I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
A 14-hour drinking session on the Friday for my work’s Christmas party saw me Footlosing it out in my cowboy boots at 1.30pm, describing my meal as looking like something that would come up later to a bunch of stuffy professors, sniffing poppers in the toilets like I was 13, spilling drinks and shedding flem over anyone that crossed my path and generally having a total rammy. It was ace. Again again.
I didn’t make it to the pre-planned breakfast the next day; I was all vomited out and needed to prepare for Saturday evening’s proceedings. I never would have imagined that 7.5% ‘perry’ could have gotten me so fucked that I ended up in a man’s jacket and with a huge set of keys that do not belong to me but that’s exactly what happened. It was all rather hideous but yet the most amount of fun.
Hottie and I spent the majority of the night wrapped around each other on the podium, against the wall and anywhere else it was inappropriate to get it on. We got our details taken by the police for something that wasn’t our fault (honest, I’m no crim!) and we gorged on other people’s food because clearly hours-old curry and chips is far more appealing than a freshly microwaved veggie burger… My ass is totally feeling the wrath today however and while that will teach me to be a gutsy bastard, I’m sure it won’t be the last time I’m a filthy food thief.
And after all the alcohol, dancing and complete twatiness, yesterday was spent seeing people who weren’t there and having complete post wine paranoia. My heart has never felt so pressurised in all my life… No more alcohol, poppers and fags till at least Wednesday.
And so I go bury myself in my newly acquired man’s jacket while weeping over the loss of my own one. Real tears sweetie, real tears.
12/18/2007 02:36:00 PM
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.
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!
The garlic sauce that is secreting out of my every orifice
Having my mobile cut off, mink
The smell of stubby fags, yuk
The coldest flat in life, brrrrrr
12/10/2007 01:01:00 PM
My winnings amounted to 8p, our game of mini bowling (which cost us our last pound) got stuck half-way through and was rendered unplayable and we ordered £1.50 pizza which tasted like hot paper with a scraping of brand own tomato sauce proving that you really do get what you pay for. But yet we still managed to laugh our gay asses off at a bunch of random crap, including the big adult female who got on one of the arcade horses and proceeded to vigorously, yet unrythymimically, ride her way to the finish line of the horse racing game – possibly the funniest but most tragic thing I have ever witnessed whilst under the influence of E numbers.
So yes, the weekend was super. We saw Kings of Leon who rocked my socks on Saturday night, the final day of the bender so clearly I was going to be the drunkest thing in life (after Bo of course). The funniest part was the bus journey from hell afterwards which saw us sneaking on for free, despite Rigid Girl’s attempt to pervert the course of injustice and get us off the bus. Bo then developed an ingenious way of smoking on the bus; she stuffed it through the rubber panel in the middle of the door so the lit end was outside, so ‘technically it was not illegal…’ Again, Rigid Girl was not impressed and a series of tuts and hair flips were cast in our general direction but you know what? Bothered? Strangely no. We got jammed in the doors as we legged it off the bus, after pulling the emergency button and proceeded to get further fucked amidst a flurry of Cava, fags, vomit and god knows what else. Total carry on from start to finish but no complaints here.
And so I go attempt to eliminate that weird smell that is emanating from some part of me… enough said.
12/03/2007 02:57:00 PM
We saw Captain a couple of weeks ago. For no reason other than curiosity, four of us girlies necked some Viagra. The only engorged heads, however, were our massive purple ugly mugs which ensured that we were seen for miles around for a long long time. Beacons? Yes. There was much hotness but not in a fanny tingling way sadly, just in a ‘my face is going to explode’ and it's not going to be pretty kind of way. We were also wasted on the remnants of alcohol we had ‘acquired’ from various sources so by the time Bo and I got to the gig I could barely see, my face was hotter than ring sting and I was close to vomitting. There was approximately 10 people at the gig so we didn’t need to push our way to the front - a slow meander would have sufficed but in our hideously drunken states we danced our way forwards, elbowing whoever we chose to shimmy around en route. You know how when you go to a gig there is always a group of really irritating bastards that flail around like fish out of water and sing the wrong words and bounce inappropriately to the ballads? Yeah, that was us. Even the band, who were within spitting distance, were repulsed; they could probably smell the stale cider on our breath, not to mention the body odour that was emanating from our every pore. A vile sight and smell for sure.
