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


Saturday, January 31

Body Parts and Wet Patches

Our living room was transformed into a dance floor, a wrestling ring and a skate park on Friday night as we break danced (rolled on our backs with legs akimbo), battered each other and used the furniture to pull off skate moves with invisble skateboards. What on earth? I can't really explain what the hell happened though am guessing that vodka had a lot to do with it. One minute we are almost civlilly sipping vodka through a straw and catching up and before anyone could say, 'Good day at work?' Gobby Bobby has everyone spinning around on the floor and calling it breakdancing. I broke a nail. Does that count? Somehow this turned into an excuse for a wrestle. Four grown women grabbing at each others' chubby bits and clawing at any available stretch of material. Then the body slamming started. All tums were suddenly free from the confines of material and there was just this shock of skin and bellybuttons flying around. I don't think it was particularly attractive or very lesbo erotic but it gave the neighbours a good show as we bellyflopped all over the place, and each other, in front of the huge window like overgrown children.

Once we could no longer slap and grapple, J Bo busted out that damn Celion Dion CD and treated us all to her scratchy power ballad version while drapped in toilet roll and clutching a wooden flower for added effect. Everytime. Even the Weslife CD was more bearable than this.

Of course a party wouldn't be a party without J Bo and I performing our classic rendition of The Lift which was more Dollop Dancing than Dirty Dancing. It's one of these things that happens around the ninth vodka mark and as soon as I holler, "The Lift! The Lift" everyone groans and no one whoops and gives us the well deserved round of applause they used to the first 45 times we pulled it off. Disappointing. I did try for a picture of that one but no photographer could ever capture the beauty of our lift.

I can't really say what else happened, mainly because after double vision Sex and the City (2 Carries, yes please, 2 Mirandas, no thanks) everything aside from the wrestling and the wrestling rematch has been lost to the vodka. But I do know that I haven't had so much fun in ages despite being slightly disturbed by the chick pawing. Wrestling?? Come on...

Today, three days after the event, I still look and feel like a smoky turd but as for my Lil Red, what a shape she is in . All that girl on girl on girl on girl action and the fact that she dragged herself around on her elbows like human slug for a good proportion of the evening ensured that consequent she is more bruise than skin. I've heard that The Gobby One is suffering from imobility in the same way I am suffering insomnia due to the all over body ache and the flashbacks. Cool.

Anyway, I must go and try and regain any dignity I did indeed lose on that fateful night. Am sure I will find in sandwiched in between Lil Red's boobs and Gobby's baggy ass. I mean the jeans honey :-)

Enjoy the freak show which has been magnified by the water in the camera and that due to the shite quality of the photos we are are featureless and/or deformed. Yes it is the cameras fault...

Legs and Thongs
Why do I have to be the photographer?
I never really thought of J Bo as an ass wipe before
You can put my picture on your site as long as you hide my identity said a J Bo
But Lil Red! You got the wrong girl.
Classic J Bo
When do you start filming for The Ring 2?

Britney Wannabe

1/31/2004 05:34:00 PM

Friday, January 30

Here's photos of my before and after tattoo which originally was a source of mockery for miss fee and is probably now still a source of mockery for miss fee but I feel a lot more comfortable with this one at least. Beautiful Boy designed it in New York and I almost got it done by the guy who tattooed Vin Diesel and Johnny Depp... Being my uncool luck it was his day off however and I got inked and chatted up by Robbie instead. Fee chatted up by a man? Yes it's actually true. He wanted to take me out and was gutted with my revelation that I prefered girls and was in no way bisexual. He didn't talk to me much after that but he was the gentlest tattoist I have ever met despite being a tad sulky cos I love the ladies too.

The dreaded tank girl 'design'...

Mass of black cover up...

Britney Wannabe

1/30/2004 02:43:00 PM

Thursday, January 29

There’s this really weird guy claiming to be a celibate priest who harasses people in the street for money for his charitable cause which as far as I can see is himself. He’s been on the scene for years and like a sneaky fart he always comes from nowhere when you are least expecting it. This man has no shame, little personality and a huge attitude. I don’t know what his claimed cause is; he changes it every time he speaks to you, forgetting he has already insulted you 18 times that day. The only consistent part is that he is a celibate priest which he tells you at least twice before insisting you give him your notes to fund his spiritual journey to Tibet, Malaysia, Dundee, the nearest pub or up his arse which is his favoured destination. If you don’t give him any or enough he insults you to your face then very audibly slags you off to the next person he speaks to you. This man is an utter annoyance and yesterday my experience with him was no more pleasant than his being as a whole. It went a little something like this:

Celibate Priest storms up slushy road to invade my personal space while I’m using the bank machine. When I tell him I’m not interested because he does this every year, which he strenuously denies, he launches into a tirade of abuse finishing his embarrassing, rather loud rant with, “Fine, don’t bother. Spend your money on drugs and loose men.” What on earth? Could he be a worse judge of character? I don’t do drugs and I don’t do men, loose or otherwise. I should have given him the universal sign for pussy licker but I feared this would lead him into a rant about the disgust of homosexuality so I was left speechless as he flicked his beanie and stormed off to moan about me to his next unsuspecting victim who turned out his pockets to the creep.

