Oh joy.

Have finally found all the diaries of my younger life. I think I will start up another extremely anonymous blog to deal with the horrific details which might explain the pathology of my adult life. If I can string it all together in some coherent narrative form, it might not only resolve some of the ongoing issues I have, but putting it into a structured and thought out manner, might help me link the connections of the destructive decisions I have made as an adult.

I have to say, not particularly healthy decisions. From the few passages I have read... there is a dark and unseemly tale to be told. All names will be changed to protect the innocent, and the not so innocent.

This and a good dose of therapy might get me to a level a functionality again. And possibly some happy pills. And failing that a one way ticket out of Asia.

Geographicals barely help. But in this case it could possibly be the sanest decision ever made.

Niceties Don't Make My World Go Round

In the effort and spirit of "you have to let it go" and other general feelings of acrimoniousness, disdain and contempt... NB*this was written quite a while ago, but I'm in the mood to vent.

Dear Friend: I hesitate to call you that since our friendship seems to have dissolved quite some time ago (years in fact), I find it somewhat offensive that the minimal amount of contact you have made in the previous few years has been for the sole purpose of finding you employment.

Yes, I admit, that perhaps I haven't been the 'best behaved' friend in the world but in regards to that, well, for someone whose perspective changed (meaning you) to "niceties make the world go round" – your niceties fucking suck.

Lets start with the girlfriend (now wife). after shacking up with the lawyerly scholarly type your behaviour seems to have warped into "pudding and paying off the mortgage". I thought she was a nice, relatively sweet girl to begin with. But then I realised it was just a guise to hide her hideous North Shore ways, and her faux upper middle class English attitude.

Really the friendship ended when I had no where else to go and asked to stay on your couch. A relatively small favour I thought after subsidizing your rent and paying a fair share of your bills, whilst you were trying to land back on your feet after the ending of your last codependent relationship. Two nights I thought wouldn't be a big deal. Fuck was I wrong, couldn't have been worse really, and I barely made it through.

After trying to stay out of your way (in a bachelor apartment) when your girlfriend's "proper" female peer came over, and me eating the food "too quickly" you had spent so long cooking (half hour tops), and not bestowing enough praise upon you, not thanking you effusively about how wonderful it was, like your girlfriend's friend did (or possibly not thanking you at all wanting to give you some space in 20 meters squared), I will never forget the words out of your mouth:

"You are the worst guest I have ever had" followed by the overly pompous and totally self righteous "It's niceties which make the world go round"...

1. the fact that I ate the food so quickly should tell you (from previous experience of sharing my house together in your time of need) that the food was more than edible, it was good. 2. When the fuck did niceties come into it you fucking hypocritical medicare money scamming piece of shit.

Don't worry, I will never forget those words of yours as long as I live.

So after a year or two that goes by, I haven't heard from you, and had left a box or two stored in your moldy garage space. I also learn that you have done some short course (3 months) in a well regarded film school. I figure, I'm not really a bad person, and hey you're totally under skilled, but I will sing your praises to my husband and maybe he can help you get a foot up into the highly competitive world you're trying to enter. Not to mention one which is dominated by young idiot savants and social retards in their early 20s who have been in their bedroom doing this shit since they were like 7, coupled with the fact they are about a million times better than you already. And in reality, if you've really not made it by the time 30, well, you're not really going to make it.

Newsflash niceties boy, you're 30 (well mid 30's now) and just beginning your career. But hey, whatever, I will try and disregard the bitter feelings of disloyalty I have come to regard you with and help you on your way.

Congratulations Dumbass, you got a job. You can thank me later for helping you. What, no thanks? I thought it was niceties which made the world go round.

I guess you did say thanks for letting you and the Cankle (sorry, for want of a better word I cannot for the life of me think of another, as her lack of ankles totally distracted me every time she spoke to me), for letting you guys stay in our home while you found your own abode so you could relocate for your new job I so kindly helped you get (admittedly mainly through connections, it is who you know etc). A job that fuck all people, especially people like you, have the luck of getting after a 3 month trumped up purely money making course, without sucking some serious dick.

