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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The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Friday, November 28

I went to see Electric Six the other day. It was rockin’ but the occasion gave me so much fuel for a weblog entry so read on and tell me if you agree with my observations.

People Who Shouldn’t be in a Mosh Pit (or in Attendance at all)

Girls in 6” heels who have followed their meaty boyfriends in
The meaty boyfriends
The long bright white trainered Neds with their Burberry T shirts and gold chains
Those who think the ‘gay bar’ chant is a sign to kick ass
People who can’t do the mosh salute
The long-haired floor sweepers whose hair you always trod on
Those who are always on the outside but never quite getting in because they are scared they will get a sweaty elbow in their face
Anyone wearing tapered jeans
People with severe body odour problems
Bespectacled folks. Common sense people
People who moan that the band are shite
The girlie nobs who can’t mosh and so side step and shoulder swing around their fake Luis Vuitton handbags
People who salute songs with their pint glasses
Over glammed girls who mime the wrong words cause they have never heard of the band before
The support band groupies
Boys with Indie hair cuts and faded Oasis T shirts. So ’97. So never.
Girls with no bras
Girls in sleeveless vests who clearly do not own a razor.
People in slip on shoes
People who think that the support band are the band they paid to see
Dicks who launch things at the band

Evidence that I am Clearly Pushing On

I was as concerned with the unwelcome wanks as I was with the gig
I removed my sweaty shoes at one point and crunched my feet into a ball while exclaiming, ‘oh that’s much better’
I favoured the middle of the auditorium to the mosh pit
I even sat down on the over walked floor whilst waiting for the band
Despite lovin’ the band I willed on the end of every song (even though the songs were shorter than Justin’s alleged dick) so I could get home to bed
I cried when the second support band came on (Kidsymphony) and not just because the all male band all had girls hair but because it lessened the time I would get in my bed that night
I refrained from drinking
I didn’t buy a band t shirt
I went home without the aid of my mum and dad
I worried that the lead singer must be so tired with all that crazy dancing
I disapproved of the smoker beside me
I thought about making soup for about 20 seconds
My amazing ability to moan about just about everything…

God I could go on forever but for your sake I will stop.

Clearly there are just not enough cool people in this city to sustain a gig in a place bigger than my living room. I just don’t understand why half the people in attendance even bothered to fork out for a ticket when they had as much interest in being their as I do in what boys store in their Y fronts. I think the boys go to remind us that even if we think we are going somewhere cool and away from the small minded pricks, that the Neds will always reign supreme. There is no place safe from Burberry, from tracksuits, from gelled forward hair and from cheap cigarettes and bottles of beer that will later be used to threaten you if you cast a disgusted look at their tightly pulled skinny trainers or brown boots. Of course they also go to these places to get the girls because while the girls used to appreciate Neds and their checked YSL shirts or their beige combats, now girls like the cool boys, the boys in eye liner and baggy trousers. And so Neds frequent the cool places to try and get back their cheap tarts who are cutting around in white lycra and slashed necked jumpers in an attempt to be noticed by boys who don’t listen to happy hardcore and have something more appealing to talk about than hubcaps and how expensive a ten pack of fags are. It’s just a shame that underneath it all these girls are the same as their Ned male counterparts and are full of shit, ill fitting thongs and have as much class as a bucket of turd.

Rant about Neds and their bitches over. If you don’t know what a Ned is (why oh why have I capitalised this word? It in no way gives the disgusting bastards credibility) and my rant has failed to give you a clear picture then come up my way and you’ll drown in a sea of them and their Burberry check. Vile.

On a completely different note, Amber Benson aka Tara from Buffy is coming here to see all of us Buffy obsessives for herself in January. It’s all too exciting. If you too are going to see Miss Hotness, look for me. I’ll be the one who queues too early with the massive morning hair and the weird glint in her eye (also known as a squint…). Bu bye now.

