Wednesday, January 19, 2011

My Cat Has No Hair. How does he smell? Like a bald....

I love a good tale.
Who doesn't?
And I have never bothered to let the facts get in the way of telling a yarn.
Why would you?
The dull and the ignorant may have their stories, but usually they are batshit boring involving the return counter at Marks and Spencer's and a particularly arduous pair of black slacks.
Yawn.......pass me the nail gun, my eyes need new holes in them.....
No, if you are going to regale your audience with a thrilling piece of narrative worthy of an extra slice of cheesecake and a fresh bottle of Pinot Griz, you'd better get your patter in order.
The punters want salacious details and they want names.
They want to hear words that make their insides wriggle and squirm and their outsides go all hard on the soft tissue parts.
They want to hear things that make them secretly repeat every detail over and over in their heads so that they can dine out on that same story to a new audience a week later.
Thank Christ there are no intellectual property rights on gossip.
Yet.
So when it comes to earning my keep at the dinner table, I set my mouth to 'hyper' my brain to ' creative licence' and my moral compass at 'zero'....which is where I manage to keep it most of the time anyway.
I have told this story in person to others, and possibly on stage at one point, although those days are somewhat hazy.
There was a time in my life when I 'Lunched'.
I have lunch now, in fact, almost every day.
But this was when I 'Lunched'.
I was a 'Lady' who 'Lunched'.
Truth be told, I was never terribly good at this job.
Don't get me wrong, I loved and I fancy was rather good at, the 'sex in return for money' part of this arrangement.
I was even good in the kitchen ( and the living room, and the bathroom, and....oh COME ON, you know that joke was in there).
But it was the dreadful hours between sending the kiddies of to school, and waiting for the return of the Great White Hunter that got me into trouble.
Hours and hours of endless " what the fuck am I doing ?" meant I fell into a hole of selfworthlessness.
It was shit.
But every cloud has a silver lining....and mine was the material I gathered for those moments when you are out to dinner with a bunch of the girls and someone mentions that they had a HIDEOUS experience just the other day at Marks and Sparks......
"Did I ever tell you about the first time I met The Bottle Blondes of Stepford Cove ?" I shout " The ones who all had their beavers electrocuted"
That usually gets us back on track.
Here is the story I tell.
I once had lunch with a group of women- obviously I can not actually NAME names, as not all of them are finally divorced and living back in the motherland with their kids and his alimony- but these woman were the real deal.
Actual middle aged, middle class women living the dream of being married and never having to work except inside the bedroom and then, not even, if he found a quiet bit of tart on the side who knew what the deal was and stayed in her place........or if he was secretly gay.....
Anyhoo.
These women were 'lead'- and I use the term loosely- at this time by a striking, rather Amazonial, big titted, high waisted, fake tanned behemoth of A type personality whom we shall name 'Babs', for the sake of an argument.
Babs was everything the others aspired to be.
Not only were her ducks in a row in terms of her retirement plan- her womb having pumped out several genetically correct offspring with the same DNA as her benefactor- but everything about her shrieked success.
Her house was bigger and better than most, her diamonds were larger and crasser than most, she had a husband who didn't actually drool at the dinner table and her thighs - whilst admittedly being vacuumed free of fat at least once every two years- looked great in Jodhpurs, even on non riding days.
She was The Biz, as the bookies say.
I had never laid eyes on her until that lunch, but I had heard The Legends.
So I sat down next to Babs, and personally, I think she was curious to meet The New Girl.
" Your hair looks lovely" I said.
My Mama didn't raise no fool, I know how to crack open a conversation.
"mmm, thanks" she replied" I had it done this morning....I get it done every two weeks....the roots that is.....I have too....on account of my husband, you see....he doesn't know I'm not a natural blonde"
Now, curiously I had met her husband the week before I had met her.
He didn't seem any more intensely stupid than most......
" Oh really?" I asked, not actually giving a fuck and clawing desperately at the neck of a bottle of chardonnay. Why the fuck do they still insist on using corks in France? " do tell...."
