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


My 100 Things

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Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Sunday, March 31

Quote of the day: “Whenever the feeling to do some exercise comes over me, I lie down til the feeling passes,”

How people many do u have to kiss in one night to qualify as a slag? I’d say anything upwards of 4. Well that makes me offcially a slag. I never thought I would ever be titled with such an achievement. And it's not exactly something I have wanted to be christened but hey, makes for a slightly (or does it?) interesting weblog entry. Hurrah, Miss Fee got a pull, of 5 (rough estimate). I know no one will believe that The Fee managed to find even one sorry bastard to lock lips with let alone five of the suckers. And no, it wasn’t spin the bottle. It was more of a partner swapping thing but I imagine that had there been enough room on the glass ridden fag ashed table then there would have been a bit of spinning and possibly even a bit of bottling going on. Immature? We most definitely are. ActuallyI think I am pretty cool. Five is my new favourite number. Could I be more of a stud? Forget the fact that 4 of these snogs were with poofs and the final with a straight girl, I am The Lady. There was no ‘romantic’ feelings within these kisses but it’s still five snogs which is more than I have had in my life. As a rule I don’t do blokes but now and again, very infrequently, the odd fag boy does slip through the net or my lips, which ever you prefer. I was out with my straight male mate and I didn’t kiss him, that might have been wrong. Poofs snogging lesbians is odd as there can be no feelin on anyone’s part so why bloody bother? Lager and flattery plays a massive part in this for me, it has to be said. And I am very selective about the nob lickers that I chose to snog, these aint just some random leather faced benders that I do not know. Anyway, more importantly, all I really need to say about the lady I was kissin is, Foxy American Chick (the original) is home. The lady has impeccable timing I tell you. I was just wiping my lunchtime crisps from my chin after a major 3 days worth of shite spew when I heard the lady calling for ‘pretty lady Fee’. I don’t know who she is but I knew the voice was my Foxy American Chick. As I brushed the toilet roll and pubes from my knees and attempted to rid myself of mingin breath and fuzzy hair, I presented myself to the sweet chick. She hugged me despite my warnings of foul breathness. Now that’s real love for you. I didn’t expect to see her so it was all good that she came. And I am never disappointed when I see her. I didn’t get the pleasure of dancing with pretty girl, she reserved her one dance for a sexy older poof (The Beautiful Host from last weekend actually) and as a girl who appreciates the beauty of gay men it was understood. The night was good but I did manage to miss dancing to dannii minogue cos lazyness got the better of me, as always. Another ‘early’ one lasted til 3.20 am, til we were physically removed from the building along with the rest of the lazy fuckers who were clinging onto their dregs for dear life. And then came the fight. It wasn’t my fight but I sure did get jostled as I tried to drag a 6’3 guy off some randoms who were clearly in the mood for no love. It wasn’t much fun but after the police quietened the rabble the rest of the journey home was a pleasant one. Food was uneventful as I munched into a cheese and runny jobbie sandwich that got deposited somewhere around the foot of the sofa. People went their own ways and Beautiful Boy stayed with me, tucked up all cosy in the otherwise freezing bedroom. Beautiful Boy made sure he had a good pick of his beak pre sleep to ensure a non-whistling nose this time around. What a thoughtful lad. There was much confusion about which direction to turn the clocks and eventually it worked out we had a rough 4 hours sleep. We smoked some tabs on awaking, picked 2 bits of fluff off the carpet in an effort to leave the place tidy for my brother’s return and farted with all our mights. I have never called in sick to work because of hangovers, the £40 always seems more appealing but today I was close. I swithered till it was too late to call in and had to go. I still cannot see further than 2 cm in front of my face and my tongue needs another shave. I had an unproductive day and with a head full of nastiness I fully thought I had tipped over the edge, maybe I have. Paranoia is such a terrible thing and I remembered that I had forgotten to take my pills for 2 days. Yeah my homeopathic tablets that is. Yeah, that’s why I feel mad today. I also have not been doing my positive things and am still seeing everything in the worst possible light (like most people in Castros when the lights go up). I know I need to fix that along with a bunch of other stuff but I am very impatient. If I don’t get results within a day I get bored and if I do get results then I stop working at things cos they seem to be working and then they go all shit again cos I stopped working on them. Confused? Me too. I will start again now. I love me, who do you love?

Listening to: Britney baby one more time album

Today’s likes

My dogs
People who are good enough to help me
Foxy ladies

Today’s Dislikes

Breath so mingin’ that no amount of gum will cure it
Hair needing a wash
Eyebrow Piercings
Feelin mental

Britney Wannabe

3/31/2002 07:41:00 PM

Saturday, March 30

Quote of the day: “ET looks like a poop”


J Bo
Beautiful Boy

Yesterday was all about fanny, shit and ET. Not in that order. In our delirious hangover
states every conversation revolved around fanny (to shave or not to shave
that is the question) and jobbies (releasing chocolate hostages and dropping
the kids off at the pool and so on). We arose around 11am and realised we
had missed the £2.75 showing of ET. There were tears, mainly on my part
because my pennies would more than likely not stretch to 2 full price films
and on Beautiful Boy’s part cos he’d have to wait at least 2 more hours to
see ET in the bath with Elliot. To fill in time we decided to go for a walk,
seeing as it was sunny enough to do this leisure activity, to TK Maxx was
in order. For those of you unfamiliar with this establishment of all
things vile, it’s a sloppy seconds kinda place. Luscious L had been there
only 2 days before and appeared out in some gold number that we really had
to replicate… Disapponited we most definitely were. I had a good rummage
and came away with a pink shirt, complete with shoulder pants and flouncy
padded buttons. That’s my Saturday night’s outfit sorted then. Beautiful
Boy searched in vain to find at least one quality item and even contemplated
a knee length yellow T Versace t shirt. In the end he was happy with his DKNY pants
and made a point of getting these out all day. They were heavily soiled by the time he even got them on. We then headed to meet the
wonderful J Bo who was holding herself by a large wall, swinging her
Markies cola around desperately trying not to pass out with the hangover
flush. The only thing that makes a hangover worthwhile is laughing and
trashy food. It had to be chips and cheese (gravy for some) all round. The
chips tasted like chalky carboard laced with puke and the cheese looked like
grated carrots as J Bo pointed out and tasted not unlike plastic with a hint
of jobbie. Upset at our bad food we booked our tickets for ET but had a
good hour to kill. There was only one place to go, back to the pub we had
left only 10 hours before. The alcopops went down as bad as a poof trying
out minge and the sugar settled like a blood clot in my gut. But I didn't have to suffer it long, it was
time for ET. The cinema was overrun with lice infested small children. And then the trailers came
on. And here was my lady, a full cinema screen sized Britney, looking ultra
hot in her ‘casuals’, yes it’s true. I was so overcome that I almost had to
borrow J Bo’s mammoth ghetto blaster sized phone for its powerful vibrating
facility. I almost left at this point, fuck ET I wanted my baby.
Everything seemed hilarious. We were the annoying people that sit and
giggle throughout films much to the annoyance of oh just about everybody. I
am sure we are not normally so rude but every time a serious bit came on I
thought of Beautiful Boy’s story he had recounted earlier, about the world’s
most massive fanny. Enough said. For the first 20 minutes of the film
something was oddly wrong. There seemed to be a 3 minute delayed reaction
between the sound and the actual lips moving. It was like watching a badly
dubbed Kung Fu film only funnier. Beautiful Boy was not amused. He threw
on his shoes (because you really are supposed to take your shoes off and
make yourself at home in the cinema), did up his Velcro and tried to make a
dramatic exit. Not realising that his leg was still wrapped around his huge
turtle shell ruck sack he did indeed get his dramatic exit as he flew head
first down the stairs. Kids like a good laugh. The film got fixed and he
was happy and Et was in the bath, not with Elliot which caused disappointment
all round but in the bath at any rate. I almost felt a tear welling towards
the end as ET flew off home to the soundtrack of sobbing 4 year olds and
wailing adults but couldn’t quite contain the laughter after Beautiful Boy
let go a succession of eggy farts. Pure nasty by the way. And after
thinking we had lost J Bo to a dicky tummy we saw the ugliest couple making
out in the quiet yet massive windowed cinema bar. What a sight that was to
take away I tell you. It was like pay per view but the only fee they could
have charged would have been one to make them stop. I have seen pensioners
kiss with more grace than that and is there really a need to smooch nose, eyes, ears and hair at the same time as mouth? Not on your life. Oh and there was ‘cupping’. In full view, these Most Uglies were
embroiled in a session heavier than my full body weight and he defintley
cupped her baggy fanny. He needed two hands by the way and it made me
wonder if this was the girl that was given the title ‘Biggest muff in the
World’ that we had discussed only 2 hours previously. After this most foul
experience we needed beer. And back it was to the vodka bar for me and the
Beautiful Boy as J Bo took her fluffy nest off home for a good wash. We
forced two pints down and realised that there was no way we would be seeing
my Britney tonight. When I see her I need to gratify her by giving her my full
attention and today this was not going to happen. We left and Beautiful Boy
stocked up enough burgers to feed the starving thousands and I went home.
All promises of tidying up got broken as I sat my fat ass down and couldn’t
get back up again. I went to bed at 9.30pm and awoke this morning 12 hours
later, feeling no more refresehed than the taste of puke on my breath.

How far Turd will travel?

