Thursday, September 16, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
What the fuck is the point of sanitary pads? Can somebody please enlighten me?
Arguably, for known reasons, they do have a use, I guess.
I know when I have had an operation "down there" and have been probed by horrible steel pointy things, where I had absolutely no concept of the extent the horrific-ness was, until I saw the full length home made dvd version the doctors made, (the drugs were really good, so was the price tag)… Granted, the pads are useful then. Being that there would be no way in hell, after a gynecological invasion, with unfamiliar tools shoved inside your 'wimin's bits' you would want to stick a tampon up your twat.
(I should leave out the pro choice bit here - as I'm pretty sure you would want to use a pad for that)
But seriously. Apart from the handy after the, operation bit… is there any other use? you can't tell me that a tampon doesn't preserve the hymen, because we all know it does.
As a serial tampon offender/user for most of my menstruating life, I can not tell you how fucking angry and despairing one feels, after checking into an airport, and going through customs, which I always encounter issues with, feeling like Pre menstrual shit.
At first thinking it's a tummy ache, then realizing it's cramps, and having a flight at a time when there is absolutely no shops open, bar some overly expensive duty free shop selling perfume, cheapish fags and shitty repackaged chocolates. The only other option being some shitty snack shop posing as a semi 7/11, but had no tampons to be seen, no where to even buy a pad. The airport didn't even have a doodad machine in the women's toilets which dispensed the nappy pad (must be terrorism).
Ok so, you start to bleed like a stuck pig just after they have called the plane to board (you're about 20 rows away at this point, it's all sequential you know).You have precisely two precious tampons left, but you know it's not going to make the 24 hour long journey you have to get home… you hope to whoever and whatever that there will be an 'appropriate' shop open which sells female sanitary products at some inevitable mid point layover on the way home.
So, after the first long leg of the journey pained with want-to-make-you-die cramps, you finally get to the transfer airport. You walk around in a somnambulist daze because you've had intermittent sleep, punctuated with bad adam sandler movies, or at best shitty interrupted sleep beside some fat white person who smells, takes up half your seat on the plane and wants to pee a lot. A plane which is pretty much designed for small people (it's an Asian airline - their staple diet is rice). On your slightly anxious way (mainly because you feel it's poor form to seep blood all over your hired seat), your first and foremost endeavor is to find someone who sells FEMALE SANITARY PRODUCTS on the layover.
In the transit airport, you lackadaisically steer your hand luggage trolley around with your copious amounts of carry on luggage (the heavy stuff you can't check, disguised in smaller bags they don't care about). In a fucked up vague, sleep deprived state (with many bad asian/english conversations that go nowhere) you eventually find a chemist/pharmacy/drug store… the only shop where they sell the 'products' to stem the fucking mass hemorrhaging.
I is overjoyed because so far the tide of red has been stemmed with the available choices on hand to soak up the blood i.e the chippy two tampons I possessed. Most pointedly, I did not want to resort to wadding great stacks of paper towels into my underwear to do the last 12 hours of the journey, as from experience, we know that never works.
I get directed to the chintzy shitty little beauty shop… I look around. For the sweet love of Jebus… they have noting but pads… oh thats right, you're back in asia. They have no idea what a tampon is. Tampons are for white foreign women, possibly fat people it seems, and and worst, loose if your'e puritanical. No one uses tampons in ASIA?
You buy the pad out of sheer desperation and necessity. Waiting till the very last moment, eventually, after having no other option you stick it into your underwear…
not only do you feel angry, grumpy, menstrual, shitty, sleep deprived, but now you're wearing a pad which within the hour just turns into feeling like you are wearing a sopping nappy full of blood. There is nothing quite as disgusting as having the fucking blood trickle down between your legs into your panty protector, and not feel like it's secretly pissing out every where Carrie style.
I just want to go to the toilet and wash everything away every time i feel some warm red gush. I mean it's not contained, not really. Sure it's supposed to go between the wings and shit - in a perfectly blue seepage stain poured from a grade 9 science beaker (it doesn't)… but it feels gross, I don't care how natural a fucking bodily fluid is.
And don't try and sell me that shit in some spiffy ad where there's water sprinklers going off and the girl is running through it, pirouetting, jumping outlandishly high, or doing gymnastics, double flipping utterly carefree, like she is having a good time. They aren't… and you, advertiser, are lying.