" Well, when we met, I was blonde and he said he really liked blondes, and in those days, I used to shave my nads, you know, as was the fashion"
20 seconds, at most, and she was talking to me about her vagina.
" uh huh" ....dear God, this is going to be a long day.
" Then, when waxing became more in vogue I just did that, and I was always careful not to let him go down when the hair was growing back, plus I hid my roots"
45 seconds and cunnilingus was on the table- so to speak.
" But these days it's so much easier, ever since I went and had all my pubic hair lasered off, full Brazilian, clean as a whistle, front and back, no hair anywhere on or in any of the cracks. Yup, when it comes to my punani, I am as bald as a badger"
60 seconds. Max.
From "Hi, I'm Babs" to " My pussy is naked and my husband doesn't know the real me" is less than a minute.
That's got to be SOME kind of a record, surely?
But this was not new territory for these women.
Within minutes I knew exactly whom else at the table had gone the laser route, and who still waxed or shaved, or merely trimmed.
I knew which their husbands preferred and why.
I also knew the upkeep of those same husbands genital hairwear.
When you do nothing but shop and drink -with domestic staff do the other things- the details of private grooming make excellent public conversation.
Numbers and price lists are valuable commodities, and there is a certain hierarchy to be set in place and maintained by the mention of 'THIS' name in a beauty salon or 'THAT' plastic surgeon.
I guess none of it shocked me really, pardon the pun ( hells bells, I've used electricity on my genitals, but only with a trusted companion and always with a safety word).
Perhaps what surprised me was that her partner of 15 years was unaware that his lady love was living a lie.
Would he REALLY have loved her less as a brunette?
She will never know.
And nor will he.
Curious, no?
That same group of women used to take- still take- regular Girly weekends to the mighty Burumgrad Hospital in Thailand for a lube, a tweak and an oil change.
I can not tell you how many post operative breasts and hairline scars I have been subjected to over a plate of fresh scallops and a bottle of crisp dry white.
I do not judge these women.
If I had the cash, I would ditch this whole ' going to the gym' bullshit for a week on my back in Bangkok with a drip and a drainage tube.
Trust me.
Huffing and puffing will take it all away, but NOTHING short of a well trained butcher is going to smooth it out.
So that is my story.
I once met a woman whose life was so tenuously tied to her identity that she removed who she really was lest the people she loved rejected her for being herself.
It's not a very happy story when you put it like that, not really, but it's a true one.
It could have been a story about having too much money, and not enough sense, or vanity, or brainlessness, or blatant attention seeking or any of the things we like to point and laugh at.
It could have been an 'I'm better than you' story, or a 'it serves you right' story, or a 'you get what you pay for' story.
Instead it's a story about a woman with no pubic hair.
A cougar, with a bald pussy.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Bend over, this won't hurt a bit.

Do you have a little guru in you?
Would you like one?
False prophets.
The only thing they are really good at is making real profits from our misery.
Feeling lost?
Give me 50,000 dollars and we will light the path to your happiness.
Where we come from there are literally hundreds of millions of us light seekers.
We can find the light within you, and if you are ready we will show you our own special lights.
We come from Darjeeling....so these will be.......Tea Lights.......
Feeling alone?
Join our organised religion.....we have people everywhere....millions and millions of lonely people feeling alone together.....we hold weekly meetings about being alone....these meetings work because there is singing involved and and stained glass windows and oil paintings.
We'd love to have you join us if you work in the legal profession, because we have a LOT of...ummm......issues.......due to some fairly vague laws about men in dresses, children and sex.
But mostly we like to meet with vulnerable lonely people.
Our organised religions are so good at bringing lonely people together we have held meetings for hundreds of years.
Never once have any of our members quit because they feel fulfilled, so we MUST be doing SOMETHING right........
To join is free, although we do ask for a little donation towards our art restoration costs, but for every dollar you donate to us, you get to say a wish to a magic invisible fairy that listens to all our secrets.
Feeling stressed out?
Come and breath with us.
Most people think breathing can happen anywhere, but that is why most people never fully understand how it works.
