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


Friday, November 28

I went to see Electric Six the other day. It was rockin’ but the occasion gave me so much fuel for a weblog entry so read on and tell me if you agree with my observations.

People Who Shouldn’t be in a Mosh Pit (or in Attendance at all)

Girls in 6” heels who have followed their meaty boyfriends in
The meaty boyfriends
The long bright white trainered Neds with their Burberry T shirts and gold chains
Those who think the ‘gay bar’ chant is a sign to kick ass
People who can’t do the mosh salute
The long-haired floor sweepers whose hair you always trod on
Those who are always on the outside but never quite getting in because they are scared they will get a sweaty elbow in their face
Anyone wearing tapered jeans
People with severe body odour problems
Bespectacled folks. Common sense people
People who moan that the band are shite
The girlie nobs who can’t mosh and so side step and shoulder swing around their fake Luis Vuitton handbags
People who salute songs with their pint glasses
Over glammed girls who mime the wrong words cause they have never heard of the band before
The support band groupies
Boys with Indie hair cuts and faded Oasis T shirts. So ’97. So never.
Girls with no bras
Girls in sleeveless vests who clearly do not own a razor.
People in slip on shoes
People who think that the support band are the band they paid to see
Dicks who launch things at the band

Evidence that I am Clearly Pushing On

I was as concerned with the unwelcome wanks as I was with the gig
I removed my sweaty shoes at one point and crunched my feet into a ball while exclaiming, ‘oh that’s much better’
I favoured the middle of the auditorium to the mosh pit
I even sat down on the over walked floor whilst waiting for the band
Despite lovin’ the band I willed on the end of every song (even though the songs were shorter than Justin’s alleged dick) so I could get home to bed
I cried when the second support band came on (Kidsymphony) and not just because the all male band all had girls hair but because it lessened the time I would get in my bed that night
I refrained from drinking
I didn’t buy a band t shirt
I went home without the aid of my mum and dad
I worried that the lead singer must be so tired with all that crazy dancing
I disapproved of the smoker beside me
I thought about making soup for about 20 seconds
My amazing ability to moan about just about everything…

God I could go on forever but for your sake I will stop.

Clearly there are just not enough cool people in this city to sustain a gig in a place bigger than my living room. I just don’t understand why half the people in attendance even bothered to fork out for a ticket when they had as much interest in being their as I do in what boys store in their Y fronts. I think the boys go to remind us that even if we think we are going somewhere cool and away from the small minded pricks, that the Neds will always reign supreme. There is no place safe from Burberry, from tracksuits, from gelled forward hair and from cheap cigarettes and bottles of beer that will later be used to threaten you if you cast a disgusted look at their tightly pulled skinny trainers or brown boots. Of course they also go to these places to get the girls because while the girls used to appreciate Neds and their checked YSL shirts or their beige combats, now girls like the cool boys, the boys in eye liner and baggy trousers. And so Neds frequent the cool places to try and get back their cheap tarts who are cutting around in white lycra and slashed necked jumpers in an attempt to be noticed by boys who don’t listen to happy hardcore and have something more appealing to talk about than hubcaps and how expensive a ten pack of fags are. It’s just a shame that underneath it all these girls are the same as their Ned male counterparts and are full of shit, ill fitting thongs and have as much class as a bucket of turd.

Rant about Neds and their bitches over. If you don’t know what a Ned is (why oh why have I capitalised this word? It in no way gives the disgusting bastards credibility) and my rant has failed to give you a clear picture then come up my way and you’ll drown in a sea of them and their Burberry check. Vile.

On a completely different note, Amber Benson aka Tara from Buffy is coming here to see all of us Buffy obsessives for herself in January. It’s all too exciting. If you too are going to see Miss Hotness, look for me. I’ll be the one who queues too early with the massive morning hair and the weird glint in her eye (also known as a squint…). Bu bye now.