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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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They might as well have called it Pink!: The Lesbo Tour. Not only was the audience 86% butch lesbian but the whole show was full of scantily clad woman writhing around with each other, the floor and ceiling height poles. Of course Pink was included in these woman on woman actions much to our and everyone's moist delight. Our lady even dry humped a blow up doll before turning the plastic wonder to face the dripping crowd and yelling 'Look at her face!' The face was a melted replica of that other plastic wonder, Ms Aguilera who then got her air filled face smashed in quite viciously as all the Pink wannabes in the crowd with their ten inch high hair went fully mental. It's a shame life doesn't always imitate art. What else can I say about our weekend down south? In no particular order... I bought fuschia pink converse, J Bo lost her girlie heel to a canal to the soundtrack of the freaks of the night in complete hysterics, we got jostled so severely in the gay bars on Saturday night that by Sunday we were walking lesions, met Steve and Liz McDonald (real names thankfully unknown) from Coronation Street, got offered a threesome from a Burberry clad ned, scored a seat in first class after being removed from our seats by a Scouser slag and her numerous scabby kids, caused such a ruckus on said first class that we were almost removed a second time by upper class wanks who couldn't cope with our laughter level, been completely disgusted with the lack of hygiene in evey female toilet I was in which included a diarhea stripe on a toliet wall and floors so sodden I could have surfed my panty liner on them, got freaked out by the faceless gollywog dancers in Queer, ate in my first Hard Rock cafe with unsurprising results, somehow got the new nickname Man Beast while others became The Giant, Queen of Tude and Baldy Bill, laughed so much I almost burst my bladder on multiple occasions, vomited lumpy goo twice, drank so much red bull that I was teetering on the brink of paranoia for three days, got my bag searched just after a visit to Ann Summers, got asked if I was a beaver hunter so I could get into a man gay bar which was tighter packed than Baldy Bill's jeans, had maximum droolage over Heidi at the Sugababes, felt ancient and too gay while having maximum droolage at the Sugababes as surrounded by under tens, tried to follow twa dykes to the Polo Lounge after interupting their 'deep conversation', got attitude in Moda from a fat poof who sneered, 'Are they even gay?' when he couldn't get his global ass past us at the bar, started another truama on another train when Lil Red dared climb on the seats to get our luggage, got started on by a mammoth taxi driver who resented taking us a short distance and displayed this by speeding and slamming on brakes at any available opportunity, spent more time waiting for The Gentleman than we did shopping, got bored in Harvey Nicks very quickly, got to hold my girl's hand all weekend without getting Ned abuse, managed to eat continuously for five days and wondered why I fitted into nada, saw more gays in one bar than we have in the whole of Aberdeen, stayed above the loudest pub in the world which played I Will Survive right under our bed until 3 am every morning, was awoken to the sound of farts reverberating through the wall, accidently put on a lesbo show as we didn't realise our window was ten feet from a packed gay bar, preferred going out on Thursday because tehre was actual room for feet movement, got stuck to the floor in Cruz 101 which I had been falsely led to believe was cool, saw too many hairy arse cracks, was gutted when it was all over. had the best weekend ever. Roll on April 30th where we get to see Britney's naughty antics. Yum delicious. And so I go watch my new favourite show, Third Watch, for that hot paramedic and the oddly hot butchey policewoman in that sexy lil shirt... Till the next time. Britney Wannabe 
3/31/2004 12:11:00 PM Little Miss Fee (hey, not so much of the little...) is off on a rail-road trip to Manchester. Buddies in tow are of course my Lil Red, a J Bo and a Gentleman. Our first outing to the Gay Village. Quelle excitement. We were refused entry from one gay hotel after a slip of lesbo tongue divulged that J Bo was indeed a member of the not so exclusive Hetty Betty clan but after biting that loose tongue of mine the next time around we managed to slip her in as swiftly as a moist finger, on the bravado that J Bo is a beaver hunter too. Oh the scandal.