Beautiful Boy and I questioned what would be the furthest a poop has
travelled? Is it possible that one of my dogs has had one of it’s dumps
trailed into a car, trailed to the airport and then trailed all the way to
austrailia? Would there be anyway to find out the farthest travalled poo?
I know the black poo (a Guiness shit we reckon) I trampled on made it only a
few streets and is now on the embedded on the stairs at my work. But some craps must go for
miles, depending on the consistency of course and their reluctance to come un

Friday 30th March

My Thusday was beautiful (my most over used word of the moment). Work was
made more exciting knowing that I would be off today (Friday) and that it
would be spent hanging with Beautiful Boy and what ever hangers on we could
acquire. Beautiful Boy was working till 8pm so I made a dash to Vodka Bar
to score a 2 pint pitcher for a whole £3 before ‘happy hour’ ended. The only
thing ‘happy’ about this hour is the pretty staff that serve you bad beer.
In there I met a bunch of Beautiful Boy’s friends, being Beautiful has its
perks I tell you. The vodka and bad Fanta twist I had downed pre leaving my
house made the pints slip down nicely. I was drunk by 8.30pm. Nothing new
there then. J Bo made a dramatic entrance around 10pm and my night could
only get better. My night was made complete by one thing, not by pulling J
Bo (read further for that instalment, it doesn’t get any more exciting
however) or by snogging the face off myself in the mirror but by my hearty
puke that was an awkward mutha trying to make itself known. Recently,
despite the fluid filled pints I have been necking, it seems only possible
to hack up a bunch of mucas. Not pretty. The room spun, I puked, I
carried on drinking, to take my drinks total for the evening to a big 3.
Good eh? I hung out on the balcony cos you have to do these things after
not so copious amounts of alcohol, got hypothermia and pissed in my fav
double bog with me on one bog and Luscious L pissing in the other. My yells
of ‘turn around I don’t want you to see my fanny’ proved fruitless and
stared he did. Not that he has interest in fanny, he just likes to be a
pain in the ass, all in a good way of course. I met my friend who I was
convinced was Cameron Diaz, the likeness is real good believe me. And after suitably embarrasing myself we moved onto the Priory
which may well be the most brightly lit club I have ever been. While that
may be fine during the day so you can see the food you are actually eating,
(do they even serve food? Fucked if I know) at night, when the rosy blotchy
cheeks have taken ahold, it’s so not a good thing. I created my own dance
floor with only me on it and shook my trembly ass to Billie Jean. And then
boredom kicked in. Personally I blame the bar where every crease in my
clothes and old face was visible but what ever the reason we decided to move
on. Our numbers had diminished from a hearty 18 to a measley 5. We lost
someone to a bus cos she had enough of me and a rather drunken favourite
shop staff member downing her drinks and smoking her harsh cigarettes. Oh
well, all consideration gets kicked to the kerb when the effects of lager
kick in. We persuaded one boy lover J Bo that her life would be perfect if
she were to come to Aberdeen’s finest meat market (Castros) and off we set.
I remember leaving the Priory around 12.20 and do not have many memories of
Castros after 12.40pm. Maybe because the place itself is as memorable as
dick. I do remember J Bo not being up for a snog, and it wasn’t for the
want of trying. I qualified as a tryhardloser, I really did. Needy? I
most certainly am. But even in a druken stupor J Bo was having none of my
obvious lesbian charm and dedication to the cause. That really doesn’t say
much for my chat up lines and pulling power. She did pass out for a good 10
minutes which gave me time to try and force my tongue in between her lips
(always facial) but even unconscious, the bitch bit me. After paying a
hefty £2 for the non pleasure of J Bo’s kiss and no dancing we set off home.
A 4 minute journey took 4 hours. We tried all tactics to get a taxi but
seeing drunken tits and cock were obviously not on top of taxi drivers
agenda. J Bo even called her mother accidently to get a taxi home to the
land of J Bo-ness but to no avail. And then food seemed more important, as
did pissing. An egg baguette called my name the way a beautiful lesbian
might and it was here I got tongued by a BO ridden crusty faced kebab
seeker. I was followed into the shop with such kind offers from the foul
beast to pay for my snacks and smokes and was then accosted. The man had a
good grasp of the English language, knowing only how to say ‘Where’s kebab?’
and ‘You beautiful’. It was then that I was taken unawares and felt a long
tongue prodding my lips (first time for everything at least). I can still
smell his asian delicacys on my clothes and hope as he tried to maul me that
he came away with more than one piece of my crusty lips which are in the
need of a good moisturise. How on earth could someone so grotesque think
that I, The Fee., would be interested in feeling his pimpled tongue slippin’
around in my mouth. This was even after I introduced J Bo as my girlfriend.
He thought this was fuckin’ hilarious but she didn’t as I tried to slip
her the tongue to prove to our facially and mentally challenged acquaintance
that I was indeed a lesbian. I finally shook off the nobless wonder and
made a bolt for the bog, to piss and throw up any remnants of Mister Eager
Kebab. And so it was bed time. A time I looked forward to because it meant
bedtime hugs with Beautiful Boy. We drifted off to sleep mid hug and hand
hold and for once I woke up smiling.

Listening to: fuck all

Today’s Likes

Ear plugs drowning out Beautiful Boy’s whistling nose
Baby pink studded bracelets
Waking up to a pretty face
Fun, I don’t get a lot

Today’s Dislikes

Smoking like a nervo
Bad hair extensions
Well lit clubs, shows up my crows feet nicely
Eager Beavers
Gold shoes

Britney Wannabe

3/30/2002 10:51:00 AM

Thursday, March 28

I think I need to re-evaluate the content of my site. Personally I think it
does just fine but when I tried to submit it to various sites to give myself
a bit of free advertising I was informed that it contravened many criteria.
For one it was deemed to contain too much ‘foul language’. Apparently
‘fuck’ is an unacceptable swear word. Fucked if I knew that. Only swear
words that are used pre watershed or something to that effect are allowed.
Oh so maybe the word ‘twit’ definitely not twat and possibly the popular
aussie phrase ‘rack off’ may have snuck through the rigid guidelines. And
secondly, it was termed bordering on the pornographic… What the fuck? Now
maybe my interpretaion of pornographic is different from those folks that
decided this but where is the porn in my site? I do not think that talking
about buying porn is classified as pornographic writing. Not the way I
write anyhow. I could write pornographically if I really wanted and while I
would love to give you an example of such apparently I do not need to cos
apparently my site is filled to the brim (something as a lesbian I know
nothing about). Now the trashwhore diaries, that’s pornographic. It’s
supposed to be, a bit of light pornographic fun but to classify the Glitter
Diaries as porn? Where’s the doing dogs and shaggin sisters in my site?
Well the ‘doing dogs’ is kinda reminiscent to the various breeds of mutt I
met on my visits to lesbian bars... I should be flattered that I am deemed
worthy of writing such grotesqueness really. Mr Tryhardloser got his site
accepted. Not an ‘F’ word in sight. No fanny no fisting and definitely no
fucking. You gotta feel for the guy… I am so only joking Straight Man A!
Finally, as if I need anymore evidence that my site was ‘inappropriate’,
they classed it ‘offensive’. Me offensive? I’m about as offensive as that
awkward booger that finally dislodges itself into someone else’s napkin. So
yeah I guess if you find that offensive then offensive I am As long as it
aint my napkin it’s sloppin’ about in

Yesterday I stood in a black shit. A real soot coloured shit that stuck to
my shoe with the consistency of tar. How can shit be black? What the fuck
do people eat, because believe me no animal I know could ever foul the
street with a turd this collosol, to make their shit look like a steamin’
mound of charred remains? It took me a good 2 hours to drag my foot along
the ground to get the clumps off and then a further 2 days to remove all the
tougher bits from the grooves. Today I will not bite my nails for fear of
what juiciness I mite stumble upon. People really need to be more
considerate when they are eating if they plan on taking a crap on a side

As if I wasn’t mad enough by this point, I took my wibbly ass over to work
and trailed any last remaining bits of thick shit up the wooden stairs only
to come back down them in my stunning red ensemble to be faced with a common
trash green eye-shadowed 14 year old wearing my classy playboy bag. How
dare she?! Does she know who I am? Clearly not or she would not have dared
put herself on the same level as ME and worn a bag identical to the clearly
not so original get up that I bought in London. That bag was my pride and
joy and now it has so been devalued. As SHE swaggered her fat ass around my
shop with her curled lip and greashen 2000 hair she swung her bag around
thinking she was Victoria Beckham, only fatter uglier and gobbier. Yes it’s
possible. Not only did she have the ordacity to think she could pull off MY
bag but she didn’t even have the decency to wear it correctly. Shoulder
straps are for maximum shoulder comfort you Aberdonian trashy bitch. I was
mad, still am. Not that I think I am the coolest person in Aberdeen but I
am certainly a lot fucking cooler that this nob who thought she was in
London Fashion week, despite her face like an arse being to the contrary.
Oh to be so perfect.

So, today was supposed to be a day of ‘niceness’. I was to carry out one
satisfying task (and sex toys were out of the question) to make me feel all
warm and glowy (sex toys still out of the question). I almost failed but as
I am only talking in positive affirmations, I almost passed. A girl had
printer problems and was stood there for 40 minutes trying to loosen the
paper drawer. Had she just been trying to loosen her drawers I would have
lent her a finger or a fist much sooner. Normally I would have continued to
watch her struggle and grow redder but I turned to her and let her beg me
for help. I couldn’t help her. And so I passed her onto the good man that
is Straight Man A who eased all drawers and left all parties satisfied.
That was my good deed for the day. She was real pretty mind you. Would I
have been so willing to adjust her drawers had she been Cruella de Ville
turned inside out? Yes. And so I go to bed to ponder happy thoughts and
wonder why the fuck no one told me unitl now that Giles from Buffy opened
our new Forbidden Planet shop. I would have been on the first plane home
from London baby. London, I miss that place. sigh

Listening to: Shit TV

Today’s Likes

Party time on Thursday
Excitement at Britney film
Surprise calls, again
Spring onions

Today’s Dislikes

No phone credit
Chewed mouth feeling
Humphy backs, I have one
9am Classes
24 hours til party time

Britney Wannabe

3/28/2002 04:08:00 PM

Wednesday, March 27

Quote of the day: “Don’t believe everything you read in a weblog.” MILF lover K

Yesterday I discovered my work’s new first aid kit. It was like discovering Britney for the first time. The box was shiny and untouched, sorry am now talking about the fresh young virgin I met just 2 days ago. Anyway, only
one seal was broken, shit here I go again, enough of those school girl thoughts. So, the only seal to be tampered with on this bright green briefcase was the ‘emergency tampon’ one. I do not want to know who broke that one, the thought of hemoraging work collegues is enough to put Miss Fee off her love for lumpy ketchup. I love first aid kits. They contain such wonders. Such oddly shaped instruments which can serve no pleasurable purpose and extra long bandages that I haven’t see since I visited the dead person museum. This first aid kit would have done a small ambulance service proud, and still have enough eye patches left over to go round all the gammy eyed people of Aberdeen twice over. That’s a heck of a lot of bandages. The gammy eye is an Aberdonian trait. I had a rummage to see what I could borrow for personal use and thought of all the patch up jobs that could be carried out for the rest of my life. I need never limp into Boots and face the glares from overrated and over suspicious shop assistants again. I came away with a number of ‘moist’ tissues, medicated soap, leg sized plasters and safety pins, to carry out the damage which may or may not require the use of such pilfered items. My night was made.

