Jesus Christ. I don't know what I did but somehow I managed to click onto some porn gateway and now am being bombarded by pop up windows of chicks sucking dick, chicks fucking dicks and chicks with dicks. I wouldn't care so much if I were not sitting in a public lab at university trying so hard to do work on my stupid dissertation. I fear the system may crash cos of cock overload and the alarm bells will start to ring and sparks will fly from my computer and I will be shamed and banned from ever using the computers again. People keep looking over my incredibly large shoulder to see the beautiful images of immaculately painted nails enveloping exceedingly large veiny dicks. I should be thankful that my massivley fuzzy hair is obscuring their view so hopefully all they see are the stupidly long finger nails which could really hurt any sensitive area. Usually I don't mind a good ogle at a bad bit of smut but not today. The split beavers are too much. I can't cope. Really.
Don't you just hate it when you think you are having a private conversation to find out you are being listened into? I had such an incidence of violation over the weekend when we went to play at the swings. It's a bit like finding out someone I don't like is reading my blog. Like people who already despise me need more amo to hate me, like these people really need to read my rants on jumbo puss and oblong turds. Anyway. I don't really have many qualms about talking about anything to people, as long as it's a conscious choice to do so. However, I was in the toilet of a redneck pub the other day and was loudly chatting about how laughing hard can make you fart and when it does it comes out at a terrible speed. I wondered why my usually uncontrollable counterpart was only stiffling sniggers two cubicles down. Blissfully unaware of Mrs High Hair's presence outside, I carried on yelling and making vile, immature fart noises as I mopped up and flushed away. It was only when I swung open the heavily graffitied door that I came face to face with tapered jeans, slingbacks, a very heightened perm and a lip so curled it was hard to know where it ended and perm started. I have never been so ashamed. Actually I am sure I have. But I have never moved so quickly in my life. But not quick enough to miss the little peep that squeaked out of Mrs I Would So Never Fart. And not even quick enough to miss the little giggle that came after it. Why? Why do people in public toilets giggle when they guff? Is it an attempt to hide their embarrassment at having let go so publicly and audibly (cause let's face it, the echo caused by split cheeks on the bog is loud enough for the gents down the corridor to overhear)? Is it to demonstrate the fact that although they farted like a drunken curry bummed man, that they are still a dainty little lady? Whatever the reason, it bugs the shit outta me. I heard you fart. I don't need to hear you giggle to try and make me forget the fact you just dropped a whopper. Anyway, I'm talking about farts. My weekend did consist of more entertaining things but I don't have the ability to make them sound as interesting as they were and so I'm resorted to talking pluffs. Again.
And so I got to try and solve the mystery of how on earth I managed to put on 2 pairs of pants today.
I’ve never felt so gay as I did on Heterosexual Day (aka Valentine’s Day). Well apart from the time I turned up to my school formal dance in a pair of steel toe capped doc martins tucked not so neatly under my pin stripe suit complete with tie and proceeded to leacherously try and accost everything with tits which included Baldy Moustachey the PE teacher and Chubby John from 3rd year. I was definitely more gay and not to mention vile that day. But honestly, I think February 14th must be the straightest day of the year. It was near to impossible to reserve a table anywhere that burgers didn’t come wrapped in plastic. I didn’t know Aberdeen was so full of couples! I think it’s the only day of the year it is. Everyone makes such a big deal of Valentines Day. Over dramatic declarations of love are poured from usually loveless hearts whilst drinking expensive champagne that people only pretend to enjoy as people over compensate for a loveless year with bolshy marriage proposals that will be regretted in 2 hours time, once the fuck is over. It bugs me. Kind of. I think it’s lovely to tell someone how much you love them but if you have to wait til one day a year to do it it’s pretty lame. I love a bit of romance but I felt so intimidated taking my girl out for a meal on that one day because it was pretty obvious, booking a table under candle light on Feb. 14th that we were not business associates. I don’t really care that they knew I was a homo, I really care because they all stared at us with their shifty squinted eyes as they held hands over the table and gushed the usual crap to someone who was only there so she could tell her chums she had a date or was getting married cos her boyfriend is soooo romantic cos he proposed on Valentines Day. Puke. And the fact that all the tables were so squashed together that I could hear Joseph and Mary next to me fart made it near to impossible to even eat my crusty bread without getting those looks which said,’ jesus, trust the lesbos to be sitting