Ten Rules for a Faster/ Higher/ Stronger/Sexier/ Better/ Superer Dooperer Life.

A darling hearted dear friend recently sent me a copy of "The Rules", a 10 point plan for getting the right man's slippers parked permanently underneath your bed.
Her motivation for doing so- I believe and forgive me if I am wrong Suzanne- was centered around a bubble bath and the crucial self loving words from rule 10 " I am a beautiful woman, I am enough".
Suzanne was reminding me to be kind to myself. I often need reminding. Like a lot of woman blessed with a challenging life path, self loathing is an all too familiar default.
I love the women in my life. I breathe and devour their mentor ship, their wisdom, their honesty, their strength, their courage, their frailty, their perseverance, and their determination to be who they are, warts and all. Often they wear their hearts and minds on their sleeves and, filled with self doubt themselves, question whether or not that makes them weaker in the eyes of the world.
But only cowards run from pain.
'Ownership of self' is the ultimate sign of an unsung hero.
Like I said, I love these woman, and their inspiration gives me the daily dose of courage I need to be me.
So I looked at these 'Rules'.....and they started me thinking.
Frankly I am not sure that I am calculating enough to follow them all to the letter.....for example, apparently if he hasn't proposed after a year, it's a no go. To quote the article " Close the deal, Rules women do not date men for more than 2 years ".
If I never actually marry again, it will be too soon. Live with, yes, marry?...........Well.............I would need some serious convincing.
So then what 'Rules' would I create if I was creating 10 rules for women to follow?
Whether it be to attract a man - something I claim ZERO expertise in - or just to live by, what 10 things would I tell my daughter?
You see where I am going with this.......
Rule 1.
Write down, then print out and carry, a list of gas and bodily fluid boundaries that are irrevocable under any circumstances other than near death gastro requiring hospitalisation.
For example mine would read: We can only have sex if you agree to the following. NO farting in common areas, EVER. No burping at the dinner table, EVER. Flushing the toilet ALWAYS, and placing the seat down at nighttime for when I get up to pee at 1am and do not turn on a light. If you leave wee on the seat, wash it off,and if you DO happen to piss down the outside of the cistern, and GOD ALONE knows how that happens cause the bowl is wider than your dick, CLEAN IT UP. Also, you will sleep on the wet patch on winter nights, and I will on summer- but only if the aircon is on.
Rule 2.
Do not go out with men who send mixed messages, and if you are not sure, ask a friend, then take her advice. If she rolls her eyes when you mention his name, that is all the advice you need.
I am guilty of this one, so I know. If a guy chats and flirts and bats his eyelids and touches you and then makes you feel like you are a stalker when you call him, put a hit out on him. He is one messed up little fucker and you are better off with a small rap sheet with the local authorities than you are with his number in your phone. Prison terms for killing men are shorter than waiting for them to get their shit together.
Rule 3.
Buy yourself something nice everyday.
It doesn't have to be expensive. A nice bag of fresh cherries or a lip gloss or a good cappuccino will make you happy. Men like to feel like heroes, I am told by woman's magazines, by buying woman gifts. Great. In the meantime, be your own hero and buy your own stuff. That way, you can get the buzz of giving AND receiving.
Rule 4.
You will always have fat days, even if you are Kate Moss. Bald woman have bad hair days. You are not your fat, and you are not your hair.
You know how the day you go to the hairdressers to get it all cut off is always the day it looks amazing? You know how the dress that made you a sexual goddess last week makes you look like your mother today because you are about to get your period? Why do we do this to ourselves? We know what this is. Let's just say it. I AM MORE THAN THE SUM OF MY PARTS. Now say it again. And again. And again.
Rule 5.
Do not shit where you eat. Do not piss in your own pool. Do not fuck people you work with. Period.
If you MUST fall in love with someone at the workplace, make them quit, then continue. Never quit yourself unless it's for a better position.
Rule 6.
Men with stuffed toys in their bedrooms are bad in bed.