And in this happy mood I came home, raked through someone else’s freezer and found god three times over. There was chips, there was cheese and there was tomato sauce. I thought that after my packet of opal fruits and marmite
crisps that I didn’t qualify as over eater of the year (it’s not often I fail this achievement) so I whacked them in the oven and waited. So eager was I tuck into this culinary delight that two bad things happened. First I forgot about the usefulness of oven gloves and left the skin of my thumb on the side of the dish (those patches will serve there purpose quicker than I thought). At least I will now be able to rob things and leave no fingerprints. But it got worse. My snack-for-six looked so divine that I did not take into account cooking time. The chips were raw soggy potatoes. My snack was ruined. I cried and then decided to pick off the salvagable bits of cheese and chilli and eat them anyway. It tasted like stringy lard so there had to be a revisit. Trying to pull mozzarella out of your throat when it has already settled somewhere around your arse is a mission and a half. I felt like a comedy sketch but I was the only one laughing. It was either laugh or cry, again, at the demise of my tasty non nutritional snack. Junk food is bad but cheese IS the ultimate enemy.

I also discovered another herbal way to cure my sleeping problems. It wasn’t camomile tea. When I eventually got over my ‘shit I am going to die in my sleep’ paranoia and my heart started beating at a rate more suitable to humans I had a good sleep. Bad dreams but good sleep. Once again I dreamt that a certain person was being all nasty to Miss Fee although thankfully this time there was no attempt made on my life by a VW Golf. This time she smothered me with me overly large coat, well actually the fur hood of it. What a way to go I tell you, choking on fake fur. My new herbal cure is clearly not something that I, Miss Paranoid 2002, should be partaking in alone in future. Or maybe ever again.

Today I also decided, mid herbal cigarettes and pre burning mind syndrome where I envisioned my head exploding for a good hour, that I would do something ‘nice’ everyday. I sent a nice tex to someone last night and it made me feel so good. And they responded with an equally nice tex. What you give, you get. And as one tex msg gave me so much joy I decided that it was good to feel happy and thoughtful toward other people. So, every day I have to be either ‘nice’ or gentlemanly. This may involve simple things such as helping a lovely old person, not swearing at Aberdeen neds (bomber jacket crew 2002), complimenting somebody or maybe even letting a homeless person into my shop without screwing up my face with the smell they leave 2 hours after departure, cos that is just mean. It has to be something that I would not ordinarily do so the options are plenty. I could also allow a person of unable body to walk me across the road and hold my shopping for me. I am going to be a nice person, don’t cross anything in anticipation however as my promises are wide and normally unfulfilled. But if being nice to other people makes you feel good, why does nobody else do it?? Maybe it was my leafy cigarettes talking.

Listening to:

Annoying neds (not sworn at) discussing something dull
Some Indian compilation through someone else’s headphones

Today’s Likes

Going to class, although it’s dull
Surprise phone calls
Diet Lilt
Plasters that stay on under water

Today’s Dislikes

Shiny shoes
Black Nails (not varnish)
Smells that remind you of nice stuff
Boy in class who reeks of various pollutedness
People who replace you

Britney Wannabe

3/27/2002 12:08:00 PM

Tuesday, March 26

Quote of the day: “Self pity is a very unattractive feature, honey”

I’m sitting here having a silk cut which even I am surprised my minimal funds have stretched to. I would have been enjoying it more had I not have drank Fanta fruit twist prior to lighting up. Why bother inventing ‘new flavours’ that taste of tangy piss? Not that I know what tangy piss tastes like of course. I do know what Guinness flavoured piss tastes like but that is another story completely. I also fulfilled my one of my quests, not to find depraved porn or to get thin cos let’s face it, neither of them are likely to occur within my lifetime but I did manage to track down a packet of Marmite crisps. Disappointed I was not. While tasting not unlike traditional roast beef flavour, they were even more beefy and more salty (rather like unwashed lady parts I imagine) so I am left satisfied. I also had a packet of opal fruits not 2 hours ago so I think I have almost reached full nutritional value for today.

For the past 2 days I have attended university. I managed half a class yesterday. As soon as the ‘group work’ exercise was announced I had to leave. I do not work well with others. I really don’t. I am kinda left sitting on the edge of the group thinking about what colour to do my nails or endlessly checking my phone for the text messages I never get while the others debate and discuss our set project. Desperate not to put myself through this torture I considered holding my stomach and blaming the over
indulgence in tap water as my reason to leave. But I simply announced to the lecturer I was leaving and she said ‘fine’. No questions asked. Jeez, lecturers make skiving off far too easy so I did not feel bad about wandering around in town unproductively. I met Beautiful Boy briefly and we made some Friday plans. It’s one of them movie marathon days. There was much debate over whether we would go and see Britney’s new film or ET, both of which are released on Friday. We will do both. We will sit like big turds, me panting heavily at 2 hours of Britney and Beautiful Boy panting heavily at ET in the bath with Elliot.

I had coursework due in today, deadline of 1pm. I should have been up all night working on my masterpiece. I went to bed at 9.30pm. I should have risen at dawn today. I got up at 10am. I pieced it together as badly as a three year old attempting a 1000 piece jigsaw doped up on calpol. It’s not that I don’t care about my marks. Writing formally is really not my thing. I now have to come up with some PowerPoint creation and present my placement experience to the class. I have already selected the Jo Guest pictures that will be the main focal point. Anything to take the attention from my shaky red face which gives everyone a great laugh, myself not included. I don’t speak well in public either. In fact I don’t think I do anything well unless I am sat here on my own. But then I think badly. I conjure up all sorts of images that should never be made public. I shouldn’t be left on my own. So, I am by far from a people person but then spending time on my own makes me mad so what’s to do? I considered checking myself into Cornhill
(psychiatric hospital) for awhile as I felt I would be the least mad person in there and come out diagnosed ‘unmad’. But then I thought of all the non-possibilities for meeting potential ladies so decided against it. It would give some interesting tales however. Maybe I will reconsider it for the sake of research.

Another reason my coursework was shit (apart from the utter lack of effort put into it) is because of Britney. No, for once she wasn’t sat on my knee distracting me but I came across a ‘test your Britney IQ’ on the Internet. Rather than try not to fail my course I had to pass a Britney test. I just had to. I got a perfect score. I always do. I am a Britney genius, or as they put it, a Britney stalker. I wish. You can’t stalk someone you are going out with, it doesn’t work. I also heard nasty rumours that MY Britney was booed at at her premier yesterday. Those vicious little fucks are gonna feel my wrath (as well as my fist up their various orifices). How dare
they?! The only people I know who would boo at my baby are my evil friends who think its lots of fun to tell me that Christina is better than Britney. People can be so cruel, but don’t you worry Britney, I still love you.

And this weblog entry has unimpressed me greatly and I really have to find something of interest to write about in future. I know I keep promising this and maybe one day (probably around the same time I find quality porn and lose 5 stone) it will happen. Iapologise profusely readers, if there are actually any of you left.

Listening to: britney

Today’s Likes

Having my own flat for 6 days
Not being at work
British Flavour Crisps
People who at least pretend to care

Today’s Dislikes

Trying to get over stuff
Waiting for texts
The coughing hack in my class
My baggy fanny jeans
Being shit in the Fame Game

Britney Wannabe

3/26/2002 10:13:00 PM

Monday, March 25

After accepting a lift from a stranger on Sunday morning the race was on. We arrived at Beautiful Boy’ house at 12pm and we had to get gorgeous and be at the bus station at 12.45pm. It was there I was to meet my friend, Young B who I hadn’t seen in a good 3 ½ years since she moved from the delights of her tiny Aberdeenshire town to the more prosperous Glasgow. That’s a lot of distance to put between yourself and Miss Fee but hey I have that effect on most ladies. When you haven’t seen someone in a long time it’s very ill mannered to turn up looking like personified shit, stinking of non personified shit and not being on time. We did all these things. All the eye gel and revitaliser in the world could not have made me look good yesterday, all the deodarant (of which we ran out and got half a spray per pit each) and clothes neutraliser spray could not have made me smell good and all the moaning about public transport in the world could not have made the bus drive any faster. Our lateness was only slight but lateness is a sign or arrogance, expecting other people to wait for you, so as of recently I have been making an effort to turn up at least 10 minutes late. It was odd, good odd, to see someone you’ve not seen in so long and to still be able to talk to them. On a limited budget after busting the credit card to the max we set off in search of much cheapness. But then after clear thinking, not much of which went on yesterday, forwent cheapness for good quality food which is so required after a night drinking tap water. I knew that I had to eat, I had to. My legs were shaking like a lesbo gatting laid after a break of 2 weeks and I knew that food was the only way to cure this. I had a meal! My first meal in around a week. It would have been a simple snack but with the amount of real fuckin’ mayo I packed on, there was enough fat to keep me going through hibernation. It may have been good but the act of effort filled chewing meant by the time I got round to the actual good part (always save the best part til last, like orange smarties) all the goodness was dried up, not unlike a lesbian trying to take advantage of straight girl who’s clearly having other thoughts, like rape. I refrained from smoking as the other 2 Dot Cottons puffed away like a 13 year old giving her first blow job. I spent the day being worried about my stink of stale alcohol and BO and please not the smell of feet. Knowing you stink is so much worse than not knowing cause at least if you are oblivious you don’t have to worry about it and think people are giving you dirty looks because you are prettier than them. We found some energy from somewhere and wondered around the shops, pretty much aimlessly and discussed what the fuck we were going to do for the remaining 3 hours. It’s kinda sad that not only were we unable to amuse ourselves in Aberdeen for a whole day, we couldn’t even fill in 4 hours. In the freezingness, the beach was out of the question and we guessed it seemed anti social to sit in the cinema for hours, not speaking when that was all we had done for the past 3 years. And so I wished I could have been less tired and more chatty and able to at least have one pint to bring me into sociable chatter. I am not generally quiet but I guess when you don’t see someone for ages you can’t just expect to fall into filling every silence. We did well though and while Young B’s tongue was loosened by alcopops the evening passed and it was time to get the young lady on her bus, always at the front for fear of travel sickness. We said our goodbyes and I used my last £4.50 to get a taxi home as lack of sleep was making me hallucinate and was beginning to freak out. As I left I pondered our day and felt bad that Young B had come all this way to Aberdeen to do nothing and to be greeted by my tripping over lip face. That £20 would have been an extra outfit from H&M you know. I had a great time so I hope Young B did also, it was nice to see an unfamiliar face and hear an unfamiliar accent that doesn’t ‘fit like’ in your ear. Maybe if Young B comes back it will be warmer and we will have more options. Or ANY options are good. Fuck the winter. Fuck Aberdeen, again.