I don’t know how he can get away with talking to people like that because we don’t comply with his demands. What he does is nothing short of begging. Although beggars may utter the odd obscenity if you don’t drop 2p in their McDonalds cups, at least they are usually too fucked to chase after you in the way Celibate Priest does, completely humiliating you in the process. I don’t know any charity that would take responsibility for this man and if they did I’m sure they’d be disgusted to know the way in which he carries out his ‘work’. He is like a sticky turd that you just can’t scrape off your shoe; he just won’t shift.

He gets thrown out of bars because everyone complains about him but no one seems to do anything about him in the street and he is free to degrade you and/or stalk you and completely piss you off. He only seems to hang around in the Belmont Street area, the kinda cool, studenty area which is probably because he knows that go anywhere else and he’d get a kicking for being so vulgar and obnoxious.

So, if you haven’t come across Mr Attitudinal Needs a Cock up his Ass, you are quite likely to do so in the coming weeks and please let’s try and shake him off once and for all this year so we don’t have to listen to his tripe again next year.

Today’s Likes

3 days off work, glorious
Odour eaters, what a treat
A day off on Sat with Lil Red
New café on Little Belmont Street, Kiloh
Pot Pouri, more flavour than healthy crisps

Today’s Dislikes

People who don’t wash their hands after they pee/poo, sick
Jean scuff in the snow
Flaky lips…
Brown snow
Powerbook – Jeanette Winterson but I must reach the end… what a masochist

Britney Wannabe

1/29/2004 03:33:00 PM

Wednesday, January 28

The offending lesbian shoe of death which I will no doubt lose in the four inches of snow we now have.

Not only will I lose my dangerous walking attire but it's highly likely all feeling in my feet will disappear also.

Britney Wannabe

1/28/2004 08:25:00 AM

Monday, January 26

My chest has never had so much unwanted attention as it has the past few days. Of course it’s entirely my own fault because lately I have been feeling decidedly podgy which has meant that my entire wardrobe of fabulous skirts and cute tops is off limits. Even my ‘comfort’ fat clothes which are usually 3 sizes too massive are cutting me no slack and so all I am able to squeeze into is my cords which make my ass look like two old pillows and a manly oversized T shirt which was given out free in order to promote a series of children’s books. Now on everyone else, this T shirt hangs looser than a pensioner’s jowls but on me it fits just about right, not fair. Anyway, it reads, ‘Read Something Else’ on the front and on the back, ‘A Series of Unfortunate Events’. However, because I am feeling all self conscious about my 8 bellies I wear an open fleece because my guts will not allow closure. It just occurred to me today that it’s probably inappropriate work wear because you can only read the front. Of course everyone translates it as, ‘read something else, not my chest’ although by having it scrawled across my boobs everyone automatically does stare at my chest. Had it not been nightshirt sized it would have looked like a cheeky Top Shop number that I would never have considered buying but on me it just looks like fatty in a homemade shirt.

I’ve never had ‘chest attention’ and it’s definitely not something I welcome and wonder how girls with massive paps or girls who are all nipple and no tit cope with such attention. I swear I have had dirty looks from disapproving mothers and sneaky grins from approving fathers who feel now they are invited to look at my regular boobs legitimately. Of course I could just stop wearing it as then I would not need to worry that my boobs escaping over the top of my bra can be seen through the cheap material but unfortunately my options are completely limited right now, unless I want to be seen in those tie dye skirts and woolly cardigans I was so fond of in my even larger, pre-uni days when all I was concerned about was Nirvana, Merrydown cider, coloured DMs and not getting battered by the ‘ravers’. Those were the days. Now all I am concerned about is accentuated fannies, global bums, Britney and Burberry wearing Neds. None of which helps my need for clothes to cover my awkward bulges. Now that I have cut out wheat from my huge diet in a bid to erase my chronic fatigue once and for all I am reluctant to buy new, bigger clothes, hoping that removing all the breads and pastas will aid in the removal of flab. If you see me in a few weeks and I am still lumbering around in my freebie T-shirt you will know the not-as-painful as originally expected wheat free diet is not aiding my chub-loss. However, if I am skipping around in my special skirts or in trousers that are not burst at the seams, you will know that it has been a success and I have lost a fraction of my excess body. Am keeping everything painfully crossed and out of the bread bin in anticipation of getting out of this damn, over-washed shirt.

