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, July 31

We all remember our first trip to a gay bar right? I mean I remember not being that bothered and actually quite excited by the whole ordeal but I remember sitting outside the Blue Moon Cafe in Edinburgh at age 17 with my then 'girlfriend' (she lived 560 miles away and I met her twice over the space of two years... hardly grounds for marriage) trying to persuade her to go in. We must have sat there for about an hour with her hanging her head one minute then pacing furiously back and forth the next, being careful not to make eye contact with me or to even brush my person. It was quite a traumatic experience for her and caused a great deal of sweatyness and frustration and I know many people are equally fraught at the prospect of entering homoville. So, when I witnessed someone having a similar trauma last night, sitting in a doorway not 5 meters from the gay bar I felt I should step in and look after the newbie who looked barely legal to babysit and whose entire vocabulary was centred around the word 'nervous'. He was really sweet, and we all felt sorry for him and wanted to make him feel more comfortable than a wrongly inserted tampax which was his state upon entering the bar. This feeling of sympathy for the youngster soon passed however as he attempted to take the piss with his excessive freeloading, requesting (not even waiting to be offered, how rude) drinks and smokes from each of us in turn. I thought we were even going to have to slip him a pound for his bus fare and pack him onto the last bus at eleven. After a sympathy pull went wrong we managed to lose him and watched as he attempted tp emerse himself, checked shirt an' all, into the 'fabulous' life of a homo. I'm sure he'll be back in a couple months with overly waxed hair, bootcuts and a wrist limper than his dick wasn't on Friday night. Aw bless. Will reserve my sympathy for a needier cause in future :-)

Anyway, as expected we did go to the new bar. Were the toilets up to Fee's standard? Was the decor tasteful and velvet-free? I couldn't say. Not only had the sambuca clouded all judgement and vision but we were in the club for a maximum of 20 seconds, long enough to see the a whole four familar faces crowded round a tiny table and not much else. This was at 12am. Hardly too early for dancing. So we went up to Indigo where thankfully there were more patrons than staff. It was swell. Some dancing, some friends and some poppers. I hate poppers. I hate people that sniff the vile 'room freshner' on the dance floor and force you to inhale their second hand snorts. I hate the way the make you want to jump around like a twat with your face screwed up like you are taking a dump. I hate how you become a people magnet as soon as they see the familiar lump in your pocket and you are forced to pass them from snotty nose to snotty nose. But despite this, everytime the vodka or cheap wine kicks in, so does the need to inhale this legal substance in public and all of the things you hate about poppers becomes a reality once again. Every morning after it's like, 'oh I didn't did I?' And then you get the texts mocking your (and their) humiliating 'dancing' while in the process of losing a few thousand brain cells. I think the only solution is to ditch the alcohol and to stick to the popper free side of the dancefloor and not succumb to peer pressure. Ha. Eliminating the alcohol from my diet would also stop the severe retching I do every morning after which is so violent I think my fanny will come out of my mouth one time. It's just not right

Nevermind, while not hungover today, having been in bed before crap evening TV stopped last night, I have been in some weird cleaning frenzy. Having a house at your disposal for too long does tend to mean a tonne of hoovering, bog scrubbing and floor washing. It's the last day of my holidays and I'm more than gutted to be going back to work. At least I have a new home to look forward to and no more poopy bums to wash. It also means that I will again have no regular internet connection until that friggin lap top decides to make a reappearance. I wont be able to update very often and more annoying, I wont be able to read all my favourite blogs. And I was really enjoying that the past 2 weeks. Not to worry, something will sort out I'm sure. I have a friend who has a friend who may have a laptop I can borrow... Would you lend me, queen of viruses, your expensive equpiment?? Yeah that's what I thought.

And so I go re attach my hair extensions (I'm thinking sellotape is the answer...) while trying not to skid head first out the back door due to excess soap on that damn brush. Maid service!

PS Booty Puffy Mare (if you still read this), we saw you on Friday but before we got the chance to say hey you had quite literally staggered off...