Women are actually under their grandmas crocheted blanket with a hot water bottle feeling sorry for themselves, watching ads which make them cry. And if not on the 'pill', taking copious amounts of iboprofen, or codeine or something.
Not only that but, when wearing the pads, my sense of smell becomes very suspect. Can people smell me? Because I think I can smell me. It's like the faint smell of iron mixed in with some cheap off the rack perfume. Yeuk. Just pure yeuk.
I digress, kind of. What I meant to say is: in my personal opinion there is no point to pads, excluding gynecological operations or miscarriages/abortions, unless you are the type of person who likes walking around wearing a blood filled nappy, and don't mind spending half the day sitting in it.
Although thinking about it, I am sure there is a fetish for it. *goes googling*.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Some people might call me morose of mind, others have said I hold on to my misery because it's a habit and it feels comfortable. My husband told me recently, if a person is depressed for any more than 2 weeks, non-successively, in a year, it could be classified as clinical – I thought 'well, fuck me'.
Who the fuck really wants’ to deal with anyone else's mental health. Sure, we may do it for our most loved and cherished ones, but even for them it has a pretty finite amount of time it can be handled for, or persisted through, without some relief.
So for the people who you would like to consider yourself close to, or maybe you would like to become better friends with… when one is in a shitty state of mind, you really do not want to either A. expose them to it, nor B. have them endure through it, or C. maybe even make yourself vulnerable to their judgments about how sane you actually are, (which is to say… not very, IMHO).
*Whistles*… It's pretty fucking isolating in here, I do have to say. No one likes maudlin. No one wants to deal with the raw emotion of futility, or uselessness individuals sometimes posses, particularly in a society they may not have adapted very well to, in a culture, which on face value seems somewhat devoid of any emotion at all. Every one thinks it's self-indulgent and, to hurry up and get over it. They have a point. Solipsism at it's best, I suppose.
It's like one's appetite for everything just stops. You can't sleep. You don't feel like eating. Forget going outside, it's a novel concept, but waaaay too much effort. Showers become bi weekly optional… mmm-mmm, odorous at best. And interacting with people is chore-like when hibernating in ones brain while it screams: ‘Oh, the humanity’. I can't even be bothered smoking cigarettes that much. That, in itself, is depressing. If you can't be egged on by your nicotine habit, there is something seriously wrong.
Cut ties, hit the gym, get a new girlfriend. The Internet's arm chair philosophical and relationship advice to just about everything.
Well, for me it’s more about learning a language which, going on past experience, I have little to no interest in, a hard time picking up, and no ability to remember. Plus, not one in 6 people speak it in the world, like the useful language of Chinese or the sexy language of Spanish. At best I will be able to order Thai food (I don't even like Asian food, but whatever) in some other country, with the possibility they might understand what I am saying. Unlikely though.
Why yes, I do have to hit the gym. Probably not the gym though, more likely to be Yoga or Pilates. But after living through Red Shirt riots with fuck all money, I am a little hesitant to pay a lot of money on what would be considered a middle class hobby, past time, or luxury here, no matter how good it is for me. And too lazy and impatient to wait for the Youtube downloads to induce the self-motivating, home care package. I possess absolutely no discipline when it comes to exercise… bonus. I am the fattest thin person, EVER. Note to self, if and when genetically spread seed, encourage exercise as a trait in children (+1 personality, +3 hotness, +2 charisma).
Get a job… ahh. This is the quandary. Work for fuck all money doing something you hate for 10 hours a day, 6 days a week, just to feel ‘useful’, well, at least for a few months before you slit your wrists (proverbial ‘you’ just means me in this case really, most people probably have a higher tolerance to this 9-5 'normalness'). Intern in a job (at age 30+) for no pay, most probably working for Douchebags & Turds Co. INC, but at least doing something you might like, your labor and time hideously devalued though. You eventually find yourself doing some arbitrary task and wondering why you spent so many years educating yourself, if that's what you can call it. Become a 'teacher' of English - largely a misnomer in this country as any fucking hack can do it. Again, not well paid, and something I would hate. No patience for idiocy, no love of training people, no wait, just no love of people, period. Ebay? *shudders* The most likely option, since I can *try* and spell words in full sentences, get a pay pal account (while annoying, not impossible), speak the England and post pictures on the Interwebs. It took me a month or so to find my local Post Office, and it is pretty fucking close. Handy.
