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I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else My Profile
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It's finally all over. Four years of not-so-hard work, of attending two lectures per year and of having to sit in class with some of the most nobbish up-their-own-long-arse people I have ever met. Never again will I have to look at their ignorant faces and listen to their grating 'i do corporate communications so i am well cool' voices. I wont have to listen to their snidey comments and watch them trip over their pouty lips as they rate my outfits in disdain everytime I pass them. I will never again have to listen to their moans about parking (yes, really) and their 'I love my boyfriend' quips. However, I almost wish I was going to the graduation ball like a couple I know who plan on getting wasted and telling these nobs exactly what they (and pretty much the rest of the world) think of them. But the thought of them all flouncing about in too tight dresses with their freakishly over-dyed hair piled neatly on top of their masive heads while I slouch about in inappropriate clothes like the lesbo I am is too much to think about. So, yeah I'm happy it's all over. Though kinda sad that I will never again have the same amount of free time (unless, as I fear, I never get a job because I am so completely unemployable) to get drunk, watch hours of Buffy and Sex in the City and generally be the bum that I am so well suited to being. I could go on and do some postgraduate course but after these past few months, I think I'd rather shove a cactus up my ass than be subjected to that all over again. I wish I could work in a book shop, my own preferably, and get paid shit loads to do so and I'd quite happy spend my gay days there forever but sadly it doens't work like that. I'm sure you will be forced to endure the tales of my unemployableness over the few months because you all know I like a moan as much a i like cheese. Here's the progress so far. Nova, the 'gift specialist', specialising mainly in hello kitty, pans and expensive candles, wouldn't even give me a friggin interview for chirst sake. Maybe they know I was only after the discount card. And the shite shop with about 4 books, where the so stuck in the eighties chick with her power suit and ginormous hair and high cracked eye shadow wouldn't give me a job because I made her stupid fat ass look thicker than sticky turd. And then this is the best, People's Friend, a magazine for people with an interest in knitting and crochet, did not require my services either. Why the hell I was applying for a magazine for help-the-aged and the exceedingly dull I do not know. So really, if I can't get a shite job, what chance do I have a semi-decent job?
Anyway, I'm here today to set myself some targets. I don't know what grade I will get overall. At the moment it's pretty much a 2:2. There is a very slim chance I could get a 2:1, no chance I will get a first and hopefully I will not get a third. So, I'm pretty much settled on a 2:2. Not bad for a girl who puts no effort into anything. However, if on the off chance (it's about a 3% chance at the moment) I do happen to somehow get a 2:1, I am setting myself some tasks. They sound more like punishments than celebrations but I figure, if I can get a 2:1 then I can do these things easliy. I also figure that as I am very unlikely to get this grade that I will not have to do these things. Call me weird. Call me whatever you like. Most people do but here are my tasks that I will carry out, should I stun the world and get a better grade. 1) Having never been upside down on a roller coaster and being scared to do so, I will do this. 2) I will watch a scary movie at the cinema. Something else I have never done and hoped I never would. 3) I will give up cheese for 2 weeks 4) I will read a 'classic', if I manage to stay awake. 5) I will wear a skirt to graduation 6) I will get a new piercing 7) I will lose weight (giving up cheese for 2 weeks may allow me to do this...) 8) I will learn to drive Ok that'll do. I don't want to eradicate all my fears and insecurities in one go for christ sake. It will be about three weeks until I find out whether I will need to bare my legs for a day and pierce my fanny (well where else is there left to do?) and give up my true love for 14 days so I'm sure you will be near the first to know the outcome. So, I go now to was the grease right outta my hair, paint my nails - fingers and toes, pink and black respectively, - and contemplate begging for a job at McDonalds. Life is well smart. Britney Wannabe 
