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, July 31

We all remember our first trip to a gay bar right? I mean I remember not being that bothered and actually quite excited by the whole ordeal but I remember sitting outside the Blue Moon Cafe in Edinburgh at age 17 with my then 'girlfriend' (she lived 560 miles away and I met her twice over the space of two years... hardly grounds for marriage) trying to persuade her to go in. We must have sat there for about an hour with her hanging her head one minute then pacing furiously back and forth the next, being careful not to make eye contact with me or to even brush my person. It was quite a traumatic experience for her and caused a great deal of sweatyness and frustration and I know many people are equally fraught at the prospect of entering homoville. So, when I witnessed someone having a similar trauma last night, sitting in a doorway not 5 meters from the gay bar I felt I should step in and look after the newbie who looked barely legal to babysit and whose entire vocabulary was centred around the word 'nervous'. He was really sweet, and we all felt sorry for him and wanted to make him feel more comfortable than a wrongly inserted tampax which was his state upon entering the bar. This feeling of sympathy for the youngster soon passed however as he attempted to take the piss with his excessive freeloading, requesting (not even waiting to be offered, how rude) drinks and smokes from each of us in turn. I thought we were even going to have to slip him a pound for his bus fare and pack him onto the last bus at eleven. After a sympathy pull went wrong we managed to lose him and watched as he attempted tp emerse himself, checked shirt an' all, into the 'fabulous' life of a homo. I'm sure he'll be back in a couple months with overly waxed hair, bootcuts and a wrist limper than his dick wasn't on Friday night. Aw bless. Will reserve my sympathy for a needier cause in future :-)

Anyway, as expected we did go to the new bar. Were the toilets up to Fee's standard? Was the decor tasteful and velvet-free? I couldn't say. Not only had the sambuca clouded all judgement and vision but we were in the club for a maximum of 20 seconds, long enough to see the a whole four familar faces crowded round a tiny table and not much else. This was at 12am. Hardly too early for dancing. So we went up to Indigo where thankfully there were more patrons than staff. It was swell. Some dancing, some friends and some poppers. I hate poppers. I hate people that sniff the vile 'room freshner' on the dance floor and force you to inhale their second hand snorts. I hate the way the make you want to jump around like a twat with your face screwed up like you are taking a dump. I hate how you become a people magnet as soon as they see the familiar lump in your pocket and you are forced to pass them from snotty nose to snotty nose. But despite this, everytime the vodka or cheap wine kicks in, so does the need to inhale this legal substance in public and all of the things you hate about poppers becomes a reality once again. Every morning after it's like, 'oh I didn't did I?' And then you get the texts mocking your (and their) humiliating 'dancing' while in the process of losing a few thousand brain cells. I think the only solution is to ditch the alcohol and to stick to the popper free side of the dancefloor and not succumb to peer pressure. Ha. Eliminating the alcohol from my diet would also stop the severe retching I do every morning after which is so violent I think my fanny will come out of my mouth one time. It's just not right

Nevermind, while not hungover today, having been in bed before crap evening TV stopped last night, I have been in some weird cleaning frenzy. Having a house at your disposal for too long does tend to mean a tonne of hoovering, bog scrubbing and floor washing. It's the last day of my holidays and I'm more than gutted to be going back to work. At least I have a new home to look forward to and no more poopy bums to wash. It also means that I will again have no regular internet connection until that friggin lap top decides to make a reappearance. I wont be able to update very often and more annoying, I wont be able to read all my favourite blogs. And I was really enjoying that the past 2 weeks. Not to worry, something will sort out I'm sure. I have a friend who has a friend who may have a laptop I can borrow... Would you lend me, queen of viruses, your expensive equpiment?? Yeah that's what I thought.

And so I go re attach my hair extensions (I'm thinking sellotape is the answer...) while trying not to skid head first out the back door due to excess soap on that damn brush. Maid service!

PS Booty Puffy Mare (if you still read this), we saw you on Friday but before we got the chance to say hey you had quite literally staggered off...

Britney Wannabe

7/31/2004 04:42:00 PM

Friday, July 30

After the two weeks we lesbos have had we definitely are in need of some serious ass shaking.  And where else to perform such jiggly butt movements but in the oh so spectacular gay bar.  Was it just me or did you also smell the sarcasm there?   Although, I've heard that there are now 2 gay bars rather than the lowly 1.  Oh stop it, you re spoiling us. 

