on my own, I'm hanging with my dykes to watch it tomorrow evening: a lesbo programme accompanied by some lovely food, some cold beer and great company. I've never had more than one lesbo in my life at any one time and usually I am going out with her so it's very novel to have a girlfriend and 2 really great lesbo friends to watch this with. I know I wont be the only one blushing when the naked chicks come on though. Naked hot chicks is what I meant to say. If you are on planet 'straight' or planet 'uninformed' then your should visit this link for more about it. It's really not to be missed but will not be surfing any Britsih lesbo blogs till once I have watched it on Thursday so no giving away all the juicy details ladies...

Britney Wannabe

10/09/2002 01:11:00 PM

Monday, October 7

For the first time since I was about 14 I sat in the pub for 5 hours and drank no alcohol and smoked no cigarettes. I must have been unwell. Myself and Straight Man A, having filled our uni quota for the day, met with Lesbo Bob and J Bo and took to our new favourite pub, Triple Kirks (the one with the bed sized sofas and video jukebox - why does no one ever play Britney or Shakira?). Being the coldest day since the previous one, I filled myself with horrendously sweet and creamy hot chocolate and snuggled up to myself and joined conversations of photography and politics. Or rather I sat out the ones that seemed too intelligent and when I had to ask 'who is Aristotal?' I should have just left. The Queen of Fun arrived later, after having great difficulty getting a mammoth papasan (a round cane chair which is pretty to look at, takes up loads of room and is dangerous to sit on) into a car to transport it to her furniture-free house. Lil Red and Babs were the final members to come sit with the happy gay and token group. In the whole time I was there I drank only hot chocolate and too much diet coke which ensured I would not only sleep badly that night due to way too much caffeine but I would also find myself hobbling to toilet twice for every mouthful I took. It would have been the same if I had drank pints I know it. I felt good about myself for not giving into the 'if everyone else is, so should I' way of thinking that I am all too fond of and it also meant that I would not be hungover and ragey the following day at work. Just ragey. I'm going to try it more often. Maybe it will help me on my way to losing at least 1 of my 16 bellies.

I wanted to go out on Saturday night. I hadn;t been feeling good all week, my legs were shaky, my head was fuzzy and I was nauseous. Feeling slightly better after work I thought I would risk it anyway. I though I'd slip down a few vodkas and see how it went from there. I got drunk. I felt fine so we went to try out a new club who advertise themselves like this "4 bars, 1 club, 0 charge." It sounded good. Edinburgh has an Espionage so we'd heard all good things about it, that despite it being a straight bar, almost anything goes. Maybe that would be true of Edinburgh, an artsy town where people are generally more open minded but transfer the very same club to Aberdeen and it's just like every straight bar in the city; full of ignorant straights drinking bottled beer and listening to the same tiresome chart music you get in every other bar. It was a large club with only 3 toilet cubicles so waiting in the queue to relieve your bladder took longer than it did to get a drink from the blonde-in-a-bottle chicks with more attitude than I have chins. We didn't stay long but instead made our way to straight establishment numbero deux (Po Na Nas - foreign for piano tunes and cool toilets) which was more subdued (until we met J Bo who is about as subdued as dog on heat), more comfortable and generally more atmospheric. We remained here for the rest of the evening where the chat was friendly and audible and the people were prettier and cooler. I had my reservations about this place initially but will definietly be returning. I just hope there are no repeat performances of 'disco' dancing down Union Street and imitating The Queen's inability to walk without looking like she need the aid of a heavy shoe. It was a highly entertaining night which was not spoiled by any psycho outbursts from anyone you will be glad to hear. I must go now, the eyes are heavy and the body is heavier.

