Diary of a Glitter Splashed Britney Lovin' Lesbo

I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else

Name:Miss Fee


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Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Friday, October 31

It appears as though the world as not as divided as ass cheeks in thongs when it comes to wearing these butt severing articles. I expected a host of ‘bring on the discomfort’ comments but am glad to see that only a couple of you spoke in favour of these cruelty devices. This is good for me because had you all declared that thongs were the way to go I would have experimented with them much more which would not have been particularly entertaining for me though perhaps more so for you because you could have been sure that I would have documented the experience with you. I’m kind like that. I would have sacrificed my crack for the sake of a story but hell there are more pressing matters I need to be thinking about right now.

Today I wish to discuss Celion Dion. Not the fact that she is looking more manly than a bad tranny, or the fact that she really is shite but I want to discuss what could possibly happen to a group of people that could see them digress from piley-ons to legging parades to Celion Dion. I have two words that could help explain this unfortunate Celion Dion kareoke. J-Bo and Vodka. NB I am aware that this does not excuse this nasty event. I don’t think the vodka needs much explanation so let’s look at J-Bo in the equation of things gone bad. J-Bo. For any of you that have read my blog for any length of time (more particularly last year when J-Bo shenanigans reached their peak) you will know all about J-Bo. J-Bo is a unique character who can liven up any party with her ability to be the most amusing person in history and of course for the amazing tricks she can perform with her thong (yowser). For a while we even thought about hiring her out for a small fee (i.e vodka). A party is not a party without our Bo but she always manages to embroil us in something that we would not otherwise do. And so, last week’s incident involved Celion Dion. I thought we were quite a cool bunch of freaks and even the geekier of us would never usually be caught singing (a term I use very loosely) to the likes of C.D. I’d rather be caught friggin off that butch with the lisp and the gammy leg. But with a J Bo around something seems to happen to people, something takea over their minds and bodies when they least expect it. There we were, happily jumping around to Gay Bar when a flick of a switch later and we are huddled in power ballad poses clutching plastic flowers and performing renditions of C.D songs, which will remain nameless, to our large open window with a mooner or ten thrown in for even more sorry luck. My throat still bears the evidence of our tuneless gagging. This went on for about an hour and as suddenly as it started, the sofa bed was rolled out and J-Bo was tucked up in her lilac checkered pyjamas and snoring almost as loudly as she farts and the rest of us were left limply holding our faux flowers and looking around us, confused, not quite knowing what had just happened. I still can’t work it out. I don’t know how we got from jumping on the quiet crowd who were bunched on the sofa sipping wine and not slobbering like the rest of us to croning to that hag whose face has fallen so drastically she kisses the ground with each step. I just don’t get it. Maybe I don’t want to because it will mean admitting that we all knew every word and it will also mean considering why we had a CD like that in the home in the first place…

Sealion aside, there is something else I must get off my expanding chest. Apples. Apples are like crisps in that they should be banned from public consumption. Especially at nine in the morning and especially when you are sitting that close to my face. Yes you may be super healthy but please find a quiet corner to do munch so expertly. No one needs to hear what sounds like you gathering flem from the back of your throat in the name of your fit body. Its sick and very wrong. Like my good self.

Bye now, be sure to write. Nine comments from nine people is surely a record! And now I can be sure to suffer and get none.

And what do we have here? Miss Dushku in her own series? Oh Yes though no doubt we will have to wait years to see it over here.

Until then I will make do with the series blog and the fan website.

Britney Wannabe

10/31/2003 02:57:00 PM

Wednesday, October 22

Is there an art to wearing a thong? Is there more to it than just making sure you have it on the right way round (ouch)? Does it take skill to get it so it sits just right? Do you have to have your ass measured as you do bras to ensure that you gain maximum comfort? These questions have been plaguing me for the past 2 minutes. It's not that I have personal experience with failing to adequetely dress my ass in a thong cos I have never let one touch my ankles let alone anything further up, I just have issues because they seem such a brutal invention. Who would have thought that a thin slip of material could hold the power to split you in two if wedgied whilst wearing. Thongs really bother me. Not only can they most defintely not be good for the health of an ass but really they are most unattractive. If I'd seen only large, bad bums in thongs then this would be understandable but I have seen hot chicks in thongs with good asses and it just looks all wrong. When a thong is skillfully maneouvered over inside the buttocks, a hot ass is suddenly elongated and looks longer than my ass without its supports. The thought of squeezing my bubbly butt into a cheese wire makes me wanna vomit but maybe I should give it a go to find out if the horror stories are true. Do you whistle when you fart? Do farts that can't quite get through because they don't know which way to go round the thong suddenly pop and leave their mark upon the wearer? Do they get lost within the confines of flabby bums to the point that you are wearing 5 or 6 and don't even realise it? Is there a need to give yourself such massive wedgies when wearing one like the D.I.Y-wedgies the Bo performs on herself after a sniff of vodka? Such powerful, thought invoking questions. Such ugly, possibly painful inventions. Death to thongs. Surely the only thing they can be good for is ensuring your big frilly panty line isn't on show through your white leggings? And surely if you are wearing white leggings you deserve to be put through excruciating torture? Jesus christ, if you are wearing white leggings, is a panty line not better than the visible poc marked arse look which is only possible whilst wearing a thong or going pantyless? And if you are still insisting on wearing white leggings and going pantyless do we really want to see you pubic bush winking at us? I mean why don't you go all out and give yourself a camels hoof while you're at it. Jesus. And why am I discussing white leggings with myself? It's been a long day is my only excuse.

