I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
The Night Watch, courtesy of one very thoughtful Straight Man A. It's been 3 years since Straight Man A and I went to the launch of Fingersmith at a very gay bar in London (Freedom - overpriced and vaguely pretentious) and I have been looking forward to her new one since I finished the wonderful Fingersmith. I'm sure it was the reason I was slightly sad to leave the book shop - no more free proofs months before actual publication.
Anyway, I'm wasting time writing about my fabulous new possession when I should be reading it, savouring every word and trying not to get my dinner all over it. No tomatoes (thank you Queen of Fun) are to be consumed even within the same room as my book. And hands will be washed thoroughly in anti-bacterial soap after every wipe to ensure no soiling of this wee treat.
And so I go cosy up on the sofa where I plan to spend the next 4 hours, ditching any activity that cannot be done whilst reading. Am even considering bypassing food because I'm that excited. No, that's just taking it too far.
Boy I am one big lesbo book geek. And I love it.
9/27/2005 05:28:00 PM
1. The fact that the couple will probably split up in mere months and I’ll be left wondering who got my crappy gift.
2. Wedding lists: I get it, practical and easy but yet so impersonal and all the cheapest items go first. And every time the ‘happy’ couple look at that 4-slice toaster with muffin rack are they going to think about me, the giver? No, didn’t think so.
3. The over the top puffyness of so many wedding dresses and having to coo after a very ugly bride.
4. The tradition that men do not wear pants/boxers/thongs under their kilts and everyone is forced to witness at least two shrivelled man parts once the alcohol is too freely flowing.
5. Having to dance with said pant-less men knowing their knackers are slapping against their thighs only inches away from you
6. Dancing with creepy men to whom every dance is slow and who think nothing of resting their hands on your ass.
7. Conversing with strangers you have no wish to ever see again and vice versa.
8. Getting free career advice from said strangers.
9. Having to get so wasted in order to talk to annoying career-minded strangers that you are put to bed before the evening reception starts.
10. Having to wear formal attire even though you are as comfortable in it as you would be if you were naked but for a few strategically placed bits of foliage.
11. Having to acquire said formal outfit to wear for a few of the worst hours of your life.
12. Having to side shuffle to crap music when all you really want is to get down to Britney.
13. Sitting on the side lines with your girl watching all the ‘couples’ who would die a slow death if two lesbos were to get up and start flinging their gay asses about the dance floor.
14. Getting paired off with a cousin of a friend’s sister because you are there with a female friend and you must therefore be single and desperate.
15. The bride gets mega stressed about absolutely everything and is more annoying than it is to have a family of daddylonglegs stuck in your huge hair.
16. The long, drawn out speeches that make everyone cringe and drink even more in an attempt to become deaf to the nonsense.
17. Sweating like a crab in a nun’s fanny in your formal attire
18. Getting vile pictures taken with your sweaty moon face and large hair which is growing in size because you are profusely perspiring.
19. Watching the groom check out the slutty bridemaid who he will be shagging within days of the honeymoon.
20. High kicks are inappropriate
21. Everything else that goes along with a traditional wedding because remember, it’s so the bride’s day, everything is about the bride, all the groom need do is utter ‘I do’ under his hangover breath. In fact he need not show up at all, leave him at home to stew in his own bodily fluids and call him up at the necessary intervals for him to complete his tiny part.
So on account of that list, you may find it hard to believe that I, the Wedding Hater, attended a wedding just last weekend. You may also find it hard to believe that I, the Wedding Loather, had the most enjoyable time ever and that out of the above twenty points, the only ones that were applicable to the wedding I attended was points 10,11 and 17 (ref: formal attire). I kid you not. I was the only drama; me and my complete inability to squeeze my body comfortably into anything that isn’t baggy trousers, cords and T shirts. I visited every shop in Aberdeen a minimum of 16 times in the three weeks leading up to the wedding and found an outfit only the day before in the least likely of places (I dare not give away my secret shopping location). So happy was I in my new outfit that I packed it up with my favourite perfume for the journey to the country wedding, only to discover on arrival that the perfume did not have a lid and had leaked all over my entire outfit. There was nothing I could do but wear it regardless and feel queasy all day and have people walk away from me mid conversation because the smell of my Britney perfume was just too overpowering. No way will I be wearing Britney perfume for at least a couple of months, or as long as it takes for the stink to remove itself from my fried nasal hairs.
Anyway, the entire wedding was pretty informal, the bride had no ounce of puffiness about her person and looked fabulous, there were no sleazy men and as far as I’m aware, all kilt-wearers wore pants. I watched on as Lil Red and The Gentleman Stripped the Willow but once the Morgans made its way to my feet and my confidence, I got up and Scottish country danced like I’ve never Scottish country danced before and probably never will again. I even got a round of High Kicks going and of course, the deceivingly limber Miss Fee astounded everyone with her flailing leg.
