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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The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Tuesday, June 10

I think the best part of Saturday night was the fact that my beautiful nails glowed up under UV light. I tried to dance in accordance with this. I attempted to encompass fluttering my fingernails into my already shite dance routine. What a prick. Although not that anyone would have noticed me being the bad-dancing prick through the bodily sweat haze, which was just about unbearable once again. That place is so awful. SO awful and so full of people I can’t stand and who can’t stand me that I continue to go. I go to dance. I go to dance in a place where I can happily slip my girl a tongue, or more depending on state of drunkenness, without getting a cheap alcopop bottle smashed off my head. Although as far as the dancing is concerned, I really shouldn’t bother. As soon as I hit the vodka, all recollection of how to move with coolness evaporates. Not that I am Britney on the dance floor when sober but basically I don’t do dancing without at least 14 alcohol units because then you become all too conscious of how your feet are shuffling and how your arms are flailing like a distressed drowning victim. I just should be made to sit in the corner with ear plugs in so I can’t get hear the overly mixed songs and will therefore not be tempted to be the worst dancer in the room. Ha! Christ, if you could see the moves that people try and pull off in there you’d think I was God on the dancefloor. Clearly I am not the only one who thinks my moves are the coolest in the world when wasted. At least I don’t floor punch or split leap in public however. These hot moves are reserved for Flashdance mornings only you will glad to know.

What else can I say about last night? What about the pseudo friendships that are always so apparent absolutely everywhere? It’s a fickle fickle world out their in the land of gay. People seem to float from group of friends to group of friends, using up their ‘coolness’ with one group and moving on to the next. Of course this isn’t true of all gay people because I for one think that I have genuine friendships that are not based on Saturday night alone. I guess being friends with people on Saturday nights only does not allow you to truly ever get to know a person, to learn all their amazing qualities as well their annoying idiosyncrasies. And vice versa of course. They need never see your tantrums that you have about your work, they never see the issue you have with your self as a whole and basically they never see you sober. Would these Saturday night friends like you the same if they knew you are without the vodka? What do you have to argue with these people about? What do you have to share with these people apart from a common interest in alcohol and dancing? However, with proper friends, maybe more so in a larger group, there is always an issue. It’s impossible to get together without someone being pissed at someone else or without tears. I guess that’s just what happens. I wish it wouldn’t but I guess that my head is always up my arse as far as friends are concerned and I guess I expect too much in my ideal Fee world where everyone would get on equally, there would be no bitching and every night would be perfect. But I guess maybe life would be less interesting without these issues thrown at us huh? I guess if you can remain as a close group, despite everyone’s failings then I guess that’s what true friendship is. Because for every slightly annoying trait each person has (I’m sure I have the most), they have 100 more brilliant traits that remind you of why you are friends in the first place. And life is good and life is great and the birds will sing forever more. Ah, let me ponder on that happy thought for a while. Enough already. Jesus. Did I just get serious for a minute? Depending on how fast you read it could have been anywhere from 2 seconds to a lengthy 10 minutes actually. Anyway, I never know how to end the serious bits so I’ll tell you that talk on Saturday night was prodominently about poop and our endless fascination with the subject. My favourite poop tale of the evening was ‘The never ending story’. Nice.

And so I go to wash my belly which I am currently eating my dinner off because then I don’t even have to use my hands os it’s so close to my face. Bu bye now.

Today’s Likes

Droopy undercarriages
My new pink-mirrored ring
Big Brother, getting better, Tania anyone?
Alcohol farts, nothing more satisfying, apparently
Veggie Butteries with cheese slices

Today’s Dislikes

Being manhandled by lesbians
Hot lesbos getting chatted up by vile specimens
My queer shape
My hair in the humidity, Monica Gellar/Bing has nothing on me
The loss of yet another hair extension which leaves me with a sole pink one