Britney Wannabe

10/07/2002 12:33:00 PM

Friday, October 4

Bras really bother me. Not because I'm real lazy and hate taking them off other people because it cuts into quality sexual time but because bras on me are quite absurd. Someone pinged my bra the other day and I was shocked because for one second it didn't register what they were doing... For one split second I forgot I wore one. It's not that I think boobs look better when they are not secured in tight material because I hate saggy boobs as much as the next lesbian but sometimes I feel that smashing around like a tomboy (note, that's tomboy, not man) and wearing a bra just doesn't seem right. Actually, it's not really the bra itself that bothers me, it's the fact that because I'm a girl I have to wear one otherwise I'd be bouncing around like a whore on a cock. I just don't think I need to have boobs. The fanny I do not mind. I would rather have a beaver than a snake. I'd rather have a sexual organ contained almost within my body than one that's almost detached from the self and let's face it, if fannies are ugly, willies are repulsive. I wondered if I could remove my boobs and just have a fanny, would I? Just suppose for one minute that you could pick and choose which parts of you you would like to be manly and which parts you would like to be womanly. It'd make for an interesting society, all these half man/half woman people running around not knowing what they are exactly and not knowing who they should be shagging or how. If one day I woke up and was told I could get rid of one part of my body, depsite the fact that I hate every part quite immensely, I guess the boobs would be the first to go. I just don't think I suit boobs. I always wear clothes that de-accentuate them, in order to draw as little attention to them as possible in the hope that people may forget I have them, but I would never bandage them down and take testosterone because I don't actually want to be a fully fledged man. Maybe I just want a six pack. Maybe I want to be able to wear a fitted shirt that doesn't splay open around the boob area, no matter how big a size I get. Maybe I just want a change. I've had these babies for about 12 years and they do nothing. They just sit there looking silly and mocking me with their stupid nipples. Whatever my boob problem is, I'm sure I will be over it by next week when maybe I'll decide that I want a cock to play with afterall. I like to change my mind about things frequently so as I don't get bored with my own thoughts. I think I will go now and think about other people's boobs instead of my own.

Listening to: Those damn first years who know not now to use a computer.

Today's Likes

My new nailvarnish which comes complete with sprinkly sparkles
My glittery sweatband which is weighing my wrist down
Diesel jeans

Today's Dislikes

Jealousy, it's a terrible thing you know
Broken links in the dykewrite ring
Bad bad dreams
Fillingless university sandwiches
Fat phones

Britney Wannabe

10/04/2002 12:58:00 PM

Thursday, October 3

My first week back at university has been about as eventful as the Aberdeen nighlife. Being in alternate days should make uni easier to attend, having a full 24 hours off in between classes is as much as any student could ask for. My timetable totals about 13 hours but despite the minimal time I'm actaully expected to show up, I still have managed to attend only half my classes and in each of these educational stints the only words that have registered is 'ok that's it for today'. I suppose fourth year is the year that I'm supposed to become a social hermit and work my ass off so I can get a decent job doing fuck knows what but really, I don't see it happening. I'm aiming for a third. At least I set my standards high. I'm not the only one. And so in my hours upon hours of university boredom I'm glad to have my time on the net to entertain me. While Mr Trashwhore will not be re joinng us this year (I fear we have lost him to bad drugs and whores), we do have the welcom return of Straight Man A who's prose puts my immature ramblings to shame. I know many of you will remember this boy from his Try Hard Loser days but unfortunately, due to a very long and drunken 5 months away from uni, the boy forgot his username and password and has been forced to start all over again. And so, this year Straight Man A is blogging as Sing A Happy Song. I am hoping his positivity rubs off on me. You should read him, he needs his readers back. And so, this rather lifeless blog was brought to you by one very sleepy Fee who is being forced to get off her lazy ass and perform a full days work as Miss Office Junior 2002. I do hope to return to you either later on in the day or tomorrow in my usual nasty form.