The one exception is a teddy from their childhood - ONE AND ONLY ONE HOWEVER- these men are invariably good with their tongues, don't ask me how I know but I do, but any man who owns a doll or teddy that was released in the last 2 years will not do any better entertaining your soft parts than the battery operated toy you keep beside the bed. Some men are into Marvel Models and the like. These are OK if they are displayed in the living room only. If he has more models than books, leave the house IMMEDIATELY and delete his number.
Rule 7.
White stockings and/or shoes make you look like a nurse, which is great if you are a nurse and on duty, otherwise, no.
Also, the 80's were genuinely the decade fashion forgot. Bubble skirts make skinny girls look like they have mah-hoo-sive arses and fat girls look like 17th century troubadours and fluro suits NO ONE. Uber high waisted anything makes you look like you have a mental health issue. Think before you buy.
Rule 8.
Love your breasts.
Big or small, saggy or flat, nipples like plates or raisins, they are yours, and they can feed babies, and they are amazing and they need love. I hate the breast augmentation industry. Hate it. I have a big chest, but it took me years to love my boobs. Heavy, hard to dress without looking like a porn star, sweaty in summer, I am now at peace with my lady lumps, but it was not easy.I have friends who fret and fret that there is "not enough". They bemoan what nature has gifted them.Why? VERY VERY few men ( ie: none) get 10 ounces of silicone shafted into their penises, and frankly, a number of them could. Not many women would complain about a man with a larger prick, but I never read ads for 'a more masculine 5 inch wide 10 inch long you' in the plastic surgery section of newspapers. If a man makes you feel that you are less of a woman because of the size of your tits, cut off his dick and see if he looks less of a man.
Rule 9.
Look after your feet.
Some feet are sexy, some are not, but they work really hard and they could do with some kindness. Apparently it was a really big deal in the Bible when a woman- who must have been a hooker obviously because she hung around the guys all day- washed the self proclaimed son of Gods feet. Things don't need to get that intense at your place. Just try and put them up once in a while, keep them clean, don't cut them with tight/ill fitting/ ridiculous shoes and then expect them to heal overnight. Put moisturiser on them as you go to bed. Paint the nails when you get a chance. If you live near me, indulge in a $98 massage in TST. Be good to your feet, and they will be good to you.
Rule 10.
Don't let anyone tell you how to live.
This includes me. Do not love people who do not love you for you.
For what ever reason you do what you do, what ever you do, try the best you can, to do the best you can and for the rest, consider this prayer by Saint Francis of Assisi.
"Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can, and
the wisdom to know the difference."
I am a total atheist and I pray to no one, but these words mean more to me today than they ever did.
I know that in order to achieve what I must on my journey, I must heed the message of acceptance, courage and wisdom.
Ah, so in the end, only three rules are required, and none of them involve capturing an unsuspecting hunter gatherer in my lace and silk spider web.
I guess there is more to life for a chick like me than sucking on flies.

Judge not lest ye be caught doing something really f**king stupid.

I like to believe I am not judgemental.
And I'm not.
Not actually.
Not in the sense that I consider myself blameless and others hopelessly flawed.
I am hopelessly flawed.
Hopelessly.
But I am not actually physically blind, and I do have thoughts, and I do form opinions, and sometimes I express them, sometimes publicly, and usually with less subtlety than most.
Believe me when I tell you, this tongue is a precision instrument in more ways than one.
But oral skills aside.
My thoughts, when turned into words, can be razor sharp, and my gut feeling is that if i don't release them from the cage of my locked jaw, I may actually end up slashing the inside of my own mouth.
This is a vastly dangerous proposition, and as much as I love you all, the thought of drowning in my own blood whilst attempting to tie down a tongue lashing armed with only my lips and aging teeth to assist me seems nigh impossible.
I love a bit of hanky spanky, but I am not a masochist.
If there are barbs to be unleashed, I would rather they kept away from my soft bits.
Rarely do my words vent far beyond my trusted inner sanctum anyway, and by now this select group have come to accept that once in a while I tell it like I see it.
They know it is never directed at them.
I do not keep morons within my inner sanctum, that's why they are in my inner sanctum.
And they know who they are.
But today I'm feeling lucky.
So let's talk.