I know, I know, I should be grateful. After over a decade of having passionate, artistic endeavors, and dreams destroyed in front of my eyes and slip through my fingers, coupled with the inability, strength or social support at the moment to fight the good fight and start again… I guess I'm going to end up a stereotypical white wife in South East Asia, slightly bitter… (well, granted, I was jaded by the early teens, this place don't help any), speaking some of the language, I would judge at this point badly, maybe with a hotter body if we get richer, and an Ebay account I can sell knick knacks on. *Claps* Oh boy, Oh boy, all my dreams have come true. Fuck me, no wonder I am so maudlin.
Cake and icing: a friend of mine just died of cancer this morning, or yesterday. I am not quite sure when, I got the status update from Facebook…classy, yes? I feel bad because I didn't really answer his last email, which, granted, was a carbon copy group email of a jpg of an expensive bike he had just bought; rather a moot object, I thought, since he was dying of stage four cancer. So, really that just makes me a Cunt. I had known him since I was 19 years old, from memory (a particularly bad one). A good guy, nice is too beige a word. One of us, and I will always remember him fondly for his impish smile and lothario behavior. Not to mention his excellent wordsmithy-ness, and his great capacity to help others. He will be eulogized by far better a person than I.
Maybe the ability to work through depression, or whatever it is this darkness is, which clings to me with such a possessiveness and has for so long a period… maybe bitching about it on the web might help. Probably not for any audience, save myself… maybe it's like ablutions, or a confessing, or a therapeutic kind of thing. Writing that is. Posting is… well, some poor fucker has to read it, I guess. That's what social media is for these days. Polluting the minds of other people. Just a lower class of people, making more noise.
*I have no idea how to use comma’s, and every time I try to research the grammar on the Google, I get confused. Quality education there Australia, thanks for that. I’m not paying back my HECS debt, FYI.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Yell… a lot. Preferably in your own company so you don't 'lose face'.
Drive like shit, and not apologize to anyone, because everyone drives like shit.
After about 3 months stop haggling over 30 cents… it's 30 fucking cents people, give it to them, the little people make like 6 bucks a day.
Listen to drunk people talk shit. It's probably the most decent conversation you will get in your native English language.
Love the maid. She is awesome. Luckily she is naturally acclimatized and can cook in shit hot heat. Try not to make funny faces when she cooks what smells like steaming dog turd for herself. It's probably a local delicacy in her country.
Cry… inside. Again, preferably in your own company. Asians don't deal well with the waterworks of emotions.
Avoid the heat by running the aircon day in day out, over what they call the 'summer' period. There is really only two seasons here: Hot, and Fucking Hotter. With a bit of wet chucked in. Freak out on a monthly basis when you get the unreasonably expensive electricity bill.
Lower your standard of people who you would call 'friends', otherwise you won't have any.
When a mini civil war occurs, stay inside and keep running that aircon, praying to 'the big man of your choice', that the warring parties don't burn down the local power exchange. Because you will have no cool air or webbertudes. They won't be serving food over the internet if a curfew occurs, therefore, previous flood experience is good for survivalists who can get through long periods of time being housebound. Stock up before the Asians start 'panic buying' all the 2 minute noodles, and pushing each other out of the way for cabbages. Remember to buy candles.
Get used to the fact that doing anything simple… SIMPLE, will take a day of your time.
Get more used to the fact that doing anything bureaucratic, or something a bit harder than simple, will take up to 3 days of your time, and there will be a lot of kicking and screaming involved (at home, in your own company).
Get used to being fucked over and extorted by the lawyer that your company chooses to use. Expect to pay 10 times the amount that you normally would have to, if you could speak and read the fucking language.
After trying to accomplish something simple, and kicking and screaming in frustration (in your own company), then complaining to your husband, realize that him saying 'welcome to my world', becomes an everyday occurrence. Laugh at the absurdity of the situation when something is actually accomplished.
Glow in schadenfreaude on the rare occasions you can share the frustration around.
Realise that globalisation has occurred. Buying something here in a mall will be on par with buying it in any other country worldwide. Acknowledge that there are a shit load of high end shops that you will never be able to afford to shop in, let alone the little people who make 6 dollars a day. Display wonderment at the fact that people in Asia can afford, and do shop in these places.
Get disgusted with the 'Hiso' attitude of 'Let them eat cake'. Try to avoid these people at all costs, they will make you feel like slashing your wrists, up the tracks not across. Especially avoid the vapid, vacuous, vain younger generation. They are, quite plainly, oxygen thieves.