near us, I hope no one thinks they are with us’. I ordered the customary beer while my lady sipped on white wine which did nothing to dispel the ‘are they or aren’t they’ rumours that appeared to have circulated around the restaurant quicker than nits in a primary school. One whole hour later we were sent packing, leaving a measley £1.80 tip behind. One hour! No one should be eating a 3 courser in an hour! Especially not a lesbo of my stature and bulk! So, it cost us £30 for an hour! That’s more than I get paid a week! Would we have been encouraged to stay longer had we not been diners at the Sushi bar? Maybe I’m just paranoid. Maybe the music didn’t stop when we entered the building. Maybe there was no slow motion walk to get to our table. And maybe we didn’t squeeze our asses into the smallest table in the corner as the hets tutted and muttered ‘lesbo’ under their garlic breaths. However, because this is Aberdeen, I’m pretty sure I was not paranoid. I’m pretty sure that the waitress did hand us our menus via a grabbing stick so she didn’t have to stand too close. I’m also sure that the bar tender had already opened the beer for me as soon as I held the door open for my lady. And I am also convinced that I was directed to the gents toilets on purpose where I had to prop myself up on the urinal which made for an interesting pee and a horrific sight to those, ‘I’m soooo getting laid tonight cos I just bought her a meal that didn’t come with tomato ketchup and skinny fries’ men who happened to come by and pee over my shoulder. Well whatever paranoias were or were not in my pretty little head, I did in fact have a lovely day. We saw Chicago prior to the meal because we had anticipated the meal lasting a good 2+ hours… Oh there were jazz hands ahoy! We left the cinema and I did a dramatic interpretation of a split leap down a flight of stairs and caught a flying Lil Red who flipped her leg the wrong way when trying to high kick. That’s how good it was. If I could sing I’d have sung all the way home. If I could dance I’d have danced all the way home. However, what really happened when we were caught up in the moment was that I dolloped my way down the street flapping my bingo wings at every passer by and sprained my ankle and friction burned my chin as I crashed to the floor as I tried to mimick a dramatic finale that involved a double star jump, a forward roll and fast paced spirit fingers. It wasn’t pretty but then it never really is. So, it was an eventful day for us lesbos. I'm bruised and battered but then most of that happened after we were forced to have an early night... So enough already. How was Valentines for you?
And so I go to pull my hair out in furry clumps because it is so frizzy and seriously out of order. Enjoy the weekend.
Someone loves me! For the first time in the history of my dating life, I got flowers. Never before have I had flowers from someone who isn't my mum. It's very exciting. Someone likes me enough to carry flowers down the streets of Aberdeen! There's something about carrying flowers in Aberdeen that makes people gawp at you as though you have a panty moustache on blantent display. They screw their tight ignorant faces up and look at you in pure disgust, as though you really are strolling through the streets in the nude with your wobbles and pitted skin flapping in the wind. It's jealousy I know because no one would ever buy their squint faces flowers. Oh they are such pretty flowers. Well I assume they are. They are pink and they are from my love so they are pretty. My love could have given me turds on sticks and I would have deemed them the most beautiful flowers in the world and would have entered them into worldwide competitions so everyone could see how loved I am :-) Oh and get this... I also got my Britney DVD... with all them beautiful added extras and now I can press pause when watching the favoured 'singing in pants' scene without all the fuzzy lines making the pants look like bloomers. It's all too much. I love Valentines Day. But only when I have someone to be with. I was always the one at school who would send vile cards to just about every boy in the school and never receive one in return. Everyone would know they were from the fat girl with the large fringe. Oh I am so ashamed. But not to worry, now those boys who are uglier than thou and have no chance of a shag will never again get the unwanted attentions that I lavished upon them so hideously from the ages of 10-15 and instead my poor Lil Red will get every ounce of it, minus the large fringe of course. Today is going to be a fabulous day. I hope you all have a lovely day also and that there's much lovin' to be done.
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.
Yes it has been a while since I posted something decent. And it will be a while until I post something decent again because I am dull dull dull. I must go in seek of thrilling adventures in order to make this weblog more interesting. Since I last wrote you really don;t need to ask what I have been doing and I don't wanna divulge the sordid details of our misadventures with the laptop and all things cheese... So instead I will do as I always doand tell you about the stuff that no one really cares about and keep all the really juicy stuff in my head :-)...