And so I go prepare for the gay wedding of next year which is sure to full be of grandeur, i.e. poppers and an Elvis impersonator.

Today’s Likes

Multiple Lil Red hugs
Dark Angel, where have you been all our life
Baked sweet potatoes
Cutting out snowflakes in anticipation of the impending snow
Freshly painted nails
The smell of blown-dry hair

Today’s Dislikes

My hair which looks bedraggled and spiral permy
UK Queer Eye, although it hasn’t started I just know it will be shite
Hollyoaks, kill Helen Cunningham
My filthy oven which just smoked out our entire flat
My cleaning frenzy wife who forgot to clean the filthy oven :-)

Britney Wannabe

1/26/2004 08:21:00 PM

Friday, January 23

So I promised Amber Benson photos. I had to violently scrub out my face because everything about it ruined a good photo. Now that my beloved lap top has been returned to me, fully interneted, I don't have to rely on emailing my blog from the TV or on my dad's ultra slow connection. It's so all good.

Britney Wannabe

1/23/2004 01:51:00 PM

Wednesday, January 21

I got caught with fist wedged about 4 inches up my nose last night. I was just about at the bridge giving it my all when a flicker of light caught the corner of my eye. As I turned my head right I saw at least 3 people staring out th window across from us pointing and beckoning for more to join them and view the amazing sight they were witness to. I don't know how long i had been at it but by the way they were lighting up fags and pulling up chairs I guess it must have been quite some time.

I forget that the only problem with being a voyeur in a block of flats is that generally, if you can see them, they can see you. Considering the nose assault and the rather offensive walkin around in hideous underwear after having forgotten to draw the blind I feel my behaviour has been a great deal less acceptable than that of most of my neighbours who like a closed blind as much a i do.

It is refeshing to note that I am not the most dull person in the world as originally thought after seeing that two of our neighbours come home and are in their pyjamas quicker than you can say,'peeping tom'. Is it exciting to see strange girls in their dressing gowns? Sadly there is nothing erotic about a dressing gown even when you know there is zip all under it. They are about as flattering as jump suits.

Of all the time I spend people watching I have yet to see nudity (men in pants and men with tops off is not included because that seems second nature around here) or anything sexual (no, man in underwear and woman in dressing gown groping each other with the sexual energy of dead moths is definitely not eroticl, especially considering the amount of body hair they had between them).

The most disturbing thing I hve seen is a woman with a wig using a sit up machine. When I saw the heavy gut contracting I thought I was looking in a mirror but after a hard 10 minute session I knew this not to be the case. Even from about 50 ft I could feel her sweat rolling off her now make-up free face which formed congealed clumps on her overstuffed reebok Tshirt. I think she got to 40 sit ups in that time which is 37 more than I would have done.

And so I go lick the windows clean as I perv on completely suspecting people wearing towelling.

Aint life sweet?

Britney Wannabe

1/21/2004 06:53:00 PM

Saturday, January 17

It really is time to give up on my shoes. My favoured type of shoe, of which I have 6 varities, is a flat soled mule. They don't sound appealing by that description but they are cool. You know the ones you get for like ?20 and they have a sole about a half cm thick? Oh and every person that sees you in them asks why you are wearing your slippers. You know the ones I mean now? They are lazy person shoes and sit cool with any trousers. My best pair are my pink and furry ones which are so like slippers that they probably are. However, these shoes do not allow me to walk faster than a pensioner on downers because if I do walk at a normal person pace I walk out of them, like the time I got on the tube and one slipper stayed on the platform and was stampeded by rush hour workers. I lost her to the Northern line. Also, because the shoes are so cheap and so very summery, the sole is fully smooth and has been my downfall twice lately. The first occasion I may have told you about, if I dared type through the humiliation. I was in the cooler of our shopping centres, avioding the snow shower outside and casually passing AB10 and the ginger crystal lady who always looks at me oddly when I I lost control of my mule and fell on my knees, skidding forward and knocking passer bys flying for miles. As if this wasn't shameful enough I then could not get up because the floor was so slushy and had to crawl forward to push myself up on my elbows on the door mat to the soundtrack of laughing crystal lady and her gay mates. Not cool. Anyway, I should have learned that my mules are no more suitable in wet weather than polythene bags but alas, I am a sucker for punishment. Yesterday I suffered a similar incident in the hands of R S Bloody McColls. So much of a hurry was I in to get my breakfast bar that I just couldn't handle the wet tiles and there was nothing I could do but wait for the hilarity and the crack of my ass to fall out by 4 inches. It wouldn't have been quite so tragic if I didn't have a completely heel-less sock on which with backless shoes is clearly not the done thing. SO there I was face on the ground with ten pounds of crack oozing everywhere and one great big hard skinned heel on view to the masses with my Lil Red creased up in agony at the state of her girlfriend. She managed to just scoop me up by my belt loops as she threw claims of skidding the length of the shop around. And people say I'm the one who exagerrates...