Britney Wannabe

11/28/2003 04:36:00 PM

Monday, November 10

I spent most of Saturday night sprawled on the floor of the Gay Bar. This was due to vodka/cherry brandy/champagne concoctions and to being spun round too frequently by the clumsiest poof in the world. There's nothing more humilating than 2 lesbos and a poof rolling around in a big gay heap on a soiled floor on a heaving Saturday night. Nothing more humilating except than having your skirt around your waist while in such a human sandwich situation. Say no more. It was fun though. Even with the dirt smeared across our faces. I think I enjoyed this night so much because I really couldn't see. The temporary blindness was of course caused by the afore metioned cocktails. It meant I coundn't see those people who insist on talking to you on a Saturday night and then completely ignore you on any other occasion that doesn't involve copious amounts of drink and poppers. It also meant I couldn't see the rabble of bad hair which I know was going on. It always seems as though too many gays (both genders) are competing to see who has the highest peak, or the widest spikes and generally whose hair is the most ridiculous. Everyone's a winner in that case. I used to be concerned that the peroxide fumes in the gay bar would be enough to have the bar certified a helath hazard but now it's all about product. Hairspray, hair wax, hair gel, sculpting putty, wet look, dry look, ultra textured, firm hold, relaxed hold and even, dare I say hair moose for christ sake. So over used are these hair products that each person who has half a pharmacy on their head must sound a radar before lighting a fag to ensure all other fellow chemical heads vacate the immediate area for fear of sudden blazes. It is also no longer possible to tell when people are trying to loosen their assholes by sniffing the usually vile smelling poppers because with every inhalation now you choke on hair products instead. While I am a strong believer in non fluffy hair, sometimes a person can go too far to try and be Alex 'Fame Academy' Parks.

Aside from the hair so large and pointy that you leave with puncture wounds, and the fact I was thrown so recklessly around, it was a fantastic night, even if I did lose the will to dance when my Britney came on. I was found side-stepping in a corner with limp arms as Lil Red did her best to keep me standing as she pulled off the moves that should only be saved for the privacy of our own living room :-)

And so I go lose myself in my two day hangover with fat sandwiches and buffy and hugs.

Britney Wannabe

11/10/2003 01:59:00 PM

Thursday, November 6

I met Kate Adie yesterday. Actually she said hi and smiled graciously as she wondered who this coloured haired, plastic bangled wearing lesbian was that stood blushing in front of her. Is it wrong to say I found her attractive? Admittedly it was more of a 'jeez she is hot' than a 'my that's a well turned out lady' kind of attraction. Is that so wrong? Well if you consider that Kate Adie must be over sixty then I guess it doesn;t seem logical or moral perhaps. If it helps in my favour she didn't look a day over fifty and the short skirt and the cleavage revealing top that she wore evidenced that the years and gravity have been more than kind to our lesbian icon war correspondant. Maybe my need to gawp at Miss?Ms?Mrs? Adie was more in a 'oh my god a celebrity! In Aberdeen! And she wasn't in Big Brother!' kind of way. Is there any point trying to justify an attraction to a possibly much older woman? In whatever repsect my fascination with Kate and her trademark extreme side shade was, I don't think I have learned how to be 'cool' in front of anyone more famous than me. I don't think the slinking around her table, as she signed her books, was very subtle. Nor was my loud guffawing I took upon myself to do in some vain attempt to be noticed when the grey-haired brigade blocked my view of this lady who could care less. I did notice a crew of fellow gays in the corner acting in a similar manner and then I didn't feel so creepy. Although they were at least over the forty age barrier and didn't look so conspicious fawning over a woman they had probably 'known' in her classically hot days when she was known as a 'phwoar correspondant'. Alas, I am sick. Alas I do not care because now it is lunchtime and there is cheese on the menu. And I have five glorious days off work.

And so I go cheap trouser shopping because I am a sucker for the sweat that polyester musters between the legs. Delicioso.