Listening to: Felix da Housecat - The Kittenz and the Glitz

Britney Wannabe

10/03/2002 09:34:00 AM

Wednesday, October 2

Have any of you ever been stalked before? I have been stalked by at least 4 people, 3 of which were male, 1 of which was of unknown gender. I don't know what it is about The Fee that sends out the message 'please follow me around cos I like the company of weirdos' but for some reason people think I should be stalked. It's not as if I'm so beautiful that people should want to look at me all day cos I'm far from being a hottie so that can't be the reason. Also, it can't be my wonderful happy personality that cling ons are attracted to as clearly I'm not exactly a full of life girl who draws people like fly to an oaty turd. In fact, if it wasn't for these stalkers proving me wrong I'd think, realistically, I should be a people repellant. Back to the stalking. My first encounter with a stalker was around age 14 when I was followed relentlessly around my paper round by a runty boy with a cheesey willy. I think the reason he followed me around was cos I led him on by groping said cheesey willy. Or maybe that was a figment of his imagaination but that was his story anyway. I'm not convinced it happened. He gave up after a couple of weeks when he realised that there was no way my hands were going anywhere near his unwashed manhood [again?]. Then I was stalked by a paperboy. Maybe that was cruel payback for being a hussy papergirl or maybe word had spread all around The Deen that I was the girl to fondle filthy parts. Who knows but this stalker came to my house, waited at the bus stop, turned up at places I'd be and generally drove me so mad that it finally ended with my brother threatening to break his pre-pubescent hard on is so many places that he'd never get his dirty nob felt ever again. Two stalkers is unlucky but 3 is just taking the piss I tell you. The third stalker came in the form of a geeky goth who'd only ever kissed one woman and she was precisely that - a middle aged woman larger than my house who wore black and moshed as well as I attend uni. She was foul. Maybe that's why he went for me, maybe he just had a ponchont for the grotesque. Whatever his addiction with me was, it culminated in him telling the world that he'd gotten me over my lesbian phase and that I was his for the keeping. And all because I'd helped him put on his makeup. Surely that was telling him something?? The fourth stalker is the most interesting one and some of you know the tale and know that if I were to tell it here I could dress it up to be the most fascinating story I've ever written here but unfortunately I must, for once, censor myself, and not divulge the juicy details publicly. It's a shame cos I'm sure it'd have you rolling around giggling and thinking 'what the fuck' but for reasons I can't go into I must refrain from being so nasty as to tell the world about the full on nobs that I know. Stalking, what's the point really? If you gotta stalk someone it's all so desperate and there's no way the object of your affection will be interested once they see you with your binoculours and camoflage, especially if like me the only colour of camoflage that does anything for you is blue, sitting on a wall eating a cheese sandwich and waiting for your 'true love' to make an appearance. It's not right. Being the compulsive person that I am I'm pretty sure I've done it but I guess there'e a difference between strolling casually past someone's work once a week to stalking even their friends. I have to go. Someone is watching me. I can feel their gay eyes on the back of my head. Or maybe that's cos one of them filthy students threw a spit at me earlier and it is now clogged in my freshly washed hair. Will someone please stalk me?

Britney Wannabe

10/02/2002 01:53:00 PM

Do you give a fuck?

This quiz style was designed by alanna, adapted by Batfish Designs, and created by Missanthropy

See I can't be all that bad... I didn't cheat on the test Miss, honest... And it doesn't mean I give out fucks either... cos that'll cost you.

Found this on Ariel's site...

Britney Wannabe

10/02/2002 10:49:00 AM

Good morning one and all. Or just one. It has been brought to my attention by Miss Charmin that I need to tell more interesting stories... or at least explain the meaning behind my likes and dislikes. The ones that are explainable are the self-explanatory ones such as 'Today I like: early grey tea with a drop of milk', and 'Today I dislike: 'crusty faces'. These types of statement are there for everyone to understand. The statements, however, that most people don't understand are mainly there for the purpose of certain people who will know exactly what I'm talking about when they read a statement that is meant solely for them to understand. Sometimes these statements may be a token of love, but as I'm not very full of love (mostly just shit) then more often than not, it will be a dig at a certain situation or event that happened. I'm petty I know. I try not to be, honest I do but try as I might, as soon as I find myself writing 'Today's Dislikes', something seems to come over me like a gush of man come and I'm being all vindictive and spiteful. It has to stop. From now on I will try harder to be a nicer person. I give it 4 minutes.