To breath, you need to be at one with your oneness....to be at one with your oneness, you need to breath.....but not just everyday in and out breathing.....oneness breathing.....
We want to spread the love of breathing to those less fortunate, so all we ask is that if you discover breathing is beneficial to you, you donate whatever you can to assist with our daily breathing costs.
After all, our superior air is not free......
Feeling smarter than everyone else?
Perhaps you are an alien.
We are.
That's why we are so smart.
We come from an angry planet and we are trying to get home.
Lots of very rich and very pretty people come from our planet.
When they come to Earth they have jobs like Actors and Property Developers because these jobs attract the most stable and trustworthy sectors of the community.
Of course, getting back to our home planets costs a SHITLOAD of money, so if you are really really super smart like us, and want to get home as much as we do, you will give us ALL your cash, pronto......
Feeling threatened by the modern world?
So are we, so we have come up with a simple solution.
We are taking the planet back to the dark ages, one woman at a time.
No more of this 'the earth is round' modern malarkey....no no no....that type of thinking's what got us into this state in the first place.
OUR God is a wrathful God, the good old fashioned kind with plague and pestilence and punishments worthy of the crime.
When OUR God says " cover up your hair you sluttish whore because your ringlets are giving me an erection or I'll beat you with a whip, then cut off your nose and ears and stone you to death" he means it.
No fucking around with OUR God.
No fucking at all, in fact.
A month with us, and the 21st Century will be nothing but a distant memory.
Feeling like you might be headed for a midlife crisis?
Come to our workshop.
We are not really qualified to fuck with your head, but that's never stopped us in the past, so why should we care?
Come, sit in this hotel ballroom with 500 other suckers whilst we ask you to turn off your phones, take off your watches and pour out your heart to strangers.
Tell us EVERYTHING.
Leave NOTHING out.
Then cry.
Cry like you've never cried before.
Feel better?
Great, now hand over your wallet.
Does that seem brutal?
Listen loser, it works for the casino's.
If you want to get better, you need to REALLY want it, and that means you need to prove it by signing up for the next 3 sessions.
Plus to get a 5% discount you need to sign up your family.
After all, they're the ones who fucked you up in the first place, so they owe you.
Feeling nothing?
Perhaps you are dead?
Being dead is cool, because more than half of the religions available on our list feature an after world where you will either find 45 virgins ( obviously no one we know) or a whole bunch of badly dressed people who can sing and understand art, OR you might even find you have come back to the planet as an Elephant, or a really interesting beetle.
Or perhaps you will find yourself beamed home?
Or perhaps you need a therapist?
Or a day in a spa?
Or a reality check......life is sometimes tough and sometimes shitty.
Sometimes you will feel alone, and lost, and misunderstood and vulnerable, but this is not a time to hand over your money to anyone other than a trained professional or a luxury chocolatier.
If your bank account feels too full, you can always trade away your middle class guilt with an anonymous donation to a worthy cause.
Or a frivolous one.
I, personally, have a RIDICULOUSLY large collection of earrings that can only be worn one set at a time.
Does this prevent me from donating money to retail stores?
No.
I give, and give and give to the prophet H&M....and I willingly accept donations to assist me in my cause.
I take cash, cheque or plastic and you can place it in my special 'box with the slot' at anytime.
Self love is what it's all about.
So why not become your own guru and stuff plastic into your own box?
Chances are you will get to Nirvana with a hell of a lot less effort, and you won't even have to go down on your knees......to pray.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

I want more of that, and I want it faster and harder.......

Dear 2011,
How are you?
I realise you have only existed for a day or two, but I figured we may as well start our relationship by discussing some basic ground rules so that we both feel comfortable with the direction we will take together over the next 12 months.
No doubt you have spoken to the previous years to get a little background on me, and might I recommend you also do a little research as to how best to handle me.
Please do not be shocked by my forthright way of speaking.
I know there are times when I need to be handled.
Self awareness is not a new state for me, and it was one of your brave predecessors who held up a mirror long enough for me to see the truth.
That was a tough year.
Literally and figuratively.