Despite being the drunkest things in life, it was super fun. Although we probably ruined it for everyone else by launching our bodies across the stage and wafting poppers around the tiny room, we at least had a total carry on. I’m sure it wasn’t our fault that all ten gig goers demanded a refund at the end of the gig… really… Yuk, must curb the antisocial gig behaviour.
And so I’m sure my blogger absence has not been noted but jeezo what a mental past few months I’ve had, the contents of which I will no doubt divulge as the journey through my stupid life recommences. All aboard The Glitterqueer Express! The destination is Party Central where it will remain until further notice. You have missed Depressionville, Affrontville, Desperationville, not to mention Violationville but we will have the odd stop off in Smugville where you can enjoy tea and cake and possibly some chips, cheese and garlic sauce. Light refreshments will not be served on board and you will definitely find the toilet to be reaming over with faeces and soiled tampon applicators. I wish you a pleasant and turd filled journey. Mind the gap (in my popper loosened asshole). Toot toot!
And so I go assess how much beans on toast a person can live off before she combusts. Super.
Kings of Leon on Saturday
My hot hot chica
Copious amounts of Bouillon
Being a smuggy
My numb bum
My perpetual beaming
My leggings and white trainer combination… don’t quite know what happened… YUK
Having the biggest phone in life
11/29/2007 03:06:00 PM
And so I presented myself at the Congress in my sink washed travelling clothes complete with pink trainers, arse revealing jeans and baggy eyes. It was hideous. I was hideous. And my case never did arrive in Geneva. We were finally reunited on Saturday, ten days after it left me to have a better time some place else.
So to summarise: I had no luggage, I had no money to buy anything more than ugly pants and plain Tshirts, I had the world’s biggest hair, I was too bloody tired to even see the sights, I was completely uncomfortable in any situation that actually involved people and I couldn’t wait to be home back but unfortunately counting the seconds did not hurry the process along. The trip home didn’t go according to plan either with the 4 hour flight delay which was as enjoyable as a wet fart. I mean, could anything else possibly have made the weekend even more ghastly than it was? Oh yes. I came home to a £300 phone bill which leaves me approximately £50 to live on for 4 weeks. Bring on the toast sans anything!
And so I go contemplate eating my body weight in cheese, again. Embrace the chubs.
Mexican chilli crisps
Mid week podium dancing
The upcoming vinyl party
Spending time with Golden Boy
My breath after mexican chilli crisps
Looking like a hungover breed
That our living room smells of cheese
7/19/2007 02:36:00 PM
I didn’t make the effort for Pride in Aberdeen. I never have. I don’t know what it is but I’d celebrate my gayness in any other city (ok, maybe not Dundee) but just not here, in my wonderful home town. It’s always rather understated but at least they usually bung the gays and lesbos in a park where they can dance and gay it up comfortably. Not this year however. I don’t know whose idea it was to hold Pride in the main shopping area but I think it was a big mistake. I mean, what on earth? I am as gay as the day and happily so but I wouldn’t have fancied flying my rainbow flag outside M&S amongst all the neds and Aberdonian twats.
We gayed it up in another way instead by getting drunk all day long to celebrate Bo’s birthday. I was surprised at the stamina I demonstrated and we had a total carry on. Someone got egged, some of us got our drunken mugs in the paper and I even made it to the gay bar, suitably tanked up but having lost a few members of the group to the fresh air.
I love Foundation (the gay bar) but on Pride night it sucked ass. We had Eton Road who were as drab as a man in a cardy and sandals and then we had some weird woman singing along with the songs and even giving us her awful rendition of ‘My Heart Will Go On’… It really was total Tragicville and we didn’t get the dance we are so used to on a weekend. Most disappointing indeed. So yeah, my pride experience was utter tosh.
We made up for that last weekend by parting at Beast’s and dancing on top of his kitchen counter while Flem Girl and I tapped danced out way around the house, timesteps, pick-ups, the lot! We really did rool the skool.
And so I continue to celebrate starvation central because I know it will not last for long.
Rhiana – Umbrella, big up the dance version
My ace friends
Getting our lease renewed. Long may the Fee/Bo parties continue
My new hat, pinstriped and a skull, what more could The Fee ask for?
