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


Thursday, November 29

I’ve totally been gigging it up these past few months. I haven’t been to so many gigs since my smelly days where I used to hang around at Union Terrace Gardens getting wasted and twatting around to local bands and sitting on human dog shit on a Saturday afternoon. Good times.

We saw Captain a couple of weeks ago. For no reason other than curiosity, four of us girlies necked some Viagra. The only engorged heads, however, were our massive purple ugly mugs which ensured that we were seen for miles around for a long long time. Beacons? Yes. There was much hotness but not in a fanny tingling way sadly, just in a ‘my face is going to explode’ and it's not going to be pretty kind of way. We were also wasted on the remnants of alcohol we had ‘acquired’ from various sources so by the time Bo and I got to the gig I could barely see, my face was hotter than ring sting and I was close to vomitting. There was approximately 10 people at the gig so we didn’t need to push our way to the front - a slow meander would have sufficed but in our hideously drunken states we danced our way forwards, elbowing whoever we chose to shimmy around en route. You know how when you go to a gig there is always a group of really irritating bastards that flail around like fish out of water and sing the wrong words and bounce inappropriately to the ballads? Yeah, that was us. Even the band, who were within spitting distance, were repulsed; they could probably smell the stale cider on our breath, not to mention the body odour that was emanating from our every pore. A vile sight and smell for sure.

Despite being the drunkest things in life, it was super fun. Although we probably ruined it for everyone else by launching our bodies across the stage and wafting poppers around the tiny room, we at least had a total carry on. I’m sure it wasn’t our fault that all ten gig goers demanded a refund at the end of the gig… really… Yuk, must curb the antisocial gig behaviour.

And so I’m sure my blogger absence has not been noted but jeezo what a mental past few months I’ve had, the contents of which I will no doubt divulge as the journey through my stupid life recommences. All aboard The Glitterqueer Express! The destination is Party Central where it will remain until further notice. You have missed Depressionville, Affrontville, Desperationville, not to mention Violationville but we will have the odd stop off in Smugville where you can enjoy tea and cake and possibly some chips, cheese and garlic sauce. Light refreshments will not be served on board and you will definitely find the toilet to be reaming over with faeces and soiled tampon applicators. I wish you a pleasant and turd filled journey. Mind the gap (in my popper loosened asshole). Toot toot!

And so I go assess how much beans on toast a person can live off before she combusts. Super.

What Rocks

Kings of Leon on Saturday
My hot hot chica
Copious amounts of Bouillon
Cowboy boots
Being a smuggy

What Sucks

My numb bum
My perpetual beaming
Bebo politics
My leggings and white trainer combination… don’t quite know what happened… YUK
Having the biggest phone in life