5/30/2003 10:55:00 AM I was on television the other day. No one ever needs to be on our local news programme where the presenters are as interesting as hard cheese and as easy on the eye as decayed turd. Aberdeen is so backwards it’s a wonder we even have a news programme. But then where else would we get to chart the progress of that missing cat or the bottle of milk that was stolen from number 35 Arsehole Road? Anyway, so there I was in all my pink camouflage glory, along with Straight Man A in all his non pink camouflage glory, lingering in the background of some interview with my double chins a plenty and guffawing like I was actually really funny. And to top it all off, I was blissfully unaware of the flashing lights and furry microphones and industrial sized cameras and did in fact have no clue my head was bobbing around in the background of a ‘news story’. So, I may have looked like a sad pathetic cling on desperate to get her large face on TV but I didn’t even realise what was going on. I am so ashamed. At least if I had actually noticed, while swaning around at the pointless careers fair, that my pinkness was to be a backdrop for Mr Suit, I could have A) ducked out of view B) shouted random obscenities at the unnecessarily arrogant, plain faced presenters or C) tilted my head forward and arranged my clothing to a more flattering angle so at least I didn’t look like a whale on feet or a butch in a frock. But alas it was not to be and I was humiliated beyond belief in front of millions. Ok, hundreds because let’s face it, the only people that watch North Tonight are those who don’t get a good picture on channel four to watch Hollyoaks. Though one thing, Clubb, tell me you stumbled upon my moon face when flicking channels in the break of Hollyoaks… You don’t really watch North zzzzzzzzz Tonight do you?? Or if you do, it’s only for ironic interest right?? Anyway, I can’t take talking about it any longer so I must go to attempt to soothe the beamer that has creeped all the way down to my fat toes and I will continue to be appalled by Eurovision the other night. All I really need to say, in a mock continental accent is ‘nil point’. Gutted. No, really.
Today’s likes Bagels and Cheese Cheese and Bagels Pucca sweatbands Poof porn. What an eye opener. Ahem. Odd camouflage Today’s Dislikes Smelly belly buttons Friggin Westlife. It has to stop Bo. Two-day hangovers and the smell that goes with them. Sporting motif sweatbands. Doubt it. My unemployableness Everyone in Big Brother, especially the nob in the scrunchie. What is it with you people? PS This is the third time I have written this, due to my slow computer crashing and it did all sound much better the first time. Honest. Britney Wannabe
5/26/2003 12:51:00 PM The other day I got asked for ID when buying paracetamol. The crazed, clearly blind, old bird asks me and I'm looking around, thinking the poor dear may have a gammy eye and is actually talking to the other old bird behind me and I'm like, 'ME???' at the top of my never-very-quiet-anyway voice and she's all like 'Sorry if that offends you dear but you have to be careful these days cos paracetamols are all the rage with school kids.' Let's look at that statement. 'Offended'? Hello? I'm 24 and I look almost a decade younger according to Madam Deluded with the crinkled skin, how could I possibly be offended? Perhaps a little stunned that I am thought to be a minor, not legal for sex or cigs, considering the enormity of the bags under these eyes that could hold my family's weekly shopping. And that's bags that could only be this well defined after years of chronic fatigue, alchohol and women-stress. I wondered if my thrown together outfit of mis-matchedness could be considered a school uniform to the untrained eye. Unless there is a school for the Fiends of Fashion then I think not. Next. 'Paracetamols are all the rage with school kids'. Eh? So when I went to school it was all My Little Pony and lighter fule and these days it's Yo-Yos thats kill and paracetamols. Maybe it's because the fat school nurse who yells 'period pains' louder than an unwelcome fart in an exam, prescribes half a parcetamol per headache. Maybe kids have to stock up on their own for fear of being forced to ride the wave of half a friggin paracetamol whilst doubled up with the pain of abdominal cramps. So there went my plans of overdosing. All because I was deemed to young to even cure a headache. It was kinda like the time I thought The Bitch knew I fancied her (a very traumatic experience for a 13 year old bender who doesn't quite understand) and I thought she would tell the school I was perv so I necked about 23 paracetamols (thinking I was well smart), went to a school gig, got the 'drugs' confiscated by The Bitch and her friend and went home in a daze, had the deepest sleep I have ever had in my life, got up, threw up for two days solid and was no more dead than the next time I gave it a go. I can't remember what the catalyst was the next time, probably my dancing teacher told me to stop staring at her fine ass or maybe my mum hid the chocolate spread, but I was determined that life was no good and that I must end it all. And so I found some rope and upturned a bucket (I'd seen it on films so many times) and wrote out my notes, at least 20 of them, in most of which I confessed my undying gay love for just about everyone, and cried and threw stuff around for about 20 minutes, probably trying to prolong what I thought was the inevitable. I was all ready to go for it when I wished I had paid more [any] attention at Brownies instead of chasing the girls with a broom, because I had no clue how to tie a friggin noose. I didn't die because I couldn't tie a noose. That's pretty tragic. After all the farting around with the rope and about 16 friction burns later I lost my will to die which I guess is good. I think the title of my autobiography would be 'How not to kill yourself in 47 simple leasons'. I could make a killing...