The new gay bar is called Club Caberfeidh which just screams velvet, old poofs and gold fixtures.  However those, who like my old self, have been tottering in and out of Aberdeen's gay scene for more than 6 years will recognise that we have been there done that.  Club Caberfeidh was a haven for the above mentioned decor and I have repeated flashbacks of myself and my non gay friend spinning around the dance floor in bad checked trousers and wooly jumpers to the Spice Girls and Sl2 On a Ragga trip.  Oh and also of my non gay friend kissing all the boys while I sat loner-like in the corner kissing nobody.  Not really memories to be repeated 6 or so years on I'd say but clearly not everyone thinks so seeing as it's making some sort of comeback.  It's in a different place this time however.  It's under Hotel Metro where usually you can grab a granny or a take a fist to the face, whichever you prefer.  Hardly the setting for a bunch of homos skipping and smashing around is it?  But as I have not yet been it's hardly fair to make assumptions...  No doubt I'll end up there tonight (yes ok it's true I tried to go on Monday only be told any day is gay except Monday) and no doubt I'll be horrified and outraged over the state of the toilets and the dancefloor but hell you just gotta give these things a go.  Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised, maybe I'll walk in and it wont be wall to wall scene queens and butches that look like they want to rip your hair out.  Maybe even there will be room for more than 6 people to dance at once and maybe, just maybe, there will even be bar staff who will serve you even though you are sans cock.  Maybe the amount of vodka I drink will ensure it's fabulous whatever happens.  And of course no doubt however much vodka I drink I will spend a good hour with my head down the toilet as my gut rejects the intake of alcohol yet again.  God I prey for a clean toilet.  No poops in pint glasses please ladies.

And so I go prepare a lining in my stomach with all sorts of goodies which will ensure I get a vomitfree hour when the vodka is released into my system.  Yum delicious.


Britney Wannabe

7/30/2004 02:16:00 PM

Thursday, July 29

I've been up to my chubby elbows in dog turd for the past two days.  It's not anymore pleasant than it sounds.  A large dog with a terrible dose of the gary glitters.  It's all too much. 

After trailing around 146 flea infested, over priced flats, we found ourselves a flat with the potential to be beautiful.  Yes really.  This momentous occurance happened on Friday evening and set us up for a fabulous weekend.  No more would we have to trail from one end of the city to the other making pleasantries with arrogant estate agents and vile tennants.  Never again would we have to witness the decorating disasters mascarading as tasteful decor.  We could finally just retreat to the back garden with some bacardi twist, a Prayer for Owen Meany and some suntan lotion (factor 30 even in the pathetic Aberdeen 'heat').  Ah the mere thought.

Of course I should have known this was too good to be true.  We awoke on hangover day number 2 to be greeted with a total poo party.  In all my years as a dog owner I have never witnessed such carnage.  Two hours and a clean kitchen and a wiped dog arse later came the repeat performance which laid the foundations for the next two days.  My god there really is no rest for the wicked.  So rather than the peaceful relaxing week we had planned we've been running after the dog with a bucket and mop begging him not to wipe the excess on the carpet and to save it for the easier to clean lino.  Needless to say my days of late have been less glittery and more skittery and I cannot close my eyes without seeing wet dollops of shit.  And the smell...  It's time to stop.

Today was less brown however and definitely more pink and purple tinged as we headed to the hardware shop to stock up on more shades of my favourite colours than I knew existed.  Our new home is going to be so pretty.  I am getting my pink wall once again (although I think that line has been drawn at the sparkle topcoat) and the walls will play host to our new framed Eliza Dusku and Carrie posters.  I'm so glad my Lil Red has the same fabulous taste in women as I do and has no objections to displaying our women so publicly.  And of course my Britney will get prime position in the purple living room as always.  The life of a Britney lovin' lesbo is ace.

And so I go stretch out those too-small rubber gloves and arm myself with soap and kitchen roll in preparation for the teatime walk.  Aint life sweet?

Today's Likes

Sainsbury's chocolate muesli. Nothing quite like it
My pups, bless them and their dirty backsides
Big Brother's Nadia. Funnier than Fee in a frock
My craft girl
Get up Stand Up by Stellar Project

Today's Dislikes

Ironing my hair extensions. Definitely not something that is rocking my world
Fluffy haircuts
Trips to the vet with the noisiest dog in the world
Holidays that are never long enough
Friends with more faces than I have chins
Michelle Big Brother. Just stop talking, please

Britney Wannabe

7/29/2004 05:26:00 AM

Thursday, July 22

I looked forward to my two-week holidays with the excitement I usually reserve for the cheeseboard after a meal but unfortunately things have not worked out as we hoped.  First off I get food poisoning within 2 days which has seen me vomit almost twice my body weight and has ensured I cannot even unscrew the vodka cap without a good old bout of projectile spew.  Secondly, I think I'll have this two weeks to laze around and finally get some bloody well needed sleep only to discover, on the same day, that the flat we currently live in has been sold and the flat we were promised we could move into has fallen through.  We now have approximately 3 weeks to find a new abode and get moved in.  Needless to say that this has resulted in too much running around looking at too many minky flats. As a result of this my sleep is all fucked once again and my energy levels are more depleted than ever and in dire need of some actual stress-less sleep which I just cannot get.  It's just not cool. 