Get disgusted with the little people holding a capital city, the main business and travel hub, hostage for over 2 and a half months. Ruining all business and taking up the amount of real estate, which is comparable if you lived in Sydney to: Lower Darlinghurst, Hyde Park, Pitt St Mall all the way down to RPA hospital. Feel slightly terrorized by their ongoing erratic behavior.
Quietly celebrate the protesters burning down the banks and stock exchange - sticking it to the man. Feel sorry for the small businesses, their brothers and sisters, who initially supported their protesting, that the people of a particular colored shirt persuasion, then burnt to the ground.
Come to terms with every bar being a business opportunity for a poor Asian chick. Embrace it, these women are quite good at english conversation, they are nice, protective of loyal customers, and rack up your pool balls for you. NB: you will never beat them at pool or Connect Four.
As a white chick, get used to the fact that if you are over 22 you will be seen as: mature, overly opinionated, mouthy, too expensive an investment with no return, and therefore not worth the effort. Relinquish any idea that you have any hope of 'getting some' in this country. Especially when it's being handed out by 18 year old Asian chicks for next to nothing, with a lot less hassle. On the odd occasion, appreciate that some dude who you are talking to, taking notice of you. Yeah... you probably won't be getting laid.
*EDIT* my husband would like me to point out here, how lucky I am to be married, and that I'm the recipient of as much 'great' sex as I desire. Which means, to me, young 18+ year old girls could come in handy for 'headache duty'.
Drink lots of water everyday. You sweat like a mother fucker in this relentless muggy, hot climate.
Enjoy the many house guests which will come through to stay, they provide light relief and entertainment. Avoid, at all costs, going shopping with them.
Get used to power cuts, brown outs, the airconditioner failing on a regular basis, no house phone because it just won't work, even when the phone company tells you it works, things taking a really long time, people always being late, bad traffic, everyone using bad traffic as an excuse for being late, computers cutting out because of the heat. Mostly get used to the fact that you probably won't be achieving much on a day to day basis. And come to terms with it. And be able to fucking laugh over it. Otherwise you will have a heart attack, stroke out, strain some muscle by kicking something, or just feel generally frustrated all the time.
Ironically, get used to the white man complaining... because they do that shit A LOT.
Again…love the maid because she is AWESOME.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Recently, in a period of darkness, I retired to my cave and watched a few series of different programs… I like to call it "research", but lets face it, really I am covering up the severe depression and a self induced case of agoraphobia I encounter occasionally. "Outside" with the "bright light" is just not a viable option in times like these.
On this occasion I had the delightfulness of being introduced to The Wire (again - but this time the full series), I seem to have arrived unfashionably late to the party though. Watching this masterpiece not only caused me to think about the state of things i.e America in its microcosm, and by extension - the world in macro form, but I was also incredibly inspired by and could appreciate the great amount of craftsmanship that went into making such a program as this. Probably not inspired enough to get off my fat ass and do something entirely productive just quite yet though.
I watched it like a fucking junky: greedy, obsessively, with little self restraint, which seemed fitting enough considering the content, devouring 60 odd hours of television within about four days all up. It was such a chronic addiction that 20 consecutive hours of TV staring in one day brought on a self inflicted and well deserved migraine, most probably from eyestrain. Like any crack ho, I was undeterred though.
It totally inspired me cerebrally, even though for the week after I had the weirdest and most violent dreams. Woven tales of killing people, being in gangs, blood shed, and detective stories. These slumber narratives were engagingly descriptive and riveting to be in, but relatively disturbing too.
A few days after the final episode, I woke up having some kind of epiphany… as watching this program stimulates it's audience to THINK with their BRAINS (alien concept I know). It felt like I was having an epiphany, but really, I don't think I am smart enough to epiphanise about anything anymore - television killed that part of my brain which imagines stuff, the internet killed my memory, and I don't do drugs anymore so the pituitary gland isn't giving me any Mandalbrot fractals - shit out of luck there too.
In waking, I ruminated about what David Simon was trying to achieve, and in which I think he did spectacularly. His back ground in investigative journalism ushered him into the world of creating, producing, and writing The Wire - a serialized novel format created into a television program, which he had total creative control over. Whose characters are spectacular in embracing their human frailties, the dialogue they speak savvy, colloquial, poetic and true. The actors playing them... totally believable, you embrace and love them whole heartedly, or are absolutely horrified by them, and relish in the hatred they incite, either way they are all real.