Beautiful Boy tried to change the world on Saturday, well the Aberdeen gay world anyway. He stood on the stairs for a good part of the night, the stairs are the hive of social activity, the only place you can hear yourself think and each time he met different groups of people and every time all these people did was to slag off everyone that walked past. He had enough. He told the people he was with that instead of being so nasty to all these people they had never met to try and say something nice. They didn’t understand, where was the fun in that. Someone walked past and they tried to put it to the test, ‘eh, nice jacket’, said some flabby ankled fag hag to a passing poof, whose jacket was clearly foul but it was the best she could do. Beautiful Boy asked how it felt to make someone smile instead of pissing them off and hurting their feelings. She said it was boring and she missed the point completely. I thought this was such a nice thing to do and so out of the normal for that place where everyone thinks they are better than anyone else and if they were all really that good they wouldn’t need to be slagging off everyone else in the first place. Did that make any sense to anyone? Nope, didn’t to me either. It got me thinking. Slagging people is a sign of insecurity, why else would you care what everyone else is wearing or looking like. And then I thought what the fuck I would write about in my weblog if I stopped slagging other people and myself. In my ‘positive thinking’ mode, which is supposed to be ongoing, I am not supposed to self criticise which leads to not criticising others. Jesus. My weblog would turn into a blow by blow account of toilet activities and nail varnish. That so will not be allowed to happen, please God let me keep slagging off everyone for the sake of a story. I don’t mean any of it, honest I don’t. Away to worry about what might happen if I start being a nice person.

PS Is it possible to overdose on iron tablets?

Listenting to: savage garden – affirmation

Today’s Likes

Clean smelling Fee
Hanging out not smoking
Watching other people smoke
Calling someone after a while and things being all good
Sun peeking through

Today’s Dislikes

Not slagging people
Not enough time for coursework
Pillow creases
Toe nails
Broken washing machines

Britney Wannabe

3/25/2002 12:13:00 PM

Sunday, March 24

It’s happened! Something so magnificient it is as good as unbelievable… no, Miss Fee did not lay the lady of her dreams along with all her pretty friends but she did in fact have an eventful weekend. Please sit back, get a cup of tea, relax and try to take the news in. After my rather lonely past few nights I really did expect to be feeling sorry for myself chugging back gin and tonic and red wine (all the alcohol my parents possess) on my lonesome but no. I partied, well kinda. My evening begun badly with my credit card being declined and my reaslisation that I had not paid my £300 minimum payment in 3 months and that I had £7 to my name. The night could not possibly be a good one, with all the bus fares and alcohol and smokes and maybe food I would have to fork out for. However, I bought the foulest, cheapest wine I saw with a percentage over 9% in order to have more money to put toward my expensive menthol fags. On meeting Beautiful Boy (we are officially an item by the way, no, he doesn’t know yet) I knew it was impossible to have a shit night, even with only enough cash for no drinks and no taxi home and we headed to his brother’s to drop off stuff, as a favour, non sexual. A 10 second stop here lasted a good 2 hours which gave us time to drink someone else’s alcohol and watch Shakira frolicking in the mud at least 13 times. In the rush to get ourselves ready we drank the wine and forgot about eating. As food is sadly still not my best friend at the moment all I had eaten throughout the day was 2 baby bananas and a half tin of sardines (the other half got lobbed in the bin for the stench to build up in my work’s staff room over the next few days). Needless to say that I left Paul’s house a very drunk girl with big rosy cheeks and do not remember the bus journey which apparently was rowdy (I caused a stir by getting my new piercing out ;-) ). Paul necked a burger with the grace of a straight man giving head and we strode into Castros, happy and drunk. First stop was depositing my coat, second stop was depositing my half bottle of wine and 2 vodkas. Gagging is a beautiful sound. Mostly I sat in a corner all evening watching the adoring eyes checking out my new boyfriend but only I got to hold his hand. I danced maybe 4 times, once you sit down you so never wanna get up again. I even had to go without a non sexy groove to Slave 4 U cos no one I cared about was dancing. My lack of sleep kicked in with the drinks that were being bought for me by Beautiful Boy’s string of admirers who thought it wise to impress a skint Fee. How right they were. As I was about to slide into a coma my phone vibrated and that so woke me up to a smile, as did the message it contained. It went along the lines of ‘I really fancy you, I want you, how about it?’ My heart leapt as I saw who the sender was, J Bo. She loved me! Hurrah! My years of trying to slip her a finger had paid off in more than just fish (jus kidding). I sent one hurriedly back telling her it was about time we got it together and told everyone within hollering distance of my new love. And then my phone vibrated again, this really was a good night, and to my horror the message read, ‘Sorry that message was meant for someone else’. My little world crumbled around me and my chortling friends were left to sweep up the mess as congealed bits of my body scattered themselves amongst the crowd. It’s about as close as I will get to J Bo but let’s just say that she didn’t christen me ‘Feely up Fee’ for nothing. I found myself very weary, desperate to slip into Beautiful Boy’s bed, amongst other things but was still hanging around like a stubborn jobbie at 3.20am. Beautiful Boy and I walked home with a man from the club, a real man over the age of 25, the only one aside from my dad that I know. Beautiful Boy’s home was a good hour walk while this stranger’s house was closer to a half hour. We found ourselves in a lovely flat, decorated in relics, drinking tea and tap water (awaiting the skitters anytime soon). The gent was very hospitable and showed myself and Beautiful Boy our bed for the evening. The two hardened tea drinkers resolved to stay up and chat and I took my sorry ass off to the big double bed I was to share with Beautiful Boy. However, I was scared to fall asleep, drunkenly worried about whether my tap water was spiked, whether I would skid his bed with having drunk a good 3 litres of the tap water and being carerful not to leave any other lasting marks such as drool and puke. I was joined in bed by Beautiful Boy who asked did I mind if he hugged me during the night and to ignore any hard ons I might feel against my back… Yeah right because I have the ability to turn a poof on with these womanly curves. I think I did catch 2 hours sleep in between battering a snoring Beautiful Boy with my limp fist and going back and fore to the toilet for no skitters but more tap water. I woke my sleeping beauty with a thump, realising it was 11.20am and I had somewhere to be at 12.45. After rudely trying on our host’s lurid yet labelled wardrobe and silver glitter Stetson (I put this on to detract attention away from my missing presumed dead eyes) we cautiously made our way through to our host’s company, not quite the gobby bitches we’d been not 4 hours previsouly. Our host was divine, plying us with Irn Bru while laughing at Beautiful Boy’s inability to hold a glass steady and taking us home and almost killing us in the process. That aside I thought this must be a real nice guy to take in two randoms he’d met only hours before, let us sleep in his spare room, offer us food and drink and to drive us home which was clearly out of his way. There are some decent people out there whose generosity astounds me. Maybe if things don’t work out for me and Beautiful Boy, there will be hope for me and the Host?

Listening to: Bjork – Post

Today’s Likes

Happy texts
Fluffy Clouds
Femme gals in caps
Weblog groupies

Today’s Dislikes

Butches dancing with big coats on
Waking up in the night in a sweat cos you’ve forgotten to take off your sweat bands
Cool kids bracelets which my wrists r 2 chubby for
No dinero
No porn

Britney Wannabe

3/24/2002 09:30:00 PM

Saturday, March 23

Pretty much I did nothing yesterday. I went to work, did not stuff my face, even with the temptation to eat cream egg mcflurrys by the litre, and stayed home in the evening. I danced badly around my living room for a good 10 minutes until I could stand the smell of sweat no more. The over exasperated whale look is not a good one. I smoked a malboro light (always menthol) as I sunk my fat ass into the sofa and wondered what on earth I should do. Not like with my life or anything, the day that Fee has a deep thought will be the day Margaret Thatcher quits the public eye. Oh that just happened. I then had a phonecall from a lady who thought I was my mother, does my voice sound that matured? Sadly, yes. Anyway, apparently this lady is a family member and I got talking to her, charmed her with my pleasant lesbian ways and she invited me to a party next week. I will be going, yes I will be going, yeah as my parents’ date. Humpf. And my parents were out last night. Fuck sake, how can my parents have more social occasions than I do? It’s so not right for your parents to be out and for me to be sat in watching shit TV reminding them not to make a noise when they come in cos ‘some of us have to work tomorrow’. Who died and made me 67? Ok so the folks will be propping up the bar with bottles of water, or maybe a wine spritzer and debating where they are going to stand for maximum comfort. Had they noticed the concert was ‘standing’ only I can bet the last remaining pennies in my miffy wallet that they too would be sat home tonight with only each other, the TV and me for company. At least they get out and at least I can smoke in the house without worrying about 1) whether they will smell it and 2) whether I will burn another hole in my carpet. Smoking is good. Smoking is one of the few things I actually do in moderation. I can take it or leave it. I took it from the ages of 16-19 in the form of Cutters Choice rolling tobacco. Wasn’t I the classy lady who people were ashamed to introduce to their friends? And from the ages of 19-22 I left it because I was considerate to someone else. In London I took it daily except on visiting friends and parents weekends. And no this wasn’t because American Chick Part Deux wanted a smokin’ buddy. It was cos it felt good to be floating around Finsbury Park with fag in one hand, and cigarette in the other. I didn’t bother for 2 days after my return but then I felt the need. Now I go some days some with, some days without. I don’t need to smoke, if I can go days without even a toke of some mentholated stick of shit then I can’t call smoking an addiction. I have control over it. I like that. So why bother I often ask myself when inhaling a breath of not so fresh air? It gives me something to do I guess. I like a smoke when I drink and I like to smoke in company but I do not consider myself a ‘social smoker’ cos even I find them just sad. I often sit alone and light up therefore I am not part of the ‘it’s trendy to smoke’ crew. Some do it for stress but I don’t want to give my non addiction any justification. I just do it and enjoy it when I do and do not miss it when I don’t. I smoke Silk Cut when Malboro Menthols are not available (they are hard to come by you know, especially in poverty packs) and for this I am berated. ‘You’d be as well smoking no tar fags if you are gonna smoke them’, I get that all the time. But it’s not the nicotine I need, it’s the act of actually doing it. And my throat cannot handle anything past the 0.1mg of tar. And off I go for another cigarette.