And so the shoes which are actually as about as comfortable as a nail ridden dildo must go and I will venture out of the house in no shoes which do not have grips a tyre, could it feel human emotion, would be jealous of.

Today's Likes

Going to see Britney with all my buds
Twister Moves, impossible by the way
Poached eggs and oatcakes
Kelis - Milkshake
Funny Boy - Selvadurai
Carol - Patricia Highsmith

Today's Dislikes

Smelly bangles
The unusually wavy side of my hair
Your Face Or Mine
Curry gut
My stubby, poorly painted nails

Britney Wannabe

1/17/2004 07:16:00 PM

Friday, January 16

Anyone interested in 4 tickets to see Britney in Glasgow in April? I have 4 spare because I am impatient.

Britney Wannabe

1/16/2004 10:07:00 AM

Thursday, January 15

I am so 24 going on 74. This revelation came to my attention as I lay in bed, stuffed my ears with foam plugs, dabbed my pressure points with lavendar, snapped on my sleeping mask and switched the light out at 9.30pm. I am one step away from a blue rinse. The only things I am missing are the varicose veins, a loose wig, low boobs and the over use of grey and brown in my wardrobe. I already have the humpf in my spine through years of being too lazy to stand up right, I persistently moan about irrelevant things and I have selected deafness. I just hope that the need to wear a panty liner in case of dangerous sneezes does not happen any time soon. I also hope that I do not smell faintly or urine or stale scones.

Oh poor Lil Red. Isn't she going out with the master of fun?

Britney Wannabe

1/15/2004 12:01:00 PM

Monday, January 12

Woo hoo. I have a theme party on the horizon! We haven't informed everyone yet (so if you are reading this prior to the text, don't be alarmed) and I hope they will be as up for it as us. How could you not be up for a Village People Party? Who in their right mind would turn down the chance to don a handle-bar moustache, tight men's clothing and massive 1980s shades? I am so the construction worker. I can't wait to slip into my dirty tapered jeans, huge boots, a lumberjack shirt and manly white vest. And not forgetting big yellow hardhat. Oh I can just smell the testosterone already. I think I will pack my pants with a pair of joggers. Big McFee. And who else do we have? The police officer. That is so my Lil Red, squeezing into a tight-fitted, low buttoned navy shirt and polyester slacks. Oh baby. Beautiful Boy is the dude in leather (official name?). Any excuse for butt-less chaps. Who will the gentleman transform himself into? Oh a sailor. I can see him manouvering his package into his skinny white flares with his little cap balancing on his fragile peak. And who else is there? I forget. I am convinced there is an Office Worker, but maybe I'm inventing that so Queen of Fun and Gypsy Frills Anon have no excuse to not come. Oh wouldn't that be fun if we all went as our own professions... This is what we'd have, A Bookseller, A Visual Merchandiser, two Bankers (I said Bankers), two Office Workers, a Fashion Designer, a DJ, a Property Developer/Cafe Worker, a Costa girl and whatever everyone else does. Maybe not. What would be the fun and where would the moustaches be?

Or maybe we could have a fantasy job party... Who would we have in attendance there?? An Editor, A Set Designer, A Funeral Director, Professional Party Boy, Britney's 'Fluffer', Qualified Queen, Jordan's Panty Sniffer, Ladies Wrestling Coach, Fatty Food Tester, Butt Double, Sex Slave. The list is endless and ridiculous so I will go try and remember the rest of the Village People while shaking my booty to YMCA which is on permanent repeat in my head and I keep lunging into a Y with my long arms before I realise that it's definitely not appropriate or at all inconspicous at this present moment.

Here's a gentle reminder of what we got so far, construction worker, police officer, dude in leather, sailor, indian, cowboy. Help me complete the gay crew.

And so I go ponder over which shade of denim construction worker Fee would look best in. Stonewash, Classic Mummy Blue or Over Washed Black. Long live the taper!

