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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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 I've loved Madonna for as long as I've been an overeater (i.e since I was about 8 and discovered Pop Tarts) and everytime she comes back I turn all gay-manish and get all hand-clappy and high-pitched about how ace she is; and this time is no different. Having been playing the tune obsessively for the past few weeks, I waited eagerly for the video which I saw previewed through a vodka, baileys and alchopop haze on Thursday night (clearly the only reason I managed to stay awake past 9pm). Anyway, as much as I love Madonna, I hate (loathe, despise, detest, whatever) leotards. Yes that's right: leotards. I think this complete disgust of the female body in butt revealing lycra is probably the result of having seen myself in it repeatedly from the ages of 3-15. So, when I saw Madonna busting moves in a pink leotard complete with belt and what I originally thought were long socks (like I say, vodka haze) I was thoroughly gutted. The close up ass shots and the sight of her elongated fanjita ensured I vomitted acrid bile on my side of the bed. However, as it was, I had a lot of cleaning up to do before sleep was permitted. I fully loved every other part of the video (even the boombox shagging episode) and now have RSI from perpetually flicking through the music channels to try and catch a glimpse. I cannot wait to dance my gay ass off to this in the gay bar, if I'm not elbowed off the dancefloor by those who will have the dance moves perfected well before me. I'm working on it though: as our neighbours can attest to. Boom shake shake shake the room. I definitely do not have a license to be that heavy on my feet. And so I go scrape my Lil Red off the floor; she's been there a considerable time now after trying a Madonna move that has clearly gone so very wrong. Today's Likes Gaying it up in the Polo Lounge Fat Cat in Glasgow Drinking with ex book shop folks (not mentioning anything Hetero Boy J...) Amber Spyglass Ashton Kutcher, so pretty... what kind of a lesbo am I? Today's Dislikes The sweatyness of gaying it up in the Polo Lounge (no used tampax incidents this time thankfully) The pain of dancing like a fud the day after... Chris Moyles, ticket to Yawnsville please Only 8 weeks till Christmas Having to wait a week before getting to party Britney Wannabe 
10/29/2005 10:56:00 AM Lil Red, J Bo and I r on our merry way to Glasgow. We r completely surrounded by total man beasts who r typically drinking Tenants, burping and generally being fully foul. I'm not even going to talk about the faded jeans and'mum' tattoos... Anyway, we're off to assemble with the rest of our gay crew in celebration of Lil Red's birthday. We're hoping there will b plenty of drinking and a whole heap of gay dancing; hopefully we won't have to profess our lesboness to the point of stimulating sex in front of Butchey Door[wo]man this time around. Also praying i don't catch my flare on a used tampax again. That was enjoyable. Anyway, apologies for lack of paragraphs (so what's new?) and abbreviated text language but mobile blogging to me is brand spanking new. I'm off to vomit into my over priced coffee while trying to translate what the vile Aberdonians r saying ('i'm gan to hae a pish min' translates as 'i'm going to relieve my bladder which i have over filled with cheap Scottish beer'). Wow my vocabulary has increased threefold already and we're not even past the first station. Woo hoo. Britney Wannabe
10/22/2005 12:48:00 PM  I just got a little over excited about the 20th Neighbours Anniversary Episode. I'm talking about the kind of excitement that I usually reserve for Britney Spears; that's a great deal of excitement, believe me. Anyway, I've been watching it since it began and had high hopes for the return of all my favourite (hot) cast members. I settled down to watch it; clean pair of pants on hand. I'd hoped to have Flick (Holly Valance of course), Nina Tucker (Delta Goodrem), Sky Mangle, Lucy Robinson and Daphne all in one shot so I could use that image at a later date for something a bit more X Rated than the Neighbours teatime show. It didn't happen however, and I had to settle for only a brief few seconds of Holly and Delta (Oh Holly you are so much hotter as a blonde). There was, however, a quite unrecognisable (and rather unremarkable) Lucy Robinson to feast my disappointed eyes on. My boat was so not floating in the way it used to everytime Lucy got drunk or high on screen in my teenage years. And of course I wasn't going to see Daphne: she died. Real tears sweetie, real tears. There were a few surprise hotties (Hannah Martin, twit-ta-woo) and overall I was left with a happy feeling inside, even if I did long for Angry Anderson to play the closing credits after a certain Colin Murray destroyed it on Radio 1 this afternoon. Nevermind, I'll be heading to Melbourne in less than a year so I better get my cast party ticket booked pronto because I really can't wait to party it up with Toadfish and Lynn Scully and Dr Carl Kennedy. Neighbours rocks my socks. And so I go to prepare myself for an early night so I can be up early enough to watch vintage neighbours on Sky. It's sad that I don't get out more. Oh and this may be appalling but on watching a vintage Neighbours episode just this morning, I found myself strangely attracted to Susan Kennedy in a man's suit, complete with plastic gun. That's wrong isn't it? Britney Wannabe