And so I go to admire my new 7 (yes you read it right) brand spanking new sweatbands, bringing my current total to about 45. Have now taken to wearing about 5 at once just so they can all get a viewing. So sad. So true. Today's Likes My new pink leather fingerless gloves from The Gentleman Uni being over for good - tomorrow The return of Big Brother - tomorrrow Eurovision Song contest party - saturday My GI Jane ensemble. Dyke. Today's Dislikes The random nerd munching on a cereal bar but she's hot so we'll forgive her The twatt in the hair scrunchie on the bus but she was hot so we'll almost forgive her The hairy armpitted geek across from me with more nasal hair than i have pubes and she is not hot and we will most definitly not forgive her Faaaaaaaaaaaar too many geeks in sweatbands who suit them as well as I may suit a crew cut. No comments please. Gelled hair - has this ever been cool? Didn't think so. Stop it. Britney Wannabe
5/22/2003 02:10:00 PM Since I last wrote…
Friday was pub night. Five hours of drinking ‘press the button happy hour’ drinks, at least 7 you’ll be astounded to know, with the usual rabble of ten which culminated in the welcome return of Fee spewage. It was grainy, painful and vile but still it felt better than the spinny double vision my pathetic amount of drinks had bestowed upon me. Saturday saw an early, hungover and sweaty morning which got sweatier after 2 hours of dancemat and which got hazier as the day progressed due to the intensity of the hangover and the effort it took to string a whole 500 words together on gay ethics, a topic I once thought I may be interested in and now I give as much as a turd about it as I do naked cock. Or any kind of cock, clothed or otherwise, for that matter. Evening came and so did big balls. Bowling balls. I won, The Queen of Fun won, two poofs won, the other four were last, everyone was moody and the arcade version of the dance mat was out of order. No, me and my large weight had not previously been and pummelled my whole body weight into the machine causing it to break down. Conversation was limited, alcohol did not flow freely and someone won 30p in a machine. Bed was very much welcomed. Sunday was a blue sky day, unusual but true. A further 1500 words were concocted from somewhere on that subject I now care for as much as I care for my 15 bellies. The words were immature and rushed and the skates were donned and I fell over not once. My glittery wheeled boots were the bomb but I lasted only 15 minutes because someone couldn’t get off the ground in her roller blades and I can’t skate alone. Along comes our lift and out the window goes our hoped plans for hanging with certain people who stayed in because they are dull (or lazy) and talk to you like you are an oaty turd they just scrapped off their gay shoe. Dance mats in full working order but too much of an audience ensured the dollops would not make an ass of themselves publicly. Some coppers were won, some air hockey played, some competitive streaks shown, a burger consumed, too much wind in hair and a heap of ice cream devoured before the return journey. On return, the double dance mat made an appearance and Bombs were dropped, new songs discovered and the perspiration dripped as liberally as an over-eager fanny. Bed was not early enough. Another early morning on Monday saw dollop numero uno on the dance mat for 10 minutes before ‘the annoying jerk from downstairs’ came by, arms folded, big calves bulging and smug grin etched across face to demand no more dolloping on the dance mat (again) as now dollops and their lardy dance-matting-ness have made cracks in his ceiling. Had I not have answered the door in make-shift pyjamas (was only expecting the postman and my glorious pyramid belt), with chuff hanging out I would have asked Fat Calves to show me his crack. Or maybe I would have left that till a day that Beautiful Boy was over. Whatever, days of dance mat are well and truly over, as it the possibility