Anyways, I digress (I usually do). Time passes, you now live in the same town, but I figure Cankles has never really warmed to me so not much point in trying now.

Maybe she thinks I'm a bad influence. I did drag you to that swingers club that one time remember. Paid for you to get in, made you drink my worths of alcohol and tried to get your miserable ass laid. Now wasn't that the water cooler gossip of for the day.

A few more years go by. Little contact is made, particularly on your behalf. No emails, a brief facebook chat before you had to dash off to complete whatever important job it was you think you had to do at the time (I kind of know this is a lie too - there was no work on).

Then you find my husband online. In 4 years you've what, contacted him twice, (me once), and both of those times you were looking for jobs. Mere minutes of these "niceties" you speak of and immediately you are asking for a job again? Naturally he says no, out of being purely offended. He is not inclined to help turds a second time round.

These "niceties" you speak of, well personally I think you're full of shit. You can take these middle class aspirations you have been brainwashed with by your ever so enlightened Cankles and shove them up your faux middle class ass.

I mean you barely have any idea of what i have been through in the last 5 or 6 years, or what I have experienced, because it's not like you have given a shit. We're just some fucking job network for you? Seriously, get fucked.

More to to the point, do you even know what happiness entails? Lets speak about happiness in about 10 years, namely yours. Once you and Cankles have been together for 16 or 17 years.

Of course she will have ballooned out to a healthy size 18, (lets face facts, she was heading that ways anyways) especially if right now is any indication of the future. She might have pushed out one or two "nice" puppies by then. Maybe working part time, trying to save the children and all the other "do worthy goodness" associated with the aspiring middle upper class she thinks she is, who have nothing better to do with their lives, (lucky her mother married into money).

Right about the time you're going through your mid life crises, because your life didn't turn out exactly how you wanted it to, nor did you ever reach the heights of your capabilities, mainly because you were relatively mediocre in the first place. You will maybe be getting sex once a month, if you are lucky, and your passively dominant wife will have by that time (if she hasn't already, and I truly suspect she did years ago) totally severed off your balls, or what ever you had which passed as balls, a long time ago, and served them to you with a nice Chianti.

You'll get that felling, some where along the line, it will be a reflexive relisation devoid of humour. You'll plod along your very average life and it will all be about "pudding and paying off the mortgage" – good luck with the asbestos, congrats on the cheap deal on the house though. It's a real a hip suburb, for the upwardly mobile.

This is where "niceties" that you speak of get you. So you can take your "niceties" and I reiterate shove them so far up your arse they tickle your prostate gland and you orgasm. Because that's about as good as it's going to get for you.

Me, I'm a working class girl. A realist, a humanist, niceties barely work for me, because I figure they are covering a facade of shit waiting to topple down and crush you.

I do believe in treating people with humanity and respect. Somehow these highbrow middle class "niceties" you speak of and the humanity I speak of, seem to be mutually exclusive. One is shared by polite society who feed each other lines of polite conversational weather bullshit to survive on a daily basis. While the other accepts people for who they are, the mettle in their character and appreciates we're all just here to survive.

Initially I thought you had this mettle. But gradually I realised you only had it by proxy. You really are a weak willed man who feeds off those stronger women you have been with. You are now just a second half, a sucubus if you will. You've just become a watered down version of Cankles. A nice veneer with a shitty interior. Trying to cover it up by saving the children and paying the mortgage.

By the way, thanks for the wedding invite (sarcasm, I seem to have lost my touch in a country where there isn't any). And don't ever bother asking my husband for a job again you pedestrian, unexceptional twat.

Ahh, couple years coming, but I feel better getting that off my chest.

Sanitary Napkins, not really one for men.

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*.