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


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Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Thursday, February 13

What a waste of a morning. I have just spent the best part of three hours pulling out my ultra long hair in large handfuls whilst trying to figure out how the hell I am going to pay for all my excessive outgoings this month (and every other one). For some reason I decided that today would be the day I stopped ignoring the ever expanding pile of bills that my mother has been recently using as a door stop and open them up. It couldn’t be that bad surely? My two credit cards and numerous store cards could not have amounted to enough to feed an entire starving community for 5 years could they? So I ripped them open with some sort of reckless abandon, expecting a £10 fine here and there and instead was faced with massive bold lettering demanding I pay up big style or be faced with LEGAL ACTION. Smart. I had just been shopping and what I hadn’t bought already I had made big plans for. All those computer games that are vital to my well being (even though my temper tantrums see me break a knuckle or two every time I switch the damn thing on) and those Britney DVDs to play on my new laptop (thankfully an outgoing that wasn’t paid for by me) and not to mention the expense that is Valentines Day… It really hurts to be so materialistic when you don’t have the funds to support such a lavish lifestyle. It hurts my pretty lil head thinking about that beautiful pink cord skirt that would look so good with my lovely pink shirt on Friday night. And how can I go on in life knowing that the perfume (technically it’s aftershave) that I really need in my life is half price and I still cannot afford it? I thought that would be the last straw but knowing that Britney’s Crossroads with all those special DVD extras is also painfully cheap is all too much and is pushing me closer to the edge. Really. I will not allow myself to go into town and torture myself until I stop paying all those minimum payments and letter charges. So that’ll be never then. Never will I get to stroll around the city of Aberdeen, watching who I look at in case I get stamped on by long bright white trainers and no more will I venture into town to look at the same featureless faces that I see every single time I even leave my house. No more will I have to exchange pleasantries with these dull people who have talk as interesting as rubbery turd. Never again will I be forced into these conversations that are seemingly never ending when the whole time you are standing there thinking, ‘So, how do I know these people? What are their names? Is that lettuce in his teeth? Is she wearing that cheap perfume you get free with cheaper hair care products? Are they wearing matching bomber jackets? Are they talking in English or is that the dulcet Aberdonian tones I’m so familiar with and still have problems understanding? Is he a she? Is she a he? Are they dating? Do they even know each other? Is that the pungent aroma of CK BO that I smell? Did I just see her scratch her ass when she thought I was listening to her friend with the dribbly beak? Is this conversation ever going to end? Do they even know my name? Are they thinking the same as me?’ And so it goes on. And so I go on. How does about every second blog entry I write end up with a slagging of Aberdeen? How does writing about a lack of finance turn into a rant about the wankers of Aberdeen? Maybe it’s because there are so many first class pricks in this stupid town that it’s impossible not to mention them in some respect, especially when they dress as though this is still the early nineties, talk like they have an asshole for a mouth and look at the world through shite tinted bifoculs. I blame the neds and bams of Aberdeen for my bad finacial status. If it weren’t for them I would not need to spoil myself with pretty clothes to ensure I always look slightly better than them and if it weren’t for them I would not need so many distractions to keep me at home so I don’t need to look at their squashed faces, listen to the 1000 pounds of fresh shit they utter or smell their dirty hair when they walk that little to closely to you with their chapped elbows and unwashed tapered jeans. Oh people of Aberdeen I salute you. And thank you for making me so desperate to get my fat ass out of this god forsaken shallow pit of the earth.

And off Miss Fee goes for a Lil Red fix and to maybe attempt to regain some sort of order with regards my once again out of control hair that even the ultimate straightners cannot tame. Humpf.