Imagine a world where the only thing you knew for sure was that someone with a reputation as a totally flakey - albeit bright and charming - pants man became the love of your life. He came to your bed dragging a trail of broken promises on a string.Imagine then that he broke your heart by sleeping around........and you never saw it coming.
For fucks sake.
Imagine if when cornered, he placed blame squarely on the state of the modern world and it's inability to keep a mans private affairs private....then hurumphed himself out of the playpen, throwing toys and sticks over his shoulder at his playmates.
One might suggest this man might try to keep HIS privates INSIDE his pants, and he wouldn't have an issue.
Or perhaps the star struck woman who have 'pick me I'm desperate' stapled to their foreheads could just run it by any other woman on the planet, just to check.
But either way, if you sleep with a man who is a known cheat and he cheats on you, you deserve to drown in every tear you shed.
A bad workman blames his tools.
And a tool has no one to blame but himself.
Stupidity is one thing.
Lunacy is quite another.
I often describe people as being ' as mad as a cut snake'. I have never cut a snake, so I am not actually sure how mad they get, but I can bet it's pretty mad.
Thing is, for me, this is a term of endearment.
I love a bit of good old fashioned 'out there' with my coffee and a chat.
I would hope I am described in the same manner- although I suspect it may not always convey the same love for eccentricity that my label intends.
But 'nutbag' and 'being nuts' are not the same thing.
I once heard a discussion on radio in Australia about the word 'bastard'.
When Australian men greet each other, they might say " how are you, you ugly bastard?".
These are kinsmen. Being a bastard here is like being part of a secret club of brotherly man love.
If you were to gently chide that man for not bowling well at cricket, you might say "come on ya bastard" and it would mean' you can do it, we believe in you'.
But if someone is described as 'a bit of a bastard', they want him dead.
And 'being nuts' is not the same as being 'nutty', or a nutbag' or 'as mad as a cut snake', it's being insane.
And that's not fun for anybody.
Well, maybe a little at first, but then less so.
Once the novelty value has worn off, the crazy can be pretty wearing for those chaffing against it.
Paranoia is only fun until they really do all start talking about you.
Plus it never ends well.
Unlike being permanently deluded, which is more fun, because you always end up winning. Always.
I have long worked with creative people, I like them. Some of them are a bit deluded- which is not the same as being a bit of a bastard, although some do also fall into that category.
A week ago a man with precious little talent but mighty mighty powers of delusion was thrust into my path, as he is 3 or 4 times a year.
It is exhausting.
His self belief system is so enormous it has it's own climate.
Thankfully the only person who has ever remained close enough to him is his wife, and she is not without delusion herself.
Somehow they have managed to co-exist without actually spinning into one an others head space for many many years.
Personally I think it's because they each have their own gravitational pull that keeps them both rotating and functioning around each other and out into the wider world.
It is the ultimate symbiosis.
Were one to die, I should think the other would instantly disappear, not through grief- as they actually hate each other- but because the lack of 'ego force ' which would result in a delusion vacuum whereby they surviving partner would disappear up his or her own arse.
A quite literal black hole.
Ewwwwwwwwww
A hideous thought.
And one I shall leave you with.
Along with this chestnut.
Remember, life is like a box of chocolates.
If you press the caramel ones, the inside oozes onto the foil then you can't eat it without zapping your fillings and in three weeks time all that will be left of that box of countless delicious moments will be 2 sad and lonely orange creams leaking their guts into the butter compartment of the fridge.
W.

This Graph Will Explain Everything.

I am having 'a moment'.
I have been having it since February.
Some who claim my acquaintance would suggest that I have been having a moment much longer than that.
To them I say, "Bite me. If you are not part of the solution, clearly, you are part of the problem".
It's nothing major, this piccola crisi (God Damn and hooray :) I have always wanted to use the word piccola in print in place of small... take THAT bucket list....), and it has taken the form of neither self abuse nor black dog.
Merely inertia.
Not in every area, and not even consistently enough so that you would notice.
But I know it.
There have been more than a few times so far this year when my preferred course of action to any issue deemed 'too hard' has been to 'do nothing' and see how that pans out.
The problem is, sometimes it works.
