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


Saturday, August 30

I have never felt so comfortable about myself as I did in Manhattan. And it wasn't simply because I did not feel like the largest person everywhere I went but it was also because I felt that no one judged anyone else. I could have gone out in shorts and a bra and looked pretty stupid but felt comfortable enough that no one gave a shit what I looked like. It seemed that no one tried so hard to conform to anything and no one was even slightly bothered by what other people thought of them and the way they looked. There was no one that was SO trendy and no one that was SO pretentious. No one had the boy bint hair do (you know the bleached blonde mohican and short fringe - if a girl looks like a spaz in a short fringe then there is no way a boy can get away with this) which impressed me greatly as walking down the street in Aberdeen every second boy has this unflattering hair do and it is truly vile. There was no abundance of gel or wax, hair was just hair (but note, never fluffy) and clearly people did not spend 3 hours perfecting the squint quiff or pulled forward fringe. There is nothing worse than those who try so desperately to be cool and spend hours, often days aiming to get the cool look just right. If you can't get the cool look right just buy shoving on your clothes and mussing up your hair in two seconds then it just doesn't work. The binty girl look is equally bad and I didn't realise just how prevelant it is until we went to Manhattan, city of accidental cool. You certainly didn't see the beautiful girls over titling their smoking hats while squeezing into burberry knickerbockers teamed with a halterkneck top. The Manhattan girls looked hot but they weren't so made up with 8 layers of make up so at least you knew you would be looking at the same face the following morning. Natural beauty is so much hotter than those who try harder to be beautiful than a lesbo tries to pull straight chicks. I just hate how so many people piece together trend after trend and automatically thinking if they are wearing the latest gucci and clutching a [probably fake] luis vuitton then they really must be something special. Wrong. It doesn't work like that. Just because one thing looks good one someone else does not mean it will look in anyway hot on you and your flat ass. These are the same people that given a shopping trip to Manhattan would find themselves in Bloomingdales and Barneys paying all their currency for one bag and would not dream of scooting around the cool boutiques and getting a beautiful item that you could not get in your shitty home town. These people make me vomit. That's why I and so many others love Carrie Bradshaw. I may not appreciate her bum bag and poncho but her style is quirky, her own (or Patricia Field's) and she most certainly does not care what anyone else thinks. And so I must go face the hoards of 'I'm so cool' people of Aberdeen who wouldn't know true style if Miss Bradshaw smacked them round the chops with Patricia Field's entire wardrobe. Long live Hotel Venus you arrogant wannabe (but never gonnabe) pricks.