The Gentelman ended up on the floor only once (surprising believe me) and for the first time ever, I was not sent to bed with a glass of water and a bucket halfway through the proceedings.
Bring on more weddings like this and I’ll gladly sweat like a chuff in polyester and dance uncoordinatedly to the appropriately named Gay Gordons.
And so I go recount the number of bruises I acquired from the best wedding ever (woah, do you think the lesbo had fun or something?) and join them up with a marker pen and glitter glue to create something pretty.
The Abortion – Richard Brautigan, adding to my favourites
Love Generation – Bob Sinclar, it’s oh so happy…
Trips to the country
My fabulously blue nails, easier to find in lasagne apparently
Feeling completely comfortable at a wedding for the first time ever
Emmerdale, what is going on with that lesbo, Zoe Tate?
My exploding hairdryer, with waves like these I should never dry naturally, like drip-dripping, two things a girl should never do
Not being able to reverse a car…
Being completely skint
Fusty pineapple, still feeling the effects 5 days later…
9/24/2005 12:26:00 PM
I can’t believe I have omitted to mention the fact that I was at the musical event of the year last Sunday. You wouldn’t believe that such a spectacular musical bonanza actually occurred in lowly Aberdeen. Really, it’s almost too much to talk about.
It’s been 8 days since I attended Free at the Dee (aka Shite Pop Acts Unite, Lesbos Come Together and/or Commoners Day Out) and it’s probably taken me that long to get over how many quality acts were performing (i.e.1). And when I say ‘quality’ I mean ‘hot’, and when I say ‘hot’ I mean Rachel Stevens. I kid you not. She was well worth the long wait in the drizzly, hair enlarging weather, not that I could actually see her past my giant sized blonde afro however.
***Oh and Free and the Dee in case you are still fuzzy as to what the hell I'm talking about is a local event where crappy pop bands play to crappy people in crappy weather.***
Originally I thought we’d gotten the dates mixed up and instead of being at an embarrassingly local outdoors concert (so not a festival, so not a gig) we were in fact at Big Gay Out. I’ve never seen so many lesbos outwith a gay bar: guitars, quiffy hair and bum crack revealing jeans were in abundance. Collectively I’m sure their hair was higher than a Sandilands Skyscraper and probably way more solid too. Wow is all I can say. And how they all coped without having a gay bar toilet in which to defecate, leave soiled tampons in and gob all over, I do not know. Maybe they were more at home in a portaloo.
And also, what is with people in human sized gold belts? Not only do they look cheaper than a whore’s thong but they are as appealing to the eye as a sun dried jobbie. Due to the enormity of these offending articles, however, they do conceal the wearer’s ass which in most cases, is definitely a very good thing. But who is to blame for these nasty and very tasteless accessories? Personally I blame Girls Aloud and H&M.
And why we were there? Also unclear but I know Rachel Stevens in a hot outfit had something to do with it.
And so I go fart myself to death after a good dose of belch inducing food. Life is so all good.
My new hair cut, exactly the same except far less baggy round the edges
Meeting people I haven’t seen in ages
Hetero Boy J
Mini rivitas, cardboardy goodness
Jessica Simpson sans make up
Two day hangovers, why am I not just used to them by now?
Forgetting to apply deodorant and suffering the consequences all day long
6 days till a wedding and having nothing to wear
Having more eye lids than actual eye balls
The Smoky Jo who continually blew smoke in my fabulously clean hair this morning
9/12/2005 06:12:00 PM
Three Jons Kissing incident two years ago and it's not something I planned on repeating. It was quite a vulgar scene to witness. My guy (a best friend if that makes it any better) was 4 foot taller than me so I had double chins a plenty. I don't know who had more stubble, Sexy G or me, the lesbo. But I do know it was painful the next day. It's no wonder some people have trouble believing I'm a homo (these people are deluded and visually impaired). Oh well as long as Lil Red was getting in on the action it's all good which, incidentally, she wasn't.
Am so not impreesed with the bloody podium in the middle of the already too-small dancefloor. I swear my ass is bigger than the dance floor as it is so there really is no need for a three (?) tired podium. Clearly the podium is an excuse for ugly people to remove their soiled shirts and shake it about a bit. Yes, I was on that third tier, mixing it up with Two Dimensional Gaylord and mingling sweat with Chubby Poof number 563. Yeah right, as if I could climb my way up there without either revealing 10 inches of crack or falling straight off into the arms of a too-drunk lesbo. Oh the Gay Bar. Oh how I love you. And that's why I threw up in your sink when no one was looking. And yes, I did clean it up.
And so I go shave my tongue.
PS What kind of lesbo spits flem down the length of a toilet door?
PPS What kind of lesbos add their own gob to the pile of grot collecting at bottom of said toilet door?
Aberdonian lesbos that's who. What is it with lesbos and their fully foul toilet habits? I need not remind you of the poop in the pint glass incident in another gay bar do I?
9/02/2005 08:00:00 AM
Adventures of Charmin
Ariel Pay it Forward
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>