Am very excited about the prospect of a whole gay village. Seeing as we have a choice of two bars here (in one of which you find poops in pint glasses and the other which is the size of my fat big toe), the very thought of more bars than I have pink nails is very exciting. All that dancing, all that vodka and all those unfamilar queer faces is just too much for Miss Fee to handle. And what makes it even more exciting is that we have a little lady called Pink, I don't know if you have heard of her... to see one night and on the way home we will be stopping in Glasgow to see a few more lil ladies called, Hot Scouser, Geisha and Muttville aka Sugababes, if they haven't fully fallen out with each other by then and committed a murder. And so I go iron my hair, apply some fake bits and bowl cut J Bo's wondrous bob. Britney Wannabe
3/24/2004 12:13:00 PM Things I miss about not being under age 10 anymore:
The original Strawberry shortcake Animal Olympics Remembering every name of every single teddy, sindy, care bear and my little pony that I owned Sleeping with socks on my arms because I thought I was a puppy Being able to do more that 10 skips on a skippit Being able to bounce on a lola ball without breaking a sweat Having naturally blonde hair Being able to get up without effort and without a major mood at 7am Climbing trees; I can't step over a twig without causing a stitch these days Hec tic toc shoes cause where else would you look for the time but on your shoe? Wearing shorts. I don't think I have worn shorts publicly since I was 9. Somethings should be eternally confined to the home or to material Not having to justify picking my nose Not having to worry that my frown lines are increasing out of control Parents paying for everything. I will never again have so many holidays Starting fights with my now massively huge brother who could flatten me with a fart Being able to squeeze into lycra tu-tus with minimal effort Making sindy and action man get it on until Bruno the bear came on the scene Refusing to go to Miss Robb's wedding and not understanding why. Bless Not knowing the fat and calorific content of pretty much everything Not being ashamed of worshipping Shakin' Stevens Not getting BO No random hairs sneaking out and showing you up Doctors and nurses with my female friend ;-) Things I do not miss about not being under age 10 anymore: Not being able to squeeze my wide feet into the same shoes as everyone else and having to wear sturdy thumpers instead Getting the blame for absolutely everything, especially for all the food that went missing That bloddy green anorak I got in place of a Nevica. Not a whistle in sight My obsession with The Bitch My bowl cut Peeing my pants Being a bit of a bully. Moi? As if Telling my friends Santa is real persistently and then being mocked when my mum finally reveals the sordid truth Eating sand and dirt which was a favourite past time of mine. Apparently. Having to endure the turd brown dress for the sake of a psycho brown owl and her counterparts, you know before Brownies went 'street' and got joggers (still turd coloured) and hoodies (pus coloured) Sunday school and having to dress as an angel every year when all I wanted was to be Joseph Knowing I have the teenager years and all the rest of the shit yet to come My memory of anything that happened 3 minutes ago is limited and so my recollections of anything prior to that are patchier than my attempt at applying foundation so that's all I got. And anyway, I have a belly or 7 to scoop off the floor so I can get closer to the TV to play eye toy. Dance mat for arms. I will ditch my bingo wings, oh yes I will ditch my bingo wings. Oh and thank you for all the happy birthday wishes, I did indeed have a swell time which included swing guitars, mr frosty, 3 pukes and super strength poppers. Bu Bye. Britney Wannabe
3/15/2004 06:34:00 PM I’m a day off being 25. That’s 25 years not 25 stone although judging by my current eating habits I’ll be reaching that milestone very shortly also. Twenty five. Five and twenty. To me, twenty five signifies perms, high waisted mummy blue jeans, clerical work and Wet Wet Wet. I always assumed that when I hit the ¼ century mark I would automatically turn into a clone of that geeky older cousin who even when she was 14 had all the makings of my nightmare vision of a 25 year old. It’s been an issue which has stayed with me since I was about 8 and a vision which is as stuck in the 80s as Duran Duran but it hasn’t lessened any over the years. I am convinced that I will awake tomorrow to the screams of Lil Red who will witness my overnight transformation before I can wobble to the mirror and view it for myself. The Fee she knew and loved will be lost to her forever and now in place of odd Miss Fee with her mismatched style and her sometimes cool hair will be Fiona with her huge side shade marching around in stonewashed jeans and nameless skinny plimsoles while knocking passers-by flying with her mammoth shoulder pads. Oh help. Oh no. It’s the all new 25 year old me.
I hope to be able to quash this issue tomorrow when after initial, ‘holy craps my hair is massive’ I will realise that no perming lotion has taken over my hair in the night, nor has a new romantic stylist taken over my wardrobe and I will be free from the worry that I may start listening to easy listening music just because I am 25. And maybe now that I am a grand old age I will start to make more of an effort to get out of retail and into something I am interested and qualified to do. I will not have to sell Royal Duty or The South Beach Diet to anyone ever again! I will not have to reveal my sweaty crack to the passing crowd as I stock low shelves or retrieve a wayward book from the window! So 25 can only mean good things. And so I go drown my sorrows with asparagus soup whilst remembering the days when all I wanted to do was be a gardener and ensure the smooth running of my insect cemetery and not have to worry about power suits, quaffed hair and half mast trousers. Oh and what the hell has happened to Trisha’s hair? I tuned in this morning and thought I was in a time warp. How can these people take advice from a woman with an acid perm in 2004? This week I have been disturbed by: Some woman who had Burberry checked fake nails. Classy as the Aberdonian accent. The old guy in the cinema who gobbed into his cup at regular intervals. My double chins making an appearance in the next ScotsGay magazine. Not attractive. Not cool. My frazzled hair extensions which doubled in size and frizziness due to being straightened. Even less cool that I didn’t notice these dreadlocks in my hair for days. The fact I am 25. With a face this youthful??! The amount of low flying boobs there was in this house on hangover Sunday. The huge snow shaped Fee I made when I caught my jumbo shoe on my flare and landed belly down in the cosy snow This week I have been overcome by Jennifer Anniston in Along Came Polly. The gasps that escaped our lips when she first appeared caused neck strain and spitballs amongst our fellow viewers. Oh what lesbos. Champagne fuelled snowball fights. Knowing I will get to see Pink and Sugababes in the same week which in turn has led to a road trip to Manchester and Glasgow with Lil Red, J Bo and The Beast. Gay Bar Gay Bar. Dawson’s Creek Season 1. All that 90s hair and pompous drivel they spout is rocking my off work world. The fact that I finally managed to finish Widow for One Year. What an epic read that was for me. Britney Wannabe
3/04/2004 03:54:00 PM
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Adventures of Charmin |