of me losing any one of my 15 bellies. Still having around a week to do two of my remaining three courseworks, I figured I would take advantage of the warm weather. So on Tuesday, once again, the skates were wedged onto wide feet and I whizzed round the park slower than a lazy eye and wobbled and wibbled like a large belly free of clothes. Sleep was well needed. The dollop exhausts easily. Wednesday was much the same, though someone got off the ground in blades this time, I fell too close (not close enough you may think) to a water fountain, had a picnic, had some lovely kisses, watched cottaging fags who were over sixty years old and had on cooler jeans than me, and went for coffee with The Gentleman before getting 76 lectures at work over many things from the state of my unironed shirt to the positioning of my badge on my unironed shirt (too close to nipple) to not charging my phone at work (I wasn’t) to me being a spoilt kid to the amazing televsion genius of ‘I’m a celebrity, get me out of here’. The hours between 9am and 5pm clearly made for an enjoyable day while the hours between 6-9pm were as dull as those people who sit on their arses all day all night in favour of fresh air and dare I say, a walk. And so while my week has been vaguely more entertaining than I have described, yes really it has been, after next Wednesday, I plan on day-tripping, drinking up to seven drinks every two days in celebration of being finished with this school crap, and learning to actually stop on my roller boots before I reach the wall so be warned that the misadverntures of Fee and Co will hopefully begin real soon. Summer party season is just about here and I have my flip flops, water gun and paddling pool all ready. And maybe just maybe then I will think about getting a real job. We’ll see. Britney Wannabe
5/08/2003 02:24:00 PM Miss Tiki enquired as to whether I will have an outfit to go with my new four wheeler booties. Well Miss Tiki, let me tell you bout the gear that will go perfectly with my speed queen shoes. Seeing as the boots are so obviously very 80s I must continue with this trend. A swanky pair of leg warmers (red and black striped or fuscia because who the hell cares what coordinates?), scrunched down (4 folds per leg) on top of my jeans and over my boots will look the bomb. As will a new skirt, preferably black and white camoflage (or my new pink camo one), over my faded flared black jeans (NB Not skinner 1980s rock star). A layered look of tee shirts and vests of varying colours will be adorned to cover top half flab and of course on the right wrist there will be 34 plastics bangles also of varying colours and on the left I will be sporting my new mesh sleeve (not quite the arm warmer I was after but hell it's flourescent pink) and multiple sweatbands which will ensure I sweat profusely and have an arm fatter than my thigh. Yes, it will be that large. And there you have it. Fee's Roller Skating Get-up. Neither cool, coordinated or practical for the physical purpose I intend wearing it but hey, all in the name of roller skating fun. As it is, as is the weather in this delightful shithole, I have not yet graced the streets of Aberdeen on my quad wheels. But dont worry, as soon as I do, as soon the rain decides it's ruined enough of my days off, this dollop will be cruising as with as much decorum as a whore in an orgy, through the parks of Aberdeen for as long as my large legs will allow. 3 minutes and 26 seconds is my estimate.
Off I go to drink beer and think and dream about my personalied glitterised skates and the day we can be together properly. Enjoy your weekend, only two more weeks til I can return to my usual blogging activities. It's very exciting. Maybe not for you however but for me I miss my daily rants and less frequently, raves so my return is long overdue. Hope its sunnier where you are. Britney Wannabe
5/02/2003 03:15:00 PM
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Adventures of Charmin |