Tonight I am supposed to be going for an evening of Kylie/Madonna/Janet DVDs whilst putting my party frock on and necking cheap wine. And then I will be showing off my not so beautiful ass in Castros I guess. As Aberdeen aint exactly the thrive of excitement there’s pretty much nowhere else to go. I know there will be at least one person that I would like to be there, not in attendance and it makes me wonder if it’s worth even going but as I have mentioned, I like to dance, albeit badly but dance nevertheless.

Listening To:

Today’s Likes

The thought of Cadbury crème egg Mcflurrys
Scatman john (even though ‘scat’ is shit referenced)
Early nights
Nice texts
Baby bananas

Today’s Dislikes

Early nights, alone
Getting over things
Weight taking ages to dislodge itself

Britney Wannabe

3/23/2002 10:24:00 AM

Friday, March 22

Yesterday was all about smiling. It was supposed to be at least. I have been reading some nice positive thinking books and one book suggested I detox my mind. I thought I might give it a go. It’s a 30 day plan whereby I do what it says in this book and by the end of this time my head is clutter free and all thoughts are happy ones. It is so worth a try and it means the burning of various oils and chanting affirmations when things look bad… I will so be losing my voice. And that kind of negativity will get me nowhere. Positive thoughts only from now on. Anyway, task 1 of my way to a better life is to smile, pretty much at everyone. None of this plastered on clown smile as fake as half my hair but real genuine smiles. Did you know that kids smile around 400 times and by the time you hit the joys of adulthood you can barely crack a smile 15 times. Says a lot. Once you complete day 1 task you move on to task 2. However, I have been working on day 1s task for a few days now. This is so not gonna be a 30 day detox, try 30 months, please not years though. The hardest part of smiling, cos I guess overall I really am a smiley person, is smiling and thanking bus drivers for the huge amount of money they just charged you for 3 minutes warmth (unless you get on my bus where the junkies like to open every window thinking it disguises the whiff of their pot, you’d have to be stoned to believe that). They never seem to offer pleasantaries to anyone except the bus spotters who frequent their buses daily and even then its cos they are taking the piss out of them. There have been numerous broken pensioners with rude drivers not waiting the extra 10 minutes it takes these poor old dears to get to their seats. Patience is a virtue, not one of mine but a virtue nevertheless. I think it’s a power thing. My bus is bigger than you, my seat is higher than yours so I am gonna snort at you and ask you to repeat your destination 16 times so every deaf fucker knows you are going to some lame shop or another. But anyway, I got up in the morning and had to tell myself that I ‘loved myself’. Over and over. It wasn’t in a ‘fuck fee I wanna fuck you now’ cos that’s a regular thought anyway but it was a deep sense of overall love for myself. It was weird and I felt kinda silly when I heard a bang on the window and here was Mr window cleaner giving a chuackle and a wave. I got over that though and it all makes sense. I am not entirely convinced that I have completed task 1 yet because today I really didn’t feel like smiling. I felt more like ripping my eyes out with rusted blunted shears but that didn’t seem like an option. I am eager to carry out task 2 though so if I smile continuously for the next 2 hours I will feel justified in moving onto it. I am not supposed to check what the tasks are in advance and for once I decided that the element of surprise was for me so I will just have to wait. Yeah I don’t do surprises. I can’t bear the wait and I never get excited at the thought of them. I am possibly the nosiest person in history and while I am trying to remedy my many flaws, I am hoping that this one will be one of the firsts to go. I have learned a painful lesson in being nosey and have decided that my inqusitive mind is better off not knowing so many things.

Yesterday in order to ease myself into some sort of sleep I bought various homeopathic pills and lotions. I am adverse to taking anything chemical (even Proplus makes me see triple and convulse) so I spent a small credit card fortune on stuff that I hoped would help me get a good 4 hours sleep. I bought Kalms because they are centuries old and I trust old stuff as well as enough lavender to start my own garden which will ensure I attract many an old person. Like I say, I like old stuff.

I guess my evening was ok. I can feel shit and shove on some Britney or anything with a hip swinging beat and that’s me, up dancing like a mad person. Sometimes I don’t even get up and remain in my chair swinging the shoulders clicking my freezin’ fingers. WHY? WHY god did you invent chair dancing? It’s so uncool. I loate chicks that think they are Madonna on LSD and and wiggle everything and even manage to rotate their hips while sunk into a large sofa that was made for losing your arse. I don’t get it. I mean I love to dance and have even been known to pull off a tap dance mid routine to Steps but I just don’t do chair dancing. I think it’s mainly the head motions that accompany this ‘sport’. Funky chicken has never been a good look. Even hot chicks can’t pull this off and hot chicks I normally let off with pretty much anything.

I watched Badgirls with as much interest as a lesbian viewing nob and worried about how much sleep I needed before I could go party on Saturday. Instead of lying there eyes open for hours thinking about all the stuff I don’t wanna ever think about, I shut my eyes and before I knew it, it was 4.30am. Impressive. However, I think the Kalms decided their work was done and needed to help no more so I lay for bout an hour thinking about all the stuff I don’t even wanna think about. Well at least the ‘bruises’ under my eyes have slightly decreased which is a shame in a way cos I looked like I was in Badgirls for awhile, no one would have messed with me and my battered junkie look.

Yesterday I ate half a tin of beans smothered in brown sauce (a Straight Man A favourite also. Any excuse for a link huh?) with a liberal sprinkling of cheese. It should have tasted good. It felt too much like effort. As much effort as it is gonna take to stop myself from letting one go every 4 seconds. Please, if anyone sees me on the bus, do not, I repeat, do not come within shouting distance of me. I fuckin stink.

Listening to: snap

Today’s Likes

Sleeping drugs
People who can talk to you more than once a day, if needs be
Anything happy
Saturday night

Today’s Dislike’s

Pulled arse muscles…
After effects of beans
East 17
Coursework due in next week, fuck

Britney Wannabe

3/22/2002 09:15:00 AM

Thursday, March 21

Yesterday was research day. I arranged to meet Beautiful Boy for lunch and a wander before I would go to uni. My mind was set on nothing but getting to uni, really it was. I woke all early and met Beautiful Boy at 10.30am, a time so early we forgot just how early it was and had lunch, or tried to at least. After a gander round the shops which lasted at least 10 minutes cos there are so many to get round… I decided I needed to have a mundane or an extraordinary experience (one of the requirements for the writing competition) and it occurred to me that while my life has had morose stuff in it there has been nothing ‘extraordinary’. I don’t want to write about the mundane, who needs to be depressed? And so as the time ticked on and 2pm, uni time, drew nearer I faced up to the fact that 1) my life was dull and 2) once again I would not be going to uni. I guess nobody is shocked about either of these revelations, hmmm. I wanted to go to uni, I knew I should but my mind is completely incapable of concentrating on anything that doesn’t make me paranoid at this moment in time. I would only have sat there and stared vacantly at the screen and felt bad so it wasn’t worth the bus fares. I justified my absence by calling my self made day off one of research. We did have fun but unless you can call checking out more dead people at museums and playing mini bowling then it didn’t constitute as ‘extraordinary’. I guess it’s close to impossible to find that kind of fun in Aberdeen mind you. First stop was the Marschal College Museum. If you can call it that. There were maybe about 5 exhibits, ok 7 but that’s it. The only points of interest were 2 dead mummies and 1 dead kid and 1 mummified cat and 1 mummified crocodile. After having seen unwrapped mummies in London, to see these fully encases ones was very disappointing. We knew they were in there however as lying and twisting around on the floor allowed us to see through the cracks. No, the museum wasn’t busy, we were the only visitors. Actually the ‘local interest’ was great. It’s shameful that in this section there was a photo of a ‘half price jeweler’ taken only 2 years ago which featured a shell suit clad spiral permed fag hanging out of gob, nob. Summed up Aberdeen nicely. And so it was off to the beach. Not that the weather was beach worthy but because we had like £3 between us and so a walk around the beach was about all we could afford. We played mini bowls like mad people. Hurling those balls (not really something I am used to) down the alley at full pelt was great and saved fucking up hands by punching walls. The harder you threw, the better you felt and for only £1. You pay like £10 to get rid of that kind of frustration at a gym and here you could smash the shit out of stuff for the price of a cream bun. Nice. My vigorous arm movements seemed a new concept to me but unfortunately my wrist action let me down and Beautiful Boy whipped my ass (or was that just on my dreams?). And then it was time to throw my entire body weight across an air hockey table, just as well those things are reinforced I tell you. And while my competitive streak ensured I would not be able to move my arm the following morning, it also declared me a winner. And then there was only one thing left to do, hit the pub. By this time it was like 3pm and as we’d been up so early it felt like bed time so my rude yawns incited people to buy me caffeine filled alcopops. Because we are so completely perfect we allowed ourselves the daily task of slagging everyone that dared pass us. My favourite was the poof with a face like a ‘screwed up arsehole’. Beautiful Boy has a beautiful way with words. And my time of fun was over. It was off to work. Having been up so early I welcomed an early night but with a mind cluttered with shit, sleep was fitful and came in short bursts. In each of these 10 minute sleeps which occurred when I eventually drifted off around 2am after much drool and pillow punching I dreamt that a certain person was trying to kill me. Actually she got her ‘friends’ to do it. I’m not really sure what this signifies but I’m sure being a bit sad doesn’t justify someone knocking you over does it? I sure as hell hope not. And so today I do indeed look as close to death as I have ever before and while my eyes look battered I can assure you that this is simply a lack of sleep over the period of a week and that I have not been shoving my fists into my face. Must get some sleeping tablets which I’m sure can only make me feel better…

