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

Mail Me

Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Monday, January 13

Sometimes being a lesbo really fucks me off. Not because girls piss me off and I wish I was a cock lover but because I’m so fed up with having a hot lady and being in love with her and not being able to show her off to the world. Not that I see my lady as a show piece (hey, that’s tomorrow’s entry) but I just wish I could walk freely down the streets of shallow minded Aberdeen and hold her hand and tell every passing crew cut and Burberry cap that this is my girl and I’m lucky to be with her. I’m not overly shy with the whole public affection thing because when you need to touch someone, when you need to feel their skin against yours then there’s nothing you can do about it, you just got to have that feeling. However, it is so hard to walk down the streets with your girl here and not fear for a smacking. I don’t think either of us look like lesbos, well I do more than she does but I’m no kd, but as soon as I feel my hand reaching for hers I can feel the cross eyed fuckers in puffa jackets and skinny jeans double chin starring at us like we have the bubonic plague and they will catch it if they don’t make aggressive comments towards us. I don’t understand what the problem is? Why is it such a big fucking deal? And why oh why, unless we want to have cheap lit fags thrown at our faces, are we relegated to kissing each other in toilets and being on permanent watch incase the door is swung open by a 50p bottle blonde slag in a boobtube who will run and tell all her mates that there are ‘perverts’ making out in the toilet. It’s so degrading and vile having the smell of urine permeating your nostrils as you’re about to lose yourself in your girl’s fabulous kisses. And what’s worse is the fact that I cannot object when Mr and Mrs Uglier than thou sit directly across from me, with their cracked faces and food stained shell suits and lick each other’s tongues as I eat my meal. Surely it is a better sight to witness me and my lady having a little kiss and a cuddle than viewing that circus of horrors eating foosty lip for lunch? Why should he with his callus-ridden hands be allowed to feel her up in full view when I can’t even kiss my girl’s soft cheek? It’s easier when I’m with a group of people to be more myself with my girl but there are just so many boundaries I’m scared to cross incase someone is looking and I get a dirty knuckle sandwich for my next meal. I imagine many cities are still like this but in Scotland’s third biggest city you’d expect better. You don’t expect than people have never seen two girls holding hands before or even standing that little too closely too each other but here, the majority of the population are far too content with labelling everyone that does not kiss members of the opposite sex and wear imitation labels, as freaks. I would rather be a freak with a beautiful girl who makes me happy than have so much hate and intolerance in me than be one of these ignorant, badly dressed wanks who have no more words in their voacbularly than ‘dykes’, ‘perverts’, ‘freaks’ and ‘poofs’. I hate Aberdeen and it’s pathetic inhabitants who need to try stepping into 2003 and realising that their chain smoking shit fags and wearing ill fitting jeans and thinking ignoramus thoughts are not the only way of life. And so I go to load up my big gay gun and think of all the public kissing they are going to be subjected to when my hot lady comes back to town because we have got so much catching up to do.
Until then however I am resigned to kissing my pillows and my photos. Oh the wonderfully sad life of Miss Fee.