Being so tired I am hallucinating
My split, chipped nails, nae bonny
The thought of food
Body Odour, I seem to be a persistent offender
New trainers which are too sore to wear
6/15/2007 02:40:00 PM
The concussion may have resulted from dancing on a homemade podium at Beast’s flat. When I say homemade I don’t mean that we constructed a dancing platform out of cardboard, held up with cheese and breadsticks because surely I would have eaten the structure before attempting to heave my body weight upon it. I mean we turned Beast’s DVD chest into a place where we could boogie because obviously after a few vodkas the floor is not sufficient. There were 5 of us so tightly packed on top of it that you could taste each person’s hot alcohol breath. But, person 6 was feeling left out and launched himself at us, despite the fact there was no room. He jumped on and we all flew off. Everyone else hit a sofa except for me who landed on the floor (“Where’s Fee?” “Help mama sweetie”) smacking my head off some metal coal bowl. Despite the instant queasy feeling, of course I partied on. I shouldn’t have had any more vodka, I should have said no when the shots were being passed around and I should have gone home after the first time I was sick. I did none of those things. I was so drunk I was sick in the street, something I am fully ashamed about and I apologise profusely to the staff at Marks and Spencer’s who may have had to slosh down the contents of my guts the next day.
I made it to the door of the gay bar, felt suddenly blind and called OLIK to come take me home. All she saw was this dribbling, cross-eyed, drunken shape bouncing off walls and windows. I spent the next 6 hours alternating between vomiting and passing out. I feel I should have died.
The next day was much the same and was punctuated with painful dry heaving and palpitations. As usual I declared, ‘never again’. I’m now ten days clean (does the half bottle of wine last night count?)
So yes, I can safely say that I am checking into BDA (Binge Drinkers Anonymous or Bad Dancers Anonymous both of which are equally applicable and both of which resulted in my current state of bad health). Is it the weekend yet?
Drunken Bo: drunk and in charge of a trunk
Having a gay day out with the boys
Dinner with the gaylords tonight
My freshly highlighted locks
The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly
My holey trainers, there goes another pair
My ever expanding belly… how come?
Itchy hair, just wash it damn it
Hummous on the keyboard
Listening to: venga boys (ask no questions, I’ll tell you no lies)
5/29/2007 01:21:00 PM
Friday night in the gay bar was not planned. I mean, I had a Eurovision party to look forward to on Saturday night. I should have been sensibly tucked up in bed in preparation for the big gay event but alas, Friday night saw the unwelcome return of Fee in the gay bar, on the podium, dancing like a prick and falling on her ass and revealing Bella the Belly to the whole world, again. I really am too ace for the base.
By the time Eurovision came around I was barely compusmentus but somehow managed to get high on Pepsi Max and join in the gayest party ever. There were nibbles and scorecards… it was all most exciting. My money was on Ukraine (think munchkin drag queens wrapped in tinfoil) but was happy that the lesbo won simply because she put so much effort into her performance that on many occasions I was sure she must have followed through. Oh, and chicks in suits… yes please.
While there was marks out of ten for Dance Routine, Performance, Outift (100 points to the Ukraine!) there was not a column for ‘Hotness’. If that were the case, Russia would have won hands down and Scooch (of course the campest entry ever) would have gotten nil points. How old IS that dude with the blonde mullet? Am sure I have seen him collecting his pension and getting on the bus for a bargain price.
So, this weekend was, as ever, awash with much alcohol and copious amounts of food. Mmmm hmmm, life rocks.
My ‘new’ haircut, same as ever… I don’t do change
Facebook… not quite the new bebo, however
Apricot wine, sweet, alcoholic goodness
My new podium related accident bruise – measuring 5 inches!