Listening to: radio

Today’s Likes

Sleep, cos I would love some
Willpower, none of which I have
Beautiful Boy

Today’s Dislikes

People who can’t make the effort to reply to texts even when they know how important it is
Not sleeping
Shaky everything
Bad dreams
Nasty people

Wednesday 20th March

I forgot to write about my wonderful Tuesday, or rather had no time in between smashing my head off something actually rather soft and trying to force myself to eat… yes it’s true, fat fuck fee has given up food. Well substantial food at least. I do still shovel sugary jelly sweets into my gob by the fistful (jeeesus, do I do everything by the fistful?) but that’s about it. It’s just a phase, just like the overeating and the throwing up, it’s all just a big phase, like many a straight girl’s night of lesbian passion. I am sure I will start again soon. It’s not that I am telling myself not to eat cos that’s pretty much like telling britney to start fucking, I just can’t be arsed. It seems like such a waste of time, to prepare food and take 7 minutes to actually eat it or to walk to the shop (you know me and exercise) to decide what you want and then ravish it within the minute. It’s not that I have so much going on in my life that I don’t have time to eat. Heaven help the day that Fee has too much in her life that it stops her munching biscuits by the ovenful. It just involves a great deal of energy and that’s a whole host of energy that I do not have right now. This lack of energy could be attributed to the lack of food in which case I am in a vicious circle. Vicious circle’s are only fun when you are getting your arse bit. It’s a fact. I think there have maybe been 2 whole times in my life where I stopped eating and I’m pretty sure that both times I was ill and while on those occasions I would have been distraught to not be able to eat my favourite meal of pies then I guess starving myself for one day would have been better than chewing on my vomit. Pastry is so rough the second time over. I am not worried about this lack of digesting much however, I know it can only benefit me in the long run and help me squeeze into my age 13 jeans. Fuck no, those jeans would still hang off my ass even if I were clinically obese. I was shopping in the maternity section way before puberty. I know someone who is. Clinically obese that is. I never diet. I try but I never get past 11am before the hunger pains slash around my gut like the evil things they are. I thought about slimfast once but was too ashamed to buy it and I heard it makes you shit loads. Maybe its laxative properties help with the weight loss. It was discussed that a perfect way to diet (apart from the eat as much as you want and then throw it up method cos it’s a personal fav) would be the Muller Light Diet. These tasty desserts have minimal fat and calories and even have some nutritional qualities and come in so many flavours that by the time you’d chosen which one to slurp up, you’d be hungry no more. 1 for breakfast, 2 for lunch and 3 for tea, neck some multi vitamins and you’re clear of 1000 calories and vitamined up for the day. It’s near to perfect. I could be Victoria Beckham thin and pissing toffee yoghurt by the end of the week. As long as I aint so hungry that I start lapping it up again. I aint sitting here chuffin’ with some great huge simpleton grin on my face thinking how cool I am for forgoing food for as long as I have done by the way, it’s just one of these things that will pass and until I regain full appetite I feel I should chart my progress because I’m still flabbergasted that its really so. I am quite sure I have a good decade of NO food before I even come close to that ‘target’ weight so no need to be concerned.

Oh can I just say that I went to university on Tuesday. It was insightful. Or it could have been but cos my head was up my arse (it is physically possible you know) once again, my thoughts were elsewhere. Nevermind, at least I went I guess. I suppose that’s what resits are for, humph.

Listening to: Britney dance mixes

Britney Wannabe

3/21/2002 09:48:00 AM

Tuesday, March 19


Beautiful Boy, gay bud
The Fee

Well I was all set to attend uni for the first time and show everyone that I had not died in London when I got the phone call. I was trying really hard to make myself beautiful, really not a task that I relish by the way cos it involves a great deal of effort. And the phone goes and it’s Beautiful Boy, asking me if I wanted to go on a date. Well a lunch date and a day date, whatever, but still a date. You cannot hang out with Beautiful Boy and not class it as a date. He makes you feel that you are the best person in the world as he flatters and hugs you. Well that was uni out the window, the house and everything else glass, again. Hmmm. I felt guilty for at least 4 seconds as I slung on my new coat and decked myself out in pink and took my still wobbly legs off into town to meet my pretty friend. We hit some random pub for food. Having not been feeling myself (for a change someone else has been feeling me) it had been a while since I had eaten. I picked my way through a tuna cheese melt without the melt and downed a pint of beer. This was more like it. And so in search of much cheapness we headed to the union. As soon as we opened the door the pungent aroma smacked us in the face like a ball of mould thrown at full force. The stench was students. We ordered cheap pints and discussed the straight guys wearing brown and green. Why do they insist on coupling those dull Bernard Manning like colours with each other? And tapered jeans for fuck sake which sit so tightly around the ankle that it makes their shoes look like elongated shits. While I am ranting about the distasteful dress sense of many a straight boy I will also moan to fuck about fluffy hair. What harm does a bit of wax do? It doesn’t flake like gel, it’s longer lasting and it aint expensive. And if it were, hello have a bit of pride in your appearance. Wax should be distributed free on the NHS, it would save the sanity of many rejected fluffy headed boys. At least it would reduce the amount of fag hags there are who love gay men cos their hair looks so good. So please note that blown dried fuzzy hair is not a good look boys. There were a few of these creatures dressed by their mothers that would have deserved a make over however. Honestly. Mainly the ones who were checking me out.

We sat cautisoulsy on the pube and vomit strewn sofas, careful not to sit on the really dark or the really light stains. The smell of feet drove us to down 75p Vodkas and leave in haste. The next stop was Vodka Bar, a classy establishment where I got checked out by the bar maid, really. We met a sweet birthday girl who was suitable tanked up and treating us with stories of her drunken party nights. Pure porn. Actually this girl was Natasha from Atomic Kitten and her mates the other two. It’s a real good thing to stick in with people who work in your favourite shop, Claire’s Accessories. Half price glitter and Britney merchandise thank you very much. They departed to go watch Travis although it was clear they would much rather have gone for a boogey and there was no way they would even be able to focus on little Fran with the amount of alcopops they had drank (4 between 3). As they left, Queen of Fun arrived and her pretty little smile made my night even better. I threw up a bunch of mucous twice that I can remember and smoked harsh cigarretes, Dunhills, which disintigrated my throat and made puking more uncomfortable than usual. I also looked like I was smoking cigars with the fancy box these throat rippers came in. The Vodka Bar has this great toilet. Inside one cubicle there are 2 toilets bowls, the next best thing to a female urinal where girls can compare pube colours or something. Anyhow, I found it to have a better use than me pissing in one bowl and my gay mate pissing in the other which is actually plain weird. I took a piss in one and as the bog flushed I leaned over and chucked in the other, with the sound of the other bog flushing drowning out my gagging. Very inventive I must say.

Enter 2 foreign friends of the Queen of Fun and enter Fee’s sexuality confusion. As Beautiful Boy complimented the foreign lasses and flashed his pretty everything at them her held my hand. I thought I loved him. Well I do love him but it made me wish he was my boyfriend. I don’t have an issue being a dyke, I just thought for one moment that things would be easier if he were my boy. If I can’t snuggle into the girl I want to then the only person I could feel snuggly and cosy with at this moment in time would be Beautiful Boy. But then maybe that’s cos he is my friend and expects nothing else from me. It is hard to meet people and become friends without feeling that they have ulterior motives for being your friend. People don’t understand friends are more valuable and that not everyone wants to shag. This may seem uncommon for a lesbian but I am quite sure I am not the only one.

Listening to:

Destiny’s Child (inside my head)

Today’s Likes

Hot chocolate
Missing classes at uni where people were miming
Queen of Fun
Energy, I have none so would like some
slutwhoreprostitutetart in a suede coat

Today’s Dislikes

Mobile Phones
Self Pity, tis the enemy
Paint on my new coat
Arguments (all of which I cause)

Britney Wannabe

3/19/2002 04:56:00 PM

Sunday, March 17

Love spells. Do they work? Personally I think not and if I had any faith in them whatsoever I would carry out every single one ever created and make up my own to boot. Actually once I did try one and now that I think about it, coincidentally or not, it did in fact work. I was desperate. I was seeing someone and there was a third person really getting in my way so instead of yelling at the bitch and giving her a good fisting (in all possible ways imagined) I decided to stick some keys water and chant some words at the turn of midnight under a not completely full moon and ‘freeze her out’. It worked, it really did. I never heard about this girl again and I can’t even remember who she was. So maybe there is something to be said. Although I guess if I believed in it full heartedly I would be out buying exotic flowers and burying things and skipping about naked. Actually hold that though, no please don’t. That thought is enough to put any firm believer off partaking in witchcraft. Once there was this bird who wasn’t exactly in my life but she desperately wanted to be in my pants and bra and everything else and I heard that she was partial to moe than the odd love spell. Apparently she put them on me but unless I black out stuff that’s so repulsive it could only be a nightmare then it definitely did not work. Someone else I know fucked her stupid and then blamed being under a love spell. Their shagging was vicious and painful with a great deal of PVC, wood, chains and yelling. Now where’s the love in that? Good excuse though. ‘I didn’t mean to cheat on you, I was under a spell’. It gets me almost as much as the drunk excuse. I guess ample lager is the best way to ensure you get the hot ladies who wouldn’t look at you normally. Many straight girls are selfish, however. They think it’s ok for them to snog/fuck lesbians and then be all like ‘back off bitch or I’ll get my boyfriend on you. I do have one you know’. And that’s after they’ve begged you to shag them so they can see what it’s like to taste minge that’s not their own, for the 18th time. They expect you just to be waiting because they think they are doing you a favour. But that’s not all straight girls. Usually they are so much better looking than lesbians so I am open to letting any of them experiment on me, as many times as they want. Who cares that they go home to ‘dick’ later on? Nope, all I want is a snog. I am yabbering about love spells because I watched an episode of Buffy where all the hot girls were chasing one usually nerdy Xander. Miss Muffy/Buffy is crackin’ onto Xander ‘threatening’ to open her lil rain coat and show him her goods and he’s all like ‘Oh no, you can’t do that. It’s all wrong’. I mean hello?? Given that opportunity I would take full advantage of someone as foxy as Buffy. I aint saying I’d bend her over and shove a dildo up her ass or anything. In fact I wouldn’t even touch her cos I think it really would be illegal but what harm can one flash do? One sneaky peaky? I certainly would. It’s like drunk girls who get their tits out, I really am gonna look because where else am I gonna get that opportunity? Ok I can check out my porno collection but there really aint nothing as good as the real thing. If all playing parties are sober and for some reason breasts come out then it’s embarrassment all round for me. And blushes will not let me blatently oogle but I can glimpse and ensure that my photographic memory takes a good picture. It’s another story when you are going out with someone and they are the random breast flashers who astound fellow gays and straight men with their tits. What’s that about? I don’t share easily. I knew a girl like that once. She used to hang out of car windows and get her tits out to a bunch of jeering males cos she thought they’d accept her as a lesbian if she gave them something to wank off to. Self esteem issues? Very much so.