Britney Wannabe

1/12/2004 10:15:00 AM

Thursday, January 8

The monstrous locks have been chopped though not yet tamed!

I got a clean 6 inches whacked off my barnet and now instead of looking like Aslan I look more like Wurzel Gummidge. Actually It's one of the best hair cuts I have had and my scarecrow like appearance only manifested itself today after being caught in the rain which does no ones with hair any good. Considering it was the quickest hair cut I have ever experienced (no head massages and friendly banter for me) I was very surprised with the results, as I think was the unfamiliar hairdresser.

Not being able to get an appointment with my regular girl who inconsiderately decided to take a holiday on the one day a year I decide to get off my ass and get my unruly hair cut, i put the fate of my hair into the hands of a random. As soon as I walked in the door, only an hour before they were due to close, I saw the faces of my cutter and her junior hit the ground faster than I could say, 'bush'. I knew they were thinking, 'That long haired twatt should have booked a morning appointment and maybe we'd be finished by close'. The personal service I received suffered for my not realising that my huge hair was keeping them from vodka and anything not work related. Fair enough. It defiintely worked in my hair's favour however as no sooner had I been whapped under the tap rougher than a prepubescent boy clutching at chuff for the first time, than my hair was about a metre shorter, styled the way I had hastily asked and laden with more product than I'd dare ever use in a lifetime. My initail shock at the shortness was short lived as I realised my now 'mid-length' hair was still long enough to ensure there was no breeze on my neck. It's still a very cold winter here after all. And so the lack of chat, being rugged around by my ear piercings and almost having all my extensions torn out in the haste to get 'mighty hair' out the door was well worth it and I even exceeded payment by more than was appropriate, if only to relieve my guilt for keeping them from people who were not me.

And so I go rejoice in my at the moment very triangular hair while sucking on that absess in my gum. Delisioso!

Britney Wannabe

1/08/2004 07:37:00 PM

Saturday, January 3

Amber Benson aka Tara from Buffy was well worth the fourth and a half hour wait in minus degree temperatures.  Even though I almost started a fight with teenage, attitudinal queue jumpers, in particular the pubeless wonder who was gayer than Graham Norton and huffed and puffed like he had ten thick cocks up his tight little ass.  My god, if his mouth had not been so filled with metal I would have considered smacking his acne ridden face.  I have never met such a wanker in my entire life.  Granted he is a 'fucking teenager' but I think his repressed homosexuality was playing havoc with his manners and he was so not in line, not only to see Amber but he was so not in that line when they were handing out personalities to be pleased about.  What a cock.  No one loves a queue jumper but these kids were something else.  They were basically calling up their friends to come join them when everyone else for miles behind them had been there for 3 hours longer than they had.  They used the bravado of speaking to the clearly massive Buffy fan in front of me who was on his own, went to the same school as them and whom they obviously all picked on.  They totally berated this kid's whole being because he wasn't as cool as they all thought they were because they had holes in their jumpers, wore ear muffs and swore.  They just totally bullied him and wouldn't move, even though he told them to fuck off, even though I nearly smacked that limp dicked twatt and even though finally the staff asked them a bit too politely for them to shift.  As annoyed as I was I suppose all the excitement did help pass the long hours.  But I swear when I do see that dick in all his corduroy glory out in the gay bar, he will never pull anyone without an STD.  Actually, unless he loses his major attitude he will manage that all by himself.

This wasn't actually supposed to be a rant about the greasey haired poof with the bogey on his cords but as per usual I just can't help but moan.  So, apologies and onto the good stuff.  Wow that girl was hot.  Hotter than I could ever have imagined. And she was too sweet.  She had proper chat to make with everyone, even they guy I dragged along who was about as interested in a lesbo witch as I am a gay bodybuilder.  I was shocked at how petite she was, all over.  I thought I could sneak her into my pocket and no one would have noticed, except maybe her equally hot sister who I suspect (or just hope?) was a friend of Dorothy.

I wanted a picture of the lovely girl and for some reason I decided to get my large body in too so I have this truly beautiful picture of Amber Benson and then there's me, all big and lumpy and squint smiled trying not to wet myself cos she had her arm around me.  The truly awful photo of me did make me realise that this mane of ass tickling hair has got to go.  And so after a sleepless night, I called the hairdresser which is where I am heading in about 10 minutes.  I need a new style.  Actually I just need a style.  SO thank you Amber for making me realise, one just how massive I really am and two, that I currently am Aslan's body double.

If only to just stop thinking about that woman for a minute.

And so I go look for pictures of possible hair styles to ensure I do not get a bowl cut, a surprise perm or end up looking like Martina Navratalova.