But like all great friendships, the bonds forged in that difficult time have held strong to this day.
I hope that we too can be such great friends.
2010 and I had a hell of a good time together, and I will forever look back on our shared seconds, minutes, hours, days and months with warmth and a smile.
But this is a new beginning for us both and we both have desires and objectives that we would like to reach before you leave me.
This year I should like to continue a few habits I picked up last year, namely my excellent health and greatly improved fitness which 2010 helped me to work towards.
I am hoping to take up marathon running this year as I am aware that without strongly defined goals I tend to vacillate.
You could help me with this by placing a store in my neighbourhood (that being Asia, so it's a big area) that sells reasonably priced sports bras that offer athletic support for women with actual breasts.
The ones 2010 supplied could not have held a ripe cherry to plywood and at the risk of being graphic, I would prefer to cross the finish line without self blackened eyes.
2011, I am not getting any younger. I do not wish to end my days rolling up my titties and placing then gently into my bra like a well loved pair of socks.
A sports bra made from a fabric stronger than spiderweb would greatly assist in this cause.
Also, as I am making requests, can we keep some of the more stupid people off my path this year ?
Particularly the ones who think they are clever, but they are not.
Granted, these people are EXCELLENT material, and I really really DO look forward to the day when I finally finish all these threatened manuscripts and wait for the lawsuits to start rolling in, but this year can we try and keep it to only one or two per month?
Last year, you will have no doubt heard, there were one or two repeat offenders whose astoundingly bloated self belief caused me more than the odd sleepless night.
True, I am partly responsible for bringing these people into my path myself, but this year, is there a way we can fix a flashing red light above the heads of people who, on first perusal, appear quite reasonable and then, on closer inspection, turn out to be the type of adult you wish had died in childbirth?
I am far from perfect, and my tendency to believe others also know that they are not perfect does me no favours whatsoever.
It turns out that the most obnoxious cunts on the planet are either never told, or never hear, that they are obnoxious cunts.
A large flashing red light and perhaps a 160 decibel alarm placed near or actually ON these people may help make identification easier.
I have a boring request too, can you help me do my paperwork and boring admin shit with a better attitude?
It's just so fucking boring, and I hate it.
True, I am much better than I used to be, thank you 2007, but even though I am better at getting it done on time I find it so boring that it is often difficult to type out invoices or bank cheques because my eyes are rolling so often I can't see.
It seems stupid to stand in bank queues sighing and eye rolling like a drugged up porn star when all I have to do is remember that cash flow is king, but even the threat of possible eviction or being disconnected from the city water supply is not enough to prevent the petulant song and dance routine I insist on carrying out every time I receive bills with the words URGENT written in red.
"What AGAIN", I sigh, rolling my eyes " But I had to get money in and send it out LAST month as well !!!" and then I set off down the street bashing into people Gruffalo style, blinded by my rolling eyes.
This is what I mean when I refer to 'handling' me.
I can get all emo on your arse faster than John Travolta fill a tight hole in a Turkish Steam Room.
The good news I can usually be tempted out of my own sphincter by the promise of some delicious tidbit of gossip about someone more ridiculous than myself......if the stories are true then even better.........but I'm not fussy.......
So 2011, lots of silliness please.
Lots of wacky behaviour, lots of crazy ideas that will never work and some that do.
Send me as many challenges as you think I can handle and then add one.
Other years have taught me I am stronger than I ever believed possible and I am not afraid.
Help me to grow.
Keep my children safe, help them to remember that they are the choices they make.
Help me help them make good choices.
Help me set boundaries, but keep all the gates unlocked so that I can look into the other fields.
I have never been one to envy other peoples greener grass, but I do like to look at the flowers.
All in all, lets work together to end the year with a tally of one more smiley face than sad face, one more fit of giggles than set of tears.
You will find I am fairly self reliant when it comes to achieving my plans and goals, and I take full responsibility for my own happiness, but we have been brought together by a quirk of the Universe and I am delighted to be able to share everything the next 360 plus days will bring.
I have great faith that we will be a great team, and I look forward to working with you,
best regards
Wendy.