10/18/2005 07:18:00 PM Celebrating Hogmany (December 31st to all you non Scots) from the ages of 14-17 involved getting wasted on WhiteLightning cider and/or vodka and mixer in a plastic bottle and roaming around Union Street swapping saliva with as many strange men as possible, for no other reason than it being a new year. Truly a grotesque experience by all standards and from a young lesbo’s point of view: disappointing and retch-worthy. Midnight would come and my mouth would be awash with boy’s prodding tongues which of course tasted like roll-ups and beer. My mouth would be used as a vessel for passing on cold sores and herpes for about two hours and because everyone else did it, I let it happen, hoping one time I’d open my eyes and in place of a swollen man tongue there would be a beautiful female pinning her soft lips to mine. By the time I was 17 I’d kissed only 3 girls and was always on the look out for eager volunteers to help me expand on this figure. My first girl action was when I was 15 and I had a serious, but pretty much unrequited, crush on my friend who let me kiss her a few delightful times. After this followed my ‘girlfriend’ (using the term more loosely than her lips) from Cornwall who I dated for about two years until she came for a visit and ended up doing whatever with my lesbo friend in the toilet of a nightclub. My third girl kiss was with a friend from school and we vaguely fancied each other and had some good kisses. Three kisses in three years really wasn’t much to report however so like I said, I was keen for more action. Anyway, it was new year 96/97 and my gob was doing the rounds, trying to attach my lips to any passing female and very nearly getting flattened each time. I was ready to give up, to give a guy my number and practice heterosexuality when a pair of lesbos passed, one very femme and the other very, very butch. I thought if I tagged onto them they could introduce me to some friends: butch, femme, ugly, acned, whatever, as long as it was female I didn’t care. Butchey disappeared however, and I was left with the beautiful Femmey. I explained my plight to her, that I’d spent a few hours kissing beards and having men’s tongues flapping around in my gob and before I could burst into tears: she kissed me. It was a really good kiss, although kissing any female would have been fabulous compared to what I’d been kissing that night. We broke apart, reluctantly, and she looked furiously around, ensuring that long-term Butchey wasn’t in the vicinity: she wasn’t. She told me her name and asked that if I were to ever meet her again to never mention our kiss. And off she skipped, looking back very frequently, to be reunited with Butchey who’d probably just scored a bunch of drugs and had her head re-shaved in the time I’d been kissing her girlfriend. Anyway, for months after I always looked for her in the gay bar, hoping for a repeat performance and hoping that she hadn’t told her girlfriend who would now be looking for me to kick my gay, disrespectful ass. But alas, I never saw her again. Until yesterday, 9 years later. I was sitting in a pub and glanced out the window and saw the Butchey girlfriend. Woah. I recounted my tale to The Oldest Lesbo I Know and of course it transpired that she knew who I was talking about. Well this is Aberdeen and the scene is as small as my ass is big. And then...‘No way, don’t look now’ says my lesbo chum so clearly I turn right round in my chair and here is the Femmey, on her own, ordering a pint from the bar and she takes the seat directly in our eye view. How very weird is that? I haven’t thought about her since early ’97 and then I see her and her girlfriend, in two apparently unconnected incidents. She looks over a few times but most likely at my friend who has a distant connection with her. Neither my friend or I make eye-contact. It’s so weird. She must be about 40 by now but pretty much looks the same as that night which I remember pretty clearly. S___: kiss number 4. I listed all my kissing compadres up to number 14 when I realised just how immature it was to number then amount of girls you’ve kissed. Not because I stopped kissing them at number 14... That’s it though: the story ends there, quite undramatically. There’s no big reunion where she drops a chip at my table and tells me she’s been searching for me for years and I tell her sorry, she had her chance 9 years ago. There’s none of the dirty looks I’m so used to receiving from lesbos for one reason or another and to be honest there’s no actual recognition on her part whatsoever; I mean who would remember me, the vaguely pubescent lesbo whose hair would have been massive, who would have tasted of men and who was probably wearing a man’s suit and sporting a stupid hat. Yeah actually, pretty memorable after all, for all the wrong reasons... Ah I love reminiscing about my early lesbo life, you know because at 26 I’m so old school… Anyway, so I go don my manly toolbelt and pretend to assemble our new wardrobe while being thankful that I no longer have to man kiss strangers with dirty, and possibly diseased, breath and wandering, callused hands. Today’s Likes Autumn equalling good soup, lots of The dreaded family event: not so dreaded after all The Gentleman aka The Beast One week 2 days till Glasgow Sugary tea, helps a whole heap when feeling queasy Today’s Dislikes Venus Envy – Rita Mae Brown, waited 2 years to read it and oh the disappointment Feeling like a mouldy turd currently with sore throat and other fluey symptoms People with superiority complexes Meet the Fockers, just shite Waiting for new glasses, so better be here tomorrrow Britney Wannabe