It reminded me of something I studied in University, in my 'Sex and Scandal' unit for history so many years ago (the salacious shit are the only details I can remember from any courses I studied). I decided The Wire drew parallels to what W.T. Stead did in the late 1800's with his Newspaper - The Pall Mall Gazette, and the serialized articles he wrote: 'The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon'. Also a first for its time.
Both set about to illustrate the human condition in their day and age, although 130 odd years apart (you do the math, I am way too lazy).
Reflectively speaking, David Simon was not trying to be salacious in the detail of his program even though the content seems that way. Really, he was just trying to recreate the realities of the declining, modern, shitty American city - which could have been any American city, in this case Baltimore (such a shockingly different Baltimore compared to John Waters' overtly camp, musical, transvestite Baltimore with Divine, Debbie Harry, Iggy Pop, or Ricky Lake before she thinned out).
It was argued that W.T Stead was in it for the sensationalism, as sensationalism, scandalous detail, and sex, well, it sold papers (not much has changed, but he did pioneer the technique). Whilst investigating the selling and devirginising of underage girls, he too opened up the eyes of people in Victorian times about how totally degenerative Victorian society was. The 'Tribute of Modern Babylon' was an impetus for changing the laws at the time, i.e. the consensual age of sex being raised to 15 (or something) instead of the age of 9 or 11, or whatever it was… (again, you can google for the correct age, fuck me if I am going through all my boxed up uni readings to cite something properly… yes I'm a fat lazy cow - without the fat)
What was amazing - or even more so appalling about the tenets of thought in Victorian times was: fucking a virgin would cure syphilis. Hence the large amount of numbers of pubescent and pre pubescent children in hospitals dying of an incurable disease, given to them by filthy, diseased, middle and upper class men, and being sold off to these fuckers by pandering old wenches for trifling amounts of money. But I digress, this paragraph really is just a side note, as the topic always astounded me. I think some people still believe and practice this same shit in Africa today. But now, instead of syphilis, they spread aids.
One of the many things that I love about The Wire is: at this moment in time, after all it's critical acclaim, yet small audience numbers when originally aired, it's starting to be taught in university courses across the United States - ironically Ivy League universities. Courses highlighting the social and cultural decline of America (a shit hole which they are so patriotically proud of), and courses which are screaming about the poverty and senseless violence which prevails throughout that 'civilised' country, and which will continue to prevail until something drasticly changes.
People are finally discovering the wonderment that is The Wire, and because of this, hopefully it will change the average TV viewing experience for mediocre chumps in the decades to come, as was David Simon's grand design. Fuck me, hopefully people will start reflexively thinking about issues when presented with decent product, instead of the gamut of reality shit which pours out of the bottomless pit of cheap television hell.
David Simon is still alive, and creating another series for HBO set in New Orleans, revolving around Jazz musicians in the aftermath of hurricane Katrina, it's called Treme, I eagerly await its arrival (like a true TV junky).
W.T. Stead was one of the poor bastards that died on the Titanic's maiden voyage, because they didn't supply enough life boats, nor filled them properly when the 'unsinkable' boat sank.
If you are autodidactic and want to self educate… follow the links.
I would just like to point out, this is neither a finely nuanced, well structured, nor aptly thought out blog. I always came up with the best lines when far away from the computer, on returning to write it, I could never remember any of the "clever" things I thought... Meh. I did want it to be much more smartly, but fuck it.
We know it's kind of fucked when there are more universities in china, than there are university graduates in America. I think this is one of David Simon's points... there is little redemption or hope for a country which revels in its own Hubris.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Courtney Love crossed with Pete Burns creature taking one of the younger children's hands, talk about faux parenting. They were such an... interesting bunch of people (is the nice way of saying it) I couldn't help but watch them whilst waiting for our food (actually my eyes were peeled, it was like a gruesome car crash I couldn't take my eyes off, not even if I tried). I figured the children didn't look like her, no way in hell, and there was definetly no wedding rings, so she wasn't the wife or mother, so I surmised she must be the trophy whore. The real mother couldn't have been out of the picture for long though, as the youngest was still young. And this new 'Thing' must have been around for at least a significant amount of time, to be taken on a long drive in the family wagon, with three kids who probably don't like her very much at all.