The 2 weeks my girl and I have looked forward to for months have been ruined, as has our planned trip abroad at the start of September which we can no longer afford to go on so you could say I'm pretty pissed.  If we could walk into one semi-decent flat and say hey we could make this fabulous then things would seem less bleak but it's just not happening.  I've seen more vile flats in the past 2 days than I have seen Buffy episodes.  I have been on more buses in the past 2 days than Kenny the local bus spotter and I'm about ready to pop.  Why oh why do people insist on renting out dirty, badly decorated flats?  I'm fed up of cheap blue and red paint and green fucking carpets, it's just not on.  What makes it acceptable to show someone around a flat that has more dust than a virgin's arse crack?  And what the hell is with all the terracota?  What makes burnt orange such a popular choice with home owners? 

The 'best' one we saw today was so embarrassing I'm temtped to publish the address.  The cooker looked properly skidmarked as did the crusty boxers that littered the floor.  It stank of body odour disguised as lynx and the sofa had years worth of takeaways stuffed in every crevice.  That wasn't however the flat that had the hanging basket chair complete with purple velvet cushion which on first inspection had us blushing, thinking we had walked into a bondage chamber.   There should be a law against chairs that substitute light fittings.

All in all it has been a very unproudctive few days and I fear my frustrations with people's idea of tasteful decor will spill over as they continue to have patterned wall paper and stained carpets and try to charge you £400 a month for the privalege of such atrocities. 

Nevermind, 53 down 1987543572 to go. Oh the joys of trailng around this godforsaken town in actual heat searching a flat that does not exist.  Oh the sweaty Fee.

Today's Likes

Laminate flooring (none of which I have seen so far)
Flats suitable for dancematting in
Saturday night... by hook or by crook I WILL keep that vodka down
Looking after my pups altho all that dog turd is making me queasy
All this time with my girl :-)

Today's Dislikes - Oh where to start

Dead beasts on windowsills
No heating. Eh, why not?
Selfish 'friends'
That Chinese we had last nite... yowser
Rude estate agents in their stupid cars
The assumption made by everyone that one of us will be sleeping in the living room. Oh smell the lesbo



Britney Wannabe

7/22/2004 04:46:00 PM

Friday, July 9

I hate a random cling on as much as I hate those people who publicly burst into song with no good reason or warning but yet I still seem to attract these randoms like the proverbial flies to shit (yeah yeah). No matter where I am, no matter who I am with, there's always someone comletely unwelcome flocking to my side. Usually it's the homeless or the drunken fuckered types it has to be said, like the guy the other day who chased me down the road because I wouldn't take his 'lucky' penny which was laden with what looked like turd from him. He made sure it was rush hour so every bus shelter was full to capacity and beyond before launching into an unintelligible tirade as I scurried along, pink and ashamed in my stupid shoes which make a hasty getaway impossible. Damn those impractical shoes. Will I never learn? The broken bones say clearly not.

Also, every time I venture out I always seem to stumble upon someone who recognises me from school. Of course that means they must grab me, pull me in all directions in some faux 'I love you' kinda of way and tell me how good it it is to see me as I'm left scrambling for air and a name. I finally remember who they are (4 years older, 6 years younger) and also remember never having exchanged a single word with them, ever. Yet here they are despereate to tell me bout their fabulous new boyfriend, their children and how they work in an office and shag the boss. Touched as I am to have these complete strangers reveal their lives to me, why choose me? Because I have a friendly, inviting face? I'm quite sure not, so what is it? Because they think in all their skinny and tannedness they are better than me? Maybe. But most likely it's because I will sit there and listen to their crap, take it all in, gasp and guffaw at appropriate intervals and even stroke their pregnant guts when instructed. God I really do bring this on myself don't I?

I didn't however bring on the ugliest fucker in the world who approached us last week. Four lesbos nursing pints and chatting about hot girls are just minding their own busniess when ugly dreadlock guy with a face larger than this ego and teenage acne to boot comes over and throws himself ontop of my bag, busting my CD player in the process with his polyester clad arse, and starts throwing these hideous chat up lines around and asking for our dating advice. It was so repulsive but as usual I'm at a total loss for things to say, not wanting to encourage the ugly nor wanting to draw attention to ourselves in the middle of a very crowded bar. I don't know why these deplorable people find it acceptable (even funny) to approach strangers and try and infiltrate conversations that clearly do not concern them. What's the point? Am I missing something or am I just anti social and not all embracing when it comes to vile men whose boners threaten to burst the stitching on their cheap trousers. There really is no need so stop bothering me creeps, whether my face accidently knotted in a scowl invites you or not.

Man that was a mammoth rant. Longer than my hair at present. It just seems like a waste of time to have to listen to people who have gotten themselves too fucked ranting on to me about themselves when I sadly have no interest in them (and they me, were they sober enough to reliase it). Grrr.

Today's Likes

Brain Krakow (my so called life) in Tru Calling sans mega hair
5 more work days then 2 weeks holiday
15 hours sleep
Buffy in bed... ;-)

Today's Dislikes

Barefeet in the workplace. There's just no need.
That damn lense in my glasses that keeps popping out at the most inappropriate times
Unadorned wrists
Becki, Jason, Big Brother wanks
The blotches that central heating brings out. Patchy.