Britney Wannabe

10/02/2002 10:35:00 AM

Tuesday, October 1

Is it just me or does anyone else have issues about sitting in close proximity to people on the bus? If it isn’t just me then I’d be very worried. At the moment, my major issue is with students on small buses. I seem to dislike them even more than the hideous creatures that get on my public bus home which is full of shell suit wearing abusive minks who bellow and gob on you at every opportunity. Trying out the ‘free’ student transport in favour of the extortionate public transport, myself and Straight Man A found ourselves on a bus to hell. When you feel like you are going to pass out at any given opportunity, the worst thing to do is get on a bus with a capacity of 16 but which is currently transporting around 60. Having managed to squeeze into a seat before all The first years piled on with fists and sweaty faces bouncing up and down, we thought we’d be ok. I should have realised it was a mistake, in the shape I was in, the only place I should have been in was a vast open field with not a person around for a 5 mile radius. We were squished in tighter that a fist in a fanny and no matter what direction I turned in I was faced with a student ass, or worse yet, an accentuated fanny that should not have been encased in grey wool. The smell was unbearable. Because of the fights to get 60 students on this tiny bus when there were around 120 waiting to get on, it meant that all who were ‘lucky’ enough to fit their woolly asses on the bus were harassed and very salty. It didn’t make for a pleasant journey especially when the boys who couldn’t wait til the end of the 15 minutes ride (longest they will ever get) to scoff their egg and fish sandwiches. Even more smart when the windows don’t open and you’re surrounded by really loud Glaswegians who speak so loudly you’d be forgiven for thinking they were in competition for Gobbiest Cow Award 2002. I wouldn’t have cared so much had their ‘chat’ have been even slightly interesting. It was, however, oddly entertaining, listening to the new friends flatter and impress each other with gushes of ‘oh you don’t look 22’ (right enough you look 52) and ‘well I have been to London twice!’ (translated as ‘I have never left Scotland in my life’). It made me puke. And then, as though they have lived here all their foreign lives they bang on about how much they know about the Aberdeen nightlife. If they had really lived here for more than a week they would know that Aberdeen doesn’t have a nightlife. And neither is the Palace ‘hard to get out of alive’. If my campest poof mates can go in the mosh pits in their designer shoes and primed hair and come out unscathed then believe me it can’t be scary in the slightest. What a pile of shit I tell you. And then they compare folders and pens and rulers and jotters. I swear by the time they reach second term they will have forgotten what any of these terms means. It made me wonder if I ever categorised my work when I arrived on Planet Campus. I’m pretty sure I never. Seeing as I can’t even remember a pen and paper or to even turn up on time, I’m pretty sure I was not one of them television presenter wannabes who swan around clutching their folders to their chests and swinging a tiny handbag around their heads. I’m also very sure that I never wrote each subject in a different coloured pen and I know for a fact that I have never used a highlighter in my life for any purpose other than drawing on sleeping people’s faces. It’s all so weird and no matter how much they dress themselves up as ‘intellectual business women’ and no matter how much lipstick and hair product they apply, the smell of first year students will not leave them for at least 9 months. So, they can stop spraying all that cheap animal tested perfume around their crotch area, have a good wash and brush those rancid teeth. Just cos mummy isn’t here, you still have to brush the decay and mould out of your teeth at least twice daily. At least that way they can disguise the fact that they are under perspirated first years. Oh and they could buy a bloody bag big enough to carry their cutesy pink folders and matching pencil cases in. Rant over.

Today’s Likes

Not being at work
People who leave comments
Slacks hanging down with a cool belt
Apple crisps
Not seeing any 1st year students today
Clambering, if it ever happens.

Today’s Dislikes

Still feeling like a grey jobbie
People who pick and choose when they want you in their lives
Femme lesbos in baggy trousers
Lack of contact with certain people