I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
I have a total problem with the heat. I hate it. I'm as good in the heat as I am with staying awake past nine. As soon as the sun is poking it's puss yellow head out from behind the clouds, instead of joining everyone else in a race to grab teeny tees, ass revealing shorts and those stupid manly sandals, I find myself jumping into bed with the lights down low and remaining there till I hear the patter of rain at my window. The hottest it ever gets here is like 17oC but it's still too much for me. I don't know how the sweaty tits I coped in New York at the tail end of their freak heat wave. If you class feeling nauseous and dizzy continually for ten days I'd say I coped pretty well.
I think sweat is one of my main issues. I don't think I have a sweat problem but I hate the feeling of being hot which in turn leads to sweating and that glorious massively red moon face that goes with it. I'm one of these people that is just always too hot. I thought I was menopausal for a while but as I have been clammier than a chuff in polyester for over a decade now I figure I just function better in the cold.
Anyway, I figured maybe I'd have less heat issues if I shifted some of my chubs as then I would not fear smaller clothes and therefore be less prone to claustrophobic heat attacks. If I didn't have to have every inch of my body enclosed in non heat friendly material for fear of my extra inches being unveiled maybe I'd feel better in the sun. Of course, as always, the thought of doing this poses many problems and throws me into a state of disarray. We all know, with this compulsive overeating behaviour of mine, that I do dieting as well as I do dick. I also realise that I do as much exercise as a sloth so I'm guessing that exercise is key huh? If I can't stay away from the cheese then I really have got to walk that cheddar off. It's not that I'm lazy, it's just that now I live in town I no longer have a daily half hour walk to and from town which previously at least ensured that my wrists stayed narrow.
And so I began my 'bin the bellies' plan on Saturday. However, all I have got out of a weekend of power walking and carrying on is chaffed thighs, a pulled upper arm muscle through practising the lesbo sport of shot putting and really stinking shoes. I must have walked for about 4 hours yesterday (holy crap you should have seen the colour of my face after powering up a slight hill... it was like a bad period) and drank about 8 litres of water but now today my legs are shaking like they're new-born and I am peeing every 6 minutes. Oh and to top it all off, my hair is massive. Not to worry I'm sure by the time summer really kicks in I will either be unrecognisably slim or bedridden for the entire 2 months of the sun's duration. I think I know which is more likely though I'm sure it's not the preferred option.
And so I go gnaw on the mouse mat as that's as close as I'm allowing myself to cheese for at least 4 hours. I also must go and literally iron my unruly locks which were so monstrous the other day that flies found themselves tangled in them long enough to mate. Nice huh? I only noticed when the buzzing in my ear got so loud I thought the gardener was coming at my offensive head bush with his mower. The life of a giant haired lesbo is so all good.
Will the delectable Lindsay Lohan please stand up?
5/24/2004 03:29:00 PM
Anyway.. aint you all just busting to know how the 'lovely' Rhona Cameron was last weekend? Three words... What an arse. Her talk was pretty funny which was just as well as I could see nothing past the massive man beast in tweed sitting in front of me so I was forced to actually listen to her, as well as to the random sweetie paper rustler which Rhona herself sorted out with a quick remark. I snuck out near the end incase I was caught in a stampede of Alex Parks wannabes as they rushed to get their copies of Rhona's book signed. Up close she was smaller than my fist and not the rough looking dyke I was expecting. In fact she was pretty cute. However, as she took her seat in front of the moist crowd, it was only to clear that she had major tude. She appeared to be short in manner as well as in height and everything seemed a chore. She clearly felt she was someone far better than she was, and sulked her way through the signing, only turning on the lesbo charm when the cameras or microphones were directed toward her. I felt she was totally rude toward her 'fans' who were totally excited to meet their dyke icon only to be given blunt answers and bored expressions from her. I liked her book and I suppose it was only to be expected that she would claim all the media attenion (afterall she had been in the jungle with fellow non-stars for almost two weeks...)but when there were some amazing literary figures there who got no recognition in comparison it seemed totally inapproriate for her to be so aloof and up-her-arse. It is not as though she is an A list celebrity and she was probably only known within the lesbo community before that jungle nonsense. Her sitcom Rhona hardly broght in the viewers, you know? And that was that. It (or rather, she) was disappointing really but not to worry. I'm sure I have more important stuff to worry about than Rhona Cameron throwing Diva strops such as figuring out how old my new obsession Lindsay Lohan really is and whether my nail varnish (silver and purple on alternate nails) will need retouched before Saturday night.
And so I go nurse the bruise on my forehead which I did not receive walking into the glass front door of Abacos... Has Abacos closed down? My forehead and I seemed to get that impression the other night... Do we have yet another gay bar casualty on our hands? Does that mean there will be no more jobbies in pint glasses (if the rumours are true) and no more week night Kareoke? Real tears... no really.
Lindsay, Lindsay, how old art thou Lindsay?
5/20/2004 05:24:00 PM
5/14/2004 02:01:00 PM
Nevermind, I suppose in my dear old age I should be used to it by now and clearly their ignorance is as likely to change as my hair is to shrink ten inches so let's talk Britney.
Don't worry I will keep this briefer than her underwear as I'm sure I don't need to tell you how hot the show was even if we did almost suffocate in a sea of confetti and even if the dork in front of me took about 162 photos per song and continually blocked my view in the process. Obviously she mimed a heap but hell if it's it the choice between a hot and sexy dance routine or a live rendition of a song, I think I know which I prefer so bring on the impressive high kicks and oodles of writhing and cute ass shaking baby. Anyway, it was fantastic and I now have this rash on my chin from where the drool has been collecting ever since. Delicious.
Anyway, I got up too early today and my head is fuzzier than an unkempt chuff so I must go de-fuzz with tea and Rules of Attraction.
My hot new Storm watch, perspex, steel, purple. Ace
Garlic on everything. I am such a delight to kiss
Valley of the Dolls
Boxer pants, yum
My baby, almost two years
Our best bud, Queen of Fun, who has successfully removed the sarcasm from her weblog name :-)
My lack of blog access cause of yet another virus on my special laptop
Overuse of exclamation marks
Me side on
Velour, there is no need
Britney with brown hair
Eliza Dushku with... no wait for it... a fringe. WRONG.
5/09/2004 03:26:00 PM
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Come to the Dark Side...
Dirty Little Homos
Fash Mag Slag
Het (aka Quickfit)
Hit the Jag Spot...
Knee Deep In It...
Life and Times of a Desperado
On Top of the World>