I must go. The flashing images of bad bums in thongs is tomenting me so I must delve into my wardrobe and unleash the mother of all pants in order to save my faltering sanity. And anyway, I'm fed up listeing to the sound of my podgy fingers banging away on this keyboard so please, confirm or deny my thong fears!

Britney Wannabe

10/22/2003 06:40:00 PM

Sunday, October 19

I hate Luis Vuitton. I hate Luis Vuitton as much as I hate Gareth Gates, low fat cheese, people who publicly burst into song, Aberdeen, lesbos who leave jobbies scattered around the floor, milky tea, the chubby gay-faced poof who I feel the urge to vomit on when I see him, chipped nailvarnish, people who walk as though they have a 16” butt plug rammed up their arse and my excessively large hair pre-straightening. I even hate Luis Vuitton almost as much as I hate people who don’t reply to texts. I’m so sick of these ugly bags and purses being flashed in my face like I should get down on my knees and lick the sweaty shoes of the owners of such vileness.

After noticing that every second person either has an unsightly brown purse, a distasteful white bag or a combination of the two (and not forgetting the new soft pink addition to the set of sickness) I decided to count all the LV accessories I see for no real reason other than to piss myself off. I was astounded with the results. Within two days I had tallied an A4 page, front and back. It is apparent that Luis Vuitton is the new Burberry ie it may have started off as a cliquish and stupidly expensive piece of design but has now become more common that bird turd in trafalgar square. I really don’t get it. What is less attractive than Luis Vuitton apart from Burberry itself? 80% of fake accessories are mock Luis Vuitton. Why would you buy a design that has been more copied than The Boyband formula? I don’t know what’s worse, those cheap minks cutting around with fake LV or the fools who have paid hundreds/thousands for something that every other tinker has a replica of. Surely if you have money to waste on repulsive accessories you could buy something slightly more exclusive and dare I say, attractive? Maybe I wouldn’t have such an issue if the LV design were cooler and slightly less bland. Perhaps but probably not. There is no escaping its lack of design but there is no need for Aberdeen minks to be cloning each other in the name of ‘fashion’. A definite case of the classic fashion victim. You know the age old argument of wearing some monstrosity that suits you as well as slags suit pants just because everyone else is cutting around in something similar. It so bugs the crap out of me and while I realise that this is clearly not an issue attributed solely to Aberdeen (which is evidenced by the amount of street sellers worldwide with their car boots full of this shite) but I do wonder if it’s more prolific here. I wonder if it’s because everyone goes on holiday to the same resorts and returns with the same bags? I wonder if it’s because Aberdonians try so hard to be cool because so many of them are so clearly not that they will do, say and wear anything in an attempt to be trendy or cool, even if that means sporting brown accessories and matching purse? Or maybe it’s just me that’s out of the loop here. Maybe I’m missing something that they all see. Maybe the lining is laced with a hallucinary drug and touching it allows you to perceive ugly objects as cool? Yeah, that’s probably it.

I must stop this rant. My fingers are sparking and my ears are smoking just thinking about how many of these items I am going to see tomorrow before my eyes have even adjusted to the daylight. I will instead think about how funny these people look when clutching their $20 fakes while sporting tapered mummy-arsed jeans and a shell suit top that would make Waynetta Slob look classy.

And so I go to mash potatoes. Life is all that interesting.