Feeling like a moldy toldy
Stalkers in the gay bar, piss off
Having put on about 12 stone in a week
The ice rink being closed, gays on ice…
Fusty pesto, nae fine
5/14/2007 03:59:00 PM
My recollections of partying at Beast's new flat are decidely hazy. I know the pre party party was a success and I know this because we were 4 hours late for the actual party. We knew that once "Mayahee, mayahoo, mayahaha" blasted out that we would not be able to stop dancing (if you can call our moves 'dancing'). We arrived at the party completely twatted and once we got the death metal off (most unfitting in amongst us gays who like Britney, Madonna and other such cheese) the dancing begun on a grander scale. That's pretty much all I remember. Oh and moving the furniture across the freshly done wooden floors to give Bo and I more room to 'Julia Jog' (don't ask) and subsequently dancing on said furniture when the host was otherwise engaged. An appalling lack of respect I know... Oh and let's not forget Bo's dramatic fainter during the speeches... Classic.
Most members of our gay gang were there so of course a wonderful time was had and I'm sure I had some amazing conversations with everybody (my face is sore from all the laughing, or yelling to be heard, who can say) but at this, still wasted, moment in time, I can't quite recall what these conversations might have entailed. I'm sure to suffer the flashbacks and the 'oh fucks' once the hangover sets in. Hangover paranoia rocks my socks!
And so I go apply even more lashings of Bonjela to my crisp injured mouth. Gutsy bastard; I really need to press my self control button before allowing calorific food into the house.
That I'm finding crunchy sticks in my hair, yum
The first cup of tea of the day
Pizza in the toaster, the perfect way to heat up your leftovers...
Three days off, quality friend time, mmm hmmm
Hair wash day!
Death metal at a gay party... not really bothered if it was your band or not
Not being able to dance on the scaffolding (a health and safety issue apparently, who'd have thunk it...)
Having finished The Book Thief... if you haven't read it... do
White wine, oh ma heeeed
Labels: bad gay tunes, dancing, drunk, party
5/06/2007 11:39:00 AM
Fee Entered a Special Needs Dance Off… And won!
“I found a place where Fee can boogie”
Say. No. More
4/27/2007 12:24:00 PM
And so Bella the Belly remains and I fear that I will never be rid of her obnoxious presence. I mean, it is she who expands beyond my expectations on a hangover day and allows me to eat my body weight in cheese and bread. If she weren’t so eager to be the biggest belly in town I wouldn’t feel the need to pander to her demands and stuff her full of dairy and wheat that will forever be ensconced under my baggy clothes. Yes, Bella is innocuous under the sweater vests, under the jumpers, under the over-sized Tshirts but as soon as I get too comfortable with her, deluding myself that she is smaller than the mirror suggests, I wear something a little tighter and wooooah, there she is, in her full glory, for all to see, hanging over my jeans, oozing out of my apparently too tight tops. I’d like to get her sucked out, or even ease her out of my life gently over a period of time but I worry that Bella and I are companions for life. We’ve been through a lot together and it would be sad to see her go but for the sake of my clothes I am going to commence the Free Bella campaign. If anyone has any valid (non sweat inducing) suggestions as to how to go about this, please get in touch.
And so I go suffer the consequences of feeding Bella with rice cakes and chick pea pate.
Hanging out with Golden Boy in Edinburgh
Afternoon naps; I’m how old?
Partying with the crew at the weekend
My best buddy, Bo
My chewed nails which I devoured in the absence of crisps
5 days till the weekend
Neighbours banging on the wall
The party aftermath that has still to be tidied
Listening to: Mayaheee, mayahoo, mayahaha aka Ozone. Could I be more gay?
4/23/2007 03:16:00 PM
Ali Larter is not the only reason for my new obsession with Heroes but she does play a huge part in it because bugger it, I am that shallow.
Always slow to catch on, I watched the first 4 episodes of this yesterday (opting for hot chicks rather than appreciating the glimmer of sun we were privy to yesterday). I was enthralled by the storyline and enrapatured by the delectable Ali Larter who I vagely remember being PVC clad in Jay and Silent Bob. How the hell SHE slipped off my radar I do not know.
And, if this is what she looks like in the new Resident Evil film, I will be first in line, on my own but for my bib to catch the drool, when it opens here (unless, of course, I have already missed it which would really not surprise me). Twit ta wooooooooo.
So, a wonderful weekend was had with my lovely friends and am looking forward to the day being over so I can get my gay ass home, crack open some Tizer and sit open mouthed (chins ahoy) at the fuzzy TV. I am so rock ‘n’ roll it hurts.
4/02/2007 12:51:00 PM
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>