10/13/2005 06:33:00 PM The fact that my glasses are now held together with sellotape and dirt made me realise it was time for a visit to the optician. I haven't been for an eye test in about 5 years. The last visit resulted in me having a wet dream as the very hot optometrist came in a bit too closely with her phallic light, so clearly I haven't been in a hurry to return. In fact, I had to go somewhere different because I'm banned from the original place for lewd and lesbo behaviour. I swear I thought she was going to kiss me, if I'd extended my pierced tongue just a centimeter it would have been in her mouth or nostril (any hole's a goal?). Oh well. I hoped there would not be a repeat performance when hottie warned me in advance she would now 'be coming in very close' but I controlled myself as all good lesbos should and had a proper giggling fit instead. Shoulders were shuggling, eyes were watering and there may have been a small amount of restrained snorting too. 'Please try and keep your eyes still Miss Fee'. What, am I five? Apparently so. But I do have personal space issues. Anyway, got myself two pairs of specs, having again decided that contacts are so not for me. It's not the shoving a bit of cellophane in my eye that bothers me, it's the fact that my glasses are dual purpose: not only do they help me see but they also do a fabulous job of concealing my mega shadows that make me look like a middle aged dyke. Hmpf. So, I must go now and prepare for the annual extended family meal thing I am attending tonight i.e wash my hair and get wasted. Not necessarily in that order. Today's Likes Crocodile Soup - Julia Darling Diet coke with lime, so all good Glasgow in two weeks for a double birthday celebration My buddy in the Herald magazine today Goldfrapp Today's Dislikes My recent outbreak of teenage acne, not pretty and even less attractive under flourescent lighting Being bored without my lesbo chum at work Overpriced meals with teeny, bird portions Having to wait 10 days for my new specs, hmpf Obsesively Listening to: Madonna's new tune - Hung up, downloaded in various forms, ace. Lesbo Sightings of the Day Bootypuffymare (at lease I think it was u, have never seen u out of the gay bar...) Ginger Crystal Lady (for sure) Baby Dyke Shop Assistant, brand spanking new Wifie Lesbo who looks like she wants to punch my head in (probably does) Butch Mulleted Dyke Skinny Older Dyke in Tie Dye Oh and for anyone that was interested, Sarah Waters' new book was rockin' Britney Wannabe
10/08/2005 04:24:00 PM Sexy G was slapped around his gin-contorted face with someone else's vibrating, jelly dong, complete with suction cup at the weekend. It wasn't a horrifc, cheese-induced nightmare, it was the reality of getting high on poppers (so common, I know) and twatted on vodka the night before a bank holiday Monday. It's just SO wrong. let's hope it was clean. Apparently the rest of us were involved in some sort of 'piley-on' and there were wedgies in abundance but sadly (or make that, thankfully) my memory of this is as clear as my sight in the morning. I remember up to about the 6th vodka and I remember post what was probably the 12th or 13th but anything inbetween is more fuzzy than the contents of my fruit bowl three weeks after purchase. I know I was in the gay bar, albeit very briefly and I know I was being common and sniffing poppers on the dancefloor but then it seemed to fit with the clintele of the club that night, bank holiday Mondays really bring out a worse class of mink. Gaylords that haven't been out in months/years/decades were throwing it about on the dancefloor like they were far too cool for school when really they were about as hot as snot. I think it's the lure of the podium that brings these creeps out... Who wouldn't want to shake it about 6ft of the ground to shite music, surrounded by turdy people? Anyway, what I do know is that after an inordinate amount of paintstripper, I probably looked and acted far worse than any of them in their spit-through T shirts and ill-fitting jeans. We lasted about a half hour before we could take the it no more and left to get started on by a total bint in a fanny revealing skirt for no apparent reason. Oh the joys. Anyway, it would also appear that I missed Aberdeen's Lesbo Event of the month on Wednesday - Joan Armatrading (ignorantly I know only 'Drop the Pilot')played at the Music Hall to what I'm told was a crowd of very middle-aged lesbos sporting the customary, elevated, furry, grey haircut, tapered jeans (often stonewashed) complete with varying shapes, sizes and styles of black leather jacket. It would appear the black leather jacket is the new lesbian fashion must have. Box-cut, mid-thigh length, shoulder padded, massive lapels, printed picture on the back, faded - it doesn't matter, as long as you've got one. It doesn't even matter that you borrowed it off your over large or under-eating girlfriend, it doesn't need to fit, as long as you have one and wear it with pride. I'm off to Marks and Spencers to get me one with fringe. Somebody stop me. And so I go drop a pilot of my very own after a grossly oversized portion of beans and veggie sausages. Today's LIkes Sarah Waters - The Night Watch - nearing fruition however Mint Royale My fabulous puppies Eye cream - die bags die Having won 2 Rita Mae Brown books on ebay Today's Dislikes Still vomiting at 6pm, the day after the jelly dong incident, oh the pain, oh the bile Not getting to see Moby tonight as part of Radio 2 live in Aberdeen - so well publicised... Walking up hill, there's just no need The return of Westlife, what's that about? Janice Battersby's new hair cut - what on earth? Britney Wannabe
10/01/2005 03:02:00 PM
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Adventures of Charmin |