So today all I have done is watch Buffy. And today’s favourire character is Cordelia for her LA girl esque one liners and of course the Buffster for looking so hot and broody as she depresses everyone by crying over Angel. I have watched these episodes at least a dozen times each and I still feel a little tear when Angel goes bad. It’s very sad I know. Actually for one part of the day I did get out of my bed to pick up the remote that my dog knocked off the bed. I was gonna go out and do things so I could at least have something interesting to write in my weblog about but the thought of getting on public transport with this hair was not one I openly entertained. While I was sad and stayed in all Saturday night, at least I did not spend it on my own with a face mask on watching Elton John, eh J. Bo? Tomorrow is university however and I really will go. I have managed to avoid all uni and most work since arriving back in this bog of crap. Think I am doing pretty well but to continue for another week would be utterly sad and it is likely my legs will cease up from the amount of lying horizontal they have been doin the past few days. And so I return to bed.

Listening to: Bob and Rose soundtrack…

Today’s Likes

Barbara Dickson…
Pink sparkley nails
Outfit planning
Quiche, of the roasted vegetable variety
Glitter doing its best to hide my crows feet

Today’s Dislikes

Wiggly legs
Cud lugs
Sitting next to pubes on the bus
People who moan bout skitters

Britney Wannabe

3/17/2002 08:58:00 PM

Saturday, March 16

Today I am off work, sick of something, a lot of things actually. Me moaning for one thing. That fully does my head in. I seem to take one tiny thing and turn it into something so massive it really is the end of the world. I as good as thought it was but I will not be depressed any longer, for the sake of my weblog at least. Instead I will be full of joy and goodness and tell you about something exciting.

The other day I was disappointed to hear someone I half respected telling her friend that it was a shame Will Young (pop idol winnner for those who've had their TV up their arse for months) was gay because he 'had' a beautiful smile. What on earth?? So because he has come out his smile has faded and he is now ugly. Gay people don't deserve to be good looking? How can people be so ignorant and and so fuckin rude? These are the types of people that do yet have access to telephones and running water. Or so you'd think. Actually these are supposed to be intelligent people thinking intelligent thoughts but instead they make judgements such as that? And people wonder why so many people are so scared of coming out. Personally i wasn't. I embraced the event with everything I could. And that's a lot of embracing I tell you. I was dying to set myself loose from my huge closet. Some people think I should still be in there but it really wasn’t all that comfy. In fact there were so many massive boots and skirts hanging around in there that I am quite surprised I managed to squeeze myself to the door, ease it open a fraction and slip out. For a lass my size there is no such thing as slippin out. Jeez I sound like fuckin Vanessa Feltz pre diet. Anyway, I was 15 when I got my first taste for ladies. I had heard rumours that my mate had been caught sniffin’ around some fanny and so a crush was developed. I confessed my desire to stroke the pussies, she told me it was normal, just a phase (if I had a girl for every time I heard that I’d never get up for air amongst all the fish) and that I would get over it. I cried and hoped she’d feel sorry for lil gay Fee and wanna lick away my tears and everything else that tastes of marmite. It took a good few weeks before we downed 2 whole bottles of K cider and were suitably drunk and she lunged in for the kiss, full tongue and everything. Now I had kissed boys before, acne ridden and cheesey balled but this was unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my life. Everything tingled and I was pleased as pussy as we skipped down the road singing delights such as ‘Saturday night’ by Whigfield (rather hot for a Scandinavian she was) and other mid nineties twaddle. I had died and gone to girl heaven. No sorry that was when I met the editor of Mayfair and he offered me free porn. She crushed me [with her mammoth mammories] when I found out she told the entire world about by my new found gayness. She kissed me about 3 times after that, but it felt like I was raping her. Something gave me the impression that she wasn’t enjoying it as much as I was. Maybe it was the way she jammed her mouth (and legs once) shut when I tried to tongue her for the 14th time. After that I told the rest of my friends who had been deaf and fucking stupid and didn’t know. It took some convincing, you know with my ass length hair and no swagger in sight. I phoned every gay number in the book. Oh no not ‘mooch my pussy for 50p a minute’ but more like the gay switchboard in every town there was one. Why the fuck I cared about gays in Luftborough I will never know. I arranged meetings with ‘helpers’ from various organisations. My first real experiences with 100% real bush chompers were disappointing. They were all after slipping you a finger or 10 and I just wanted friendship. So I made my way through some ladies and many girls as I gladly offered a lip or four to those friends wanting to check out snogging a bird. Miss Happy Slapper I salute you. It was all very token but I gotta kiss a lot of pretty ladies my male counterparts could never dream about kissin’. This whole time I was out shakin’ my checked trousered arse on the gay dancefloor, if you could ever get to it, I believe it was there. I thought I ruled the club because I was young and new. I didn’t but I did own the toilets cos my head was permanently wedged in them after the 4 drinks I had consumed. My drinking till puking started because my mate nicknamed me “Fifi la Femme Poodle Duck Crossbreed want a doggie biscuit, aha”. He was a cruel man. I could not stand the ‘femme’ jokes and was determined to prove my butchness. And so my mate devised some butch tests. One of these tests was to down a certain amount of alcohol without pukin or pissin within a certain amount of time. This was painful. Other such tests included propositioning beautiful straight birds. These tests didn’t prove my manliness but did heighten my stupidity status as straight birds set their rough handed prepubescent boyfriends on me for breaking in their girls before they had a chance and club owners set the police on me for breaching a helluva lotta peace. Immature: definitely. But so much fun. Once I grew up a fraction of a year I tried to date older ladies who turned out to be experienced in more ways than I care to remember and scared the shit outta me. I thought I was destined to be one of them spinsters that kids throw bread at and call ‘fanny licker’ (truth does not always hurt you know). But I wanted to at least share my spinster hood with a married bitch who’d use me on the side or an ugly man hater who’d batter me. I did much better than that however and I met an innocent young flame who I wish I could say I introduced to the ways of the gay but I was too much of a lady/gentleman for that. We had fun but it wasn’t too be. My inability to hold down a relationship is a source of amusement. Not my amusement mind you. And then quite unexpectedly, in walked The Queen of Fun who was very femme and grimaced her face and picked me up with the line ‘r u gay?’ Her eloquence made me want her. I wanted and I got. I was surprised and elated.

Well I guess that’s all I can be arsed telling you rite now. That was just a break down of my life as a queer which does sound very dull but the events outlined were filled with exciting anecdotes which make up a great deal of my ‘stories’. Honest, there really has been some excitement in the life of Feely Up Fee. My life as a queer fat kid would make a great book I am quite sure.

In the words of one pretty willow, “I think I’m kinda gay”

Listening To: Alanis (the second album)

Today’s Likes

Good Memories
Not eating
Vodka at 2pm
Dopplegangland (buffy episode)
Other people’s beds…

Today’s Likes

Nasty Nobs
Lack of sleep
People who hide things from you
Horizontal Stripes (they make me look like Mama Cass)
Chewen down nails
Things that hurt

Britney Wannabe

3/16/2002 09:15:00 PM

Thursday, March 14

I am striving to find something if not joyous then at least interesting to write about. That’s all 3 things I did yesterday out of the running then. Although, I will tell you that I did watch Matilda in an attempt to make all things good and cheery. Kids films rule, there are no sordid affairs, swearing is kept to ‘oh you cow’ and they always have a happy ending and make you wish you were 12 again. Well any age below 12 and above 15 is good for me. My years between 12 and 15 were hell. I heffered around in coulottes (a cross between long baggy shorts and a skirt) and wore slouch socks (4 rolls per ankle). I was constantly the figure of ridicule and the word FAT featured prominently in conversations that were about me. I was a mockery on the hockey pitch where I could not run the warm up without having a seat half way through and jeers of ‘look at the fat girl playing hockey’ were rife. And in comfort I’d slunk off home with only my massive fringe in tow to scoff chocolate spread by the jar and guzzle POPTARTS by the box. Frozen ice cream was also a favourite as I was too eager to wait that 4 minute defrosting time. I’d site on the floor, one hand in a 100g bag of crisps and the other grasping on tight to a block of cheese and I’d think of how many times I’d been called ‘chubby’ or ‘bloater’ that day. You know my fondest memory is of my PE teacher who laughed at me doing cross country and declared that the reason I had cheated (was caught doing a gammy legged flit across an out of bounds field) was because I was fat. She grinned like a lesbo at her first sight of minge as she told me I was overweight, yeah cause I really hadn’t noticed that one. And people wonder what leads people to compulsively over eat and to throw up after binging and to not eat at all. Hmm I wonder. Maybe they think people are fat because they love food and don’t care what they look like. More than likely is that people’s taunts cause people to over eat and make them feel like shit. Some people do not have the ability to whack their fingers down their throats but for some, that follows compulsively overeating. Every second is spent being careful what to shovel in their gobs because the consistency of some food is better than others when it comes for a re-visit. Popcorn for instance is one to be avoided if planning on shoving your face in the bowl and always cut your nails to tiny stubs to avoid the bloody puke. It’s not nice and it’s not pretty but neither are the comments that many people are forced to endure. Mind you some people just puke till they get into a certain dress size, I think I would have to throw up my entire body weight for that to happen for me.