Today’s Likes

Having caught up with some of my blog reading.
Suzanne Pop Idol, a sucker for a hottie as you know
Buffy series 7, finally.
Party next Friday. Bring back the dance mat!
Lil Red love

Today’s Dislikes

Repetitive Strain Injury in my thumb due to over changing of the more than four tv channels I now have
The Salon. Paul, kiss my gay ass.
The serial CD changers. You know who you are.
David Boranez in Dido’s video. How large is that hair?
Trying to escape those you hate in the gay bar. Just doesn’t work.
Pooey Vuitton. Incase you missed that.

My most over watched music videos that have caused the RSI …

Holly Valance – state of mind
Sugababes – hole in the head
Girls Aloud – Jump
Pink – trouble

It’s all about the girls. It’s always all about the girls.

Britney Wannabe

10/19/2003 03:10:00 PM

Friday, October 17

I just wrote a rather inspired entry about how lesbians have apparently been leaving their turds in odd places in one of our two (woo fuckin hoo) gay bars and as I'm finishing off, as smug as a freshly laid school boy virgin for having actualy written an entry, it disappears. Not so smug now eh? So now I can't be bothered to divulge the delicious tale of the lesbo freaks who turd in pint glasses and on the floor and all over the toilet seats in a certain gay bar. Oh I just did but without most of the utterly vile details of these sick creatures which you probably should b glad of cause the stories I heard and subsequently shared with you dear reader[s] were stomach churning at best. Enough. D.I.Y enemas? On the floor of a public toilet? Come on, don;t you people have roll of your own?

I also told you that I have found a way to hopefully blog more often. My lack of blogging badness has been caused by my lack of internet connection. I only have access to email via my TV and am trying this email to blog thing. If you are reading this, sorry it worked. So, I apologise to those of you, in particular Ariel and Charmin and The Gobby One who may have missed my shite and I also apologise to those who hoped I had given up, I'm afraid not so you must b subject to the drivel of Miss Fee once more.

Anyway, I'm off to not proof read this for fear of erasing this crap once again while eating cheese, cheese and cheese and thinking about where th cheese is going to go. The only place left is my ankles. Is fat distibution ever sensible?

Today's Likes

You who still visit glitterqueer
Electric 6
Inkheart by Cornelia Funke
Feet that dont smell worse than the cheese I am devouring
Domestic bliss

Today's Dislikes

Lesbos who leave jobbies in places other than where they belong
Gays who steal books from my section
Home alone on friday night
That bread. Yes that bread that's walking around in the kitchen of it's own accord.

Britney Wannabe

10/17/2003 08:00:00 PM

Friday, October 3

Do you know what I have done in the almost two weeks since I last posted? You better pull up a chair, pour yourself a brew and get comfy cause you are not gonna want to miss this. Since I last wrote I have, slept (mostly badly), worked (usually fairly hard) and eaten (definitely a lot). And that's it. I wish I were a student again because I am so not suited to working life. I have also become clinically obese due to my total lack of excerise and my increasing ability to eat for four. I swear it's really getting out of control. Even my fat, comfort jeans are no longer five sizes too big and dare I say, fit a bit too snuggly. It's gross. I am one of these people who stretches slightly upward, only to have her belly escape from the confines of her trousers and fall grotesquely way past her fanny into public view. I hate an accentuated fanny caused by jeans pulled over the belly in order to hold in the gut but am beginning to wonder if this 'I have a huge triangular bush' look is preferential to the rogue belly look. I reach up and out sneaks a wayward zoo animal. It's all so wrong.

It's pure laziness that I don't just get off my padded ass and do something about it, or at least go easy on the full fat food substances I am so adept at shovelling into my newly expanded gob. Not only I am grossly overweight because of my lack of motivation but since I started work, I can't be arsed doing anything. I have straightened my hair exactly twice. Straightening my hair takes up one whole entire evening and yes that is with the revolutionary GHD straightners. And so I have been bouncing around with ultra huge hair for months now. The only goor thing my white-girl afro is good for is ensuring I get pesonal space which is especially good when customers come face lickingly close to you, to breath their four-day-old tuna/onion breath in your nasal caveties to ask if you sell the book they read about in the paper not 3 years ago. That hair allows me loads of room because if those rotten faced twats come any closer they will be forced to consume my hair and about 40 differing types of taming hair products. I also figured having large hair detracts attention from my large body. Until I reach upward of course.

The only good thing that has come out of working and doing little else is that I have plenty of time to read. I was sick yesterday and managed to get through The Case of the Not-So-Nice Nurse which was so over the top and hilarious I found myself having to continually wipe the pool of drool that would form at the base of my neck.

And so I go to try and eradicate all traces of onion from my face and try not to get too over excited about all the hot pictures of chicks we have in our new home. It's all good and Britney is all that.