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


Monday, December 10

Hottie and I got free tickets for Kaiser Chiefs at the weekend. And, not only were they free but they were hospitality tickets, you know where you can eat, and, more importantly, drink, as much as you want for free? Heaven and of course having once again drunk all my pay for the month we ensured we took full advantage of this. We were pre-warned to book our place at Accident and Emergency post gig so I reserved us a couple of beds in an open ward, requesting of course the obligatory stomach pump and commode and pre-arranged for the ambulance to come scoop us off the beer and flem encrusted floor of the Arena after the band escaped departed. The fact that we were already suitably tanked up on beer, cider and vodka which we downed on the bus like a pair of school kids did nothing to deter us from drinking the free bar dry and scoffing the food with all the decorum of two homeless chicks who’d not eaten hot food in 6 months. Gluttonous bastards? Hell yeah.

We didn’t see much of We Are Scientists because we were too busy making the frequent trips to the bar and we literally didn’t see that much of Kaisers amidst the haze of wine, Smirnoff ice, poppers and fags. We did get a good bounce but opted not to launch ourselves into the moshpit, fearing we would either get battered for being stupendously pissed and flaily or we would vomit the contents of our sloshing guts into the overzealous crowd thus also ensuring a battering. From what I remember it was a super gig although I Predict a Riot was clearly missed.

We continued the celebrations by scoring some mini bottles of champagne, fighting with the fat bus driver (‘you’re on camera you know’) and by tearing up Hotel Metro, a place where if the older lady is your thang, you will be soiling your panties within seconds of entering the establishment. And by older I’m talking 65+; it doesn’t get called Grab a Granny night for nothing.

The place was awash with wrinkly chests, more Silvakrin than a beauty pageant, fat slobby men in enormous fleeces, Grease megamixes, a dangerous amount of polyester and an array of ugly blue, tapered jeans. You had to be very careful when maneuvering your way around the dance floor not to inadvertently trip over a low flying knocker, of which there were too many. Jesus, I even managed to catch a nipple or ten in my rubber sole as we scooted about trying to bypass the boobies. Thankfully the nipples of these ancient patrons have been so overused that they are numb to being trodden on, or to any kind of feeling at all.

The rest is a bit of a blur but there was a great deal of lezzing it up on the dance floor and generally being oblivious and probably offensive to everyone else so yeah, clearly I will be back in the Metro next week where we have a double date with Bertha Bouffant and Floppy Fud Freda; am fully oiled at the prospect.

And so I can unearth my crutch from my wardrobe because clearly my legs are feeling the wrath of pogo-ing it up at the gig. I forgot that my legs cannot bear the brunt of my overgenerous upper half. Dammit.

What's Rockin'

Chips, cheese and garlic sauce, fat fuck
Days of work to do nith, ace
Primark Uggs (Puggs), classy
Blades of Glory, hilaire
Having super fun with my Hottie, yay!

What's Suckin'

The garlic sauce that is secreting out of my every orifice
Having my mobile cut off, mink
Poooooooo breath
The smell of stubby fags, yuk
The coldest flat in life, brrrrrr