I don’t think I had a turning point in my life when I decided that I did not need to eat everything we owned for dinner. I still do it. I still moan about it all the time but to give up food in such huge quantities is like asking a poof to give up arse. I know I changed my mode of dress and bought oversized things in all shades of tye dye and became a ‘smelly’ but I don’t think I have ever gotten any slimmer. I just wore folds of clothes to hide my folds of fat. I also needed to ditch my cardboard fringe I had come to loathe which made me look like a double porker. I had only had this fringe cut in because one day I thought it was time to transform myself into my idol so I shoved on a pair of bright green shades and cut my hair and introduced myself to my mother as Elton John. The fringe was the only way to fix my d.i.y job, so my mum said. I think it was revenge for the sight she witnessed of me as Elton John and Kiki Dee all rolled into one with a beautiful bowl cut, just at one side. So once I peeled of my thick ankle socks and adorned cardies to shame Nana Muskuri I was a changed person and actually got some cool friends who were good enough to introduce me to smoking,anything. And also to the wonderments of home made alcohol. My 15-18 years were very happy and it was around this time I got gay. That’s another day’s entry.

I have been informed of a writing competition and a kind friend mentioned I should enter. Flattery and lies do get you everywhere. Apparently I have to write my autobiog in 600 words… I can’t even write a sentence with less words than that so there really aint much hope. Ramble? I most definitely do.

Today is a dull day and will be made less dull with my return to work numero deux where I really am appreciated for the wench that I am. I also get to see at least 4 people that I have not seen for 6 weeks. That is the number of friends I have. Oh I never made it to university yesterday again. And as I have the next 2 days off I will try again on Monday. Damn that sun that looks so pretty and feels so cold.

Oh and no word from the American Chick about that date.

Listening to: SHAKIRA – Laundry Service

Today’s Likes

Sleeping Hugs
Young B
Comfy Pants
Text Hugs

Today’s Dislikes

Travel Guides, well I aint going nowhere so why should anyone else
People who check their change after I have laboriously counted it back to them
Squint Glasses, my own
Shit on Shoes

Britney Wannabe

3/14/2002 11:18:00 AM

Wednesday, March 13

Yesterday I failed to go to university once again. Am really beginning to set a trend. It was a rather sunny smiley day so I took a walk into town at the speed of a sauntering snail with nowhere to go. I set myself a target – if I were to get into town within the half hour I would go to uni. At that speed it wasn’t bloody likely.

So I found myself wandering into an old friend’s work and was delighted by his genuinely happy to see me reaction. Some people really do make you feel at home. I then coffee-ed with 2 other friends and took my first wander around the city centre that I had not laid my swollen eyes on in 6 weeks. The only 2 places to have sprung up in my absence were ‘Jimmy Chung’s’ (some Chinese chain with way too much fluorescent lighting) and Forbidden Planet (a glorified comic shop with an adequate stocking of Buffy merchandise). I was disappointed. No Diesel shops, no Buffalo Boots, not even an H&M in sight. And so there was only one thing left to do, hit the pub for a pre work pint with the old friend. It was great, I even got invites for drinks and a party, on consecutive nights so it was fab to be able to actually make an entry (or 2 even, this was a good day…) into my otherwise entryless diary.

And then came my first trip to my part time job. I was less than excited about the prospect of dressing myself in the customary red tee shirt after having been haning out in a cool publishing company doing things that didn’t involve speaking to customers, for 6 weeks. The evening was slow and passed without trauma. It will be an astoundingly slow 3 hours till I return there once again. How blessed am I? SO beyond very.

And that’s when it all went shit. Shit enough to make this the worst day of my life.

Listening to: Alanis: Under Rug Swept

Today’s Likes:

Not applicable

Today’s Dislikes:

Too many to mention

NB Yes I am dramatic but the reasoning behind it warrants such behaviour

Britney Wannabe

3/13/2002 03:20:00 PM

Tuesday, March 12

My life is about as exciting as lesbian bed death. Yesterday I made the walk into town with the best intentions of showing off my fab new clothes at university. I made it as far as Costa where I met my friend for Peppermint Tea and decided that Monday was not a day for university, it just wasn’t for me that day so I came home again. Actually it wasn’t simply that I am a lazy arse, which is also true, but the tired haze I was walking around in was making me think unclearly. Well the tired haze amongst other things but let’s not go into that. I envisioned an early night, of the 9pm hour but was too wired after beans and brown sauce to contemplate bed until at least 10.15pm. Needless to say today I am equally tired, if not more so. I mean, I am sure I have eyes on this face somewhere but amongst all the puff I can’t seem to lay my hands on them. So am as good as typing blind. Today I will venture into uni. I have to play my ‘fame game’ with Straight Man A. From what we can gather, this is a game similar to fantasy football league which I have no clue or desire to know about, run by The Sun newspaper (no, we do not read this, it was just brought to our attention) so as our celeb obsessed other flatmates who can no longer be classed as that, entered, we felt we needed to get in there and whip their asses basically. The flatmates adored the most turdy programme in history, Footballers’ Wives and have christened their team accordingly. Myself and Straight Man A called our team Footballers Wives Suck [everything]. We are gonna kick their asses. Obviously I am going to uni to broaden my publishing knowledge also…

Because I can no longer astound my readers with my London escapades I will today spoil you with my top 5 lesbian snogs. These are based on TV and Film and not my real life as I do not have the momentum to discuss the multitude of slivers that have dribbled down my chin or the amount of motionless tongues that have rested in my massive gob.

These are in reverse order and while I am sure there are many many more, these are all that come to mind as I type.

6 Helen and Nicki from Badgirls – their snogs have been in abundance but I liked the 1st one best, in Nicki’s cell… oh naughty

5.The entire ‘Gia’ film, with Angelina Jolie who could snog anything and look good, best when she’s snoggin me tho

4. Beth and Margaret form Brookside, an oldie but a goldie which spawned a 3 year Anna Friel obsession

3. At Home With the Braithwaites – Virginia and the older neighbour bird to the soundtrack of William Orbit, very nice

2. If These Walls Could Talk 2 – Michelle Williams & Chloe Sevigny (as a hot butch, yes really) to the soundtrack of ‘Lean on Me’ by Bill Withers

1.CRUEL INTENTIONS – Sarah Michelle Geller & Selma Blair – very hot tongue and slight sliver action to the soundtrack of Blur Coffee & TV. Heaven

Ok, as lesbians are as trendy as malboro lights and smokers’ hats they are everywhere at the moment. Not that I’m one to complain about opening up papers to find hot girls making out or anything. I do appreciate what they are trying to do for me and I know they aint gay for keeps, just so they can ‘try it’, just once, or maybe 5 or 6 times. Any publicity is good, and what better way to get yourself noticed than by slipping your female co stars the tongue? I know that when I become a Hollywood actress that I will be taking every opportunity to lick the various lips of all my leading ladies. Loads of dykes get all riled by famousstraight people going thru phases and kissing girlies when it appeals to them as much as snorting cheese but I say right on girls, you go for the girl on girl action. If it does nothing for them, that’s no problem. I aint asking them to enjoy it, just to do it and smile sweetly or provocatively and pretend they are having the best time since they rode their first Hollywood stud, horse or otherwise. Surely it can’t be a bad thing to not have only pictures of Ellen and her bird of the moment to drool over? So the more hot girlies snogging the better. Britney snogs me but I’m the only girl for her and she wont do pictures. I have tried. I will say that there is one actress who really should stay away from lady lip locking, Jennifer Aniston. As beautiful as she is, she snogs girls as badly as most people chew gum. Here’s the evidence: Exhibit 1: Episode of Friends when she ‘snogged’ Winona Ryder. This was not more than a rolling of heads with open eyes and no pleasure for anyone involved. Exhibit 2: ‘Snogging’ a woman who was a man played by a woman (confused?). This snog was similar to exhibit 1, no tongue, just fear. She wasn’t even thinking of Brad. She was clearly thinking of her wrongly inserted tampon that was causing her discomfort. That’s what her facial expression said anyway. I’d imagine that as she is going out with Mr Pitt that she cannot surely kiss like that all the time? Imagine that grimace sucking your cock. How very pleasureable.

And so I will leave you as I go ponder over the delights of famous chicks snogging [me] and doing the other bad things that sometimes go with snogging (drinking beer and eating bad crisps).

Listening To: Bjork Debut

Today’s Likes

Chattin on the phone to friends for hours
Bulgaria Black
Soft Water
Lonely dancing in your house
Band Candy (episode of Buffy)

Today’s Dislikes

Being Heartbroken :-( (some think I don’t have a heart to break, but I do)
Food (just for this 10 seconds)
Going back to work
People who are always right, even when they know they are not
Random Farters
Chair Dancing

Britney Wannabe

3/12/2002 10:17:00 AM

Monday, March 11

This is just a small added extra because I wanted to share my appreciation of the American Chick with you, yes, again. I have had 2 emails from the wonder of beauty today and this coupled with Britney deciding she is to be my woman, has made my day so worthwhile. Today I felt like shit, not quite like a beefy turd, more like a slight spattering of skids, but shit nevertheless. American chick has made me forget the slouch socks and big tongued trainers that are all too popular in this place I have resided all my life and there may well be a smile sneaking across my puffy face. I keep thinking back to the day the pretty lady flashed her boobs at me and it still makes me blush and curse myself for not coppin’ a feel. I am very sad that I will no longer have the pleasure of ooglin her ass (beautiful btw) and everything else that just is American Chick. And to really show my gratitude for the view, here is some wonderful poetry dedicated to the one the only American Chick (part deux).

A Poem for Delectable D

Well foxy lady
How’s about it?

By The Fee