Inbox full of questions that seem stupid and irrelevant?
Do nothing. Half the problems will solve themselves, and for the others, if it's that vital, they will contact you again and you can deal with it later.
Irritating tick you were once involved with jumping up and down about some hideous article of clothing he thinks he left under the bed?
Do nothing. He has already told anyone who will listen you are a psychotic bitch anyway, let your continued kidnapping of his favourite rugby shorts stand as proof of your unreasonable behaviour.
What have you got to lose?
Also, the material they use in those shorts is fantastic at mopping up cat vomit. Seriously, that is some super heavy duty cotton.
Writing deadline approaching?
Do nothing. Nothing will appear, but then you can always claim 'the need for creative retreat' and appear even MORE enigmatic when you emerge.
You see, this inertia business is the business, as they say.
It does fall down somewhat on the domestic front.
Not buying toilet paper because you are having a crisis day/week is all well and good for a while, but it runs a little empty on about day 3.
Thank God I have the habit of stealing tissues from coffee shops and hiding them crumpled up in my handbags.
And thank God I have several handbags.
There are times when I am being inert that it feels like I am lost in a sea of words. Words make the waves, and they pound me and rise up around me, drowning me as wave after wave crashes inside my brain, echoing and reverberating in the caves of my mind.
They are mostly quite intrusive words, self doubting and ponderous. They tend to be heavy in weight, and they slosh about like a thick, dark soup.
I know that the inner workings of my mind sounds ghastly, and it can be a scary place, but what surprises me about all this is that, rather respond with fear or courage -good old fight or flight-, I do nothing.
I stop.
Dead in the water, as it were.
Other things get done, mine is an active, fruitful and happy life, but some things simply do not, and these in actions remain suspended by the words that surround them in a kind of high wire word act attached to a large transparent jelly like Zorb Globe made of words.
Or at least, that's how I see them inside my head.
I wish I could draw, then I could show you, but I hope you can see what I mean.
Today, whilst on a bus, I saw a woman wearing a t-shirt that said " Be happy, it's one way of being" and I thought OH MY GOD !!!! it's a sign, because words can do that for me and I was having a moment, and I wrote it down in my notebook. Then as the bus pulled away, she unfolded her arms to reveal a final word...."wise"...and I thought, bollocks.
You know, I HATE,I simply HATE the concept that happiness and wisdom, or ignorance and bliss, or awareness and self satisfaction are in anyway connected.
Ignorance is not bliss, it is ignorance. Being happy is - like your orgasm- your OWN responsibility, and NOTHING EXTERNAL can make you happy if you do not BE happy. Being happy does not make you wise.
Spongebob Squarepants is happy, and he's a moron.
Why, oh why, oh why does everyone get the same right to breed?
I don't actually blame that woman.
T-shirts in HK say all sorts of things that make no sense.
I once saw a man wearing a t-shirt that loudly proclaimed that he was going to ' rock out with his cock out' and he was about a hundred.
Whilst I admire his intent, I somewhat question the reality of his situation.
And I say that with genuine respect, 'cause I know old people have needs too.
Like my need to achieve something more this year than mark another birthday.
Yes, yes yes, those of you who know me think I do lots of stuff, but there is more.
I need to write a book, several actually, that have been suspended in jellied word bubbles in my head for so long that the coating is becoming opaque.
I need to pick up my mentally inert self and throw myself into the fear abyss and smash those bubbles into cliffs so that the words spill out and fall onto the page.
I need to not wait and see how this one pans out.
Who knows what will happen?
Perchance not much, but at least there will be space made inside my head for more productive inertia.
You know that face recognition thing on facebook?
The one that tags your photo's?
I was deep in thought last week, studying the folds of my own navel whilst juggling 900 balls in the air as per usual.
I was uploading pictures, and in a candid shot and caught off guard, my face reflected everyone of my 41 years.
"Who is this?" it asked.
"Fucked if I know," I answered, and then retreated to my mind cave for half a day to see if the words held any answers.
Mind you, I may have over reacted.
Sometimes, there simply are no answers, and the reason doing nothing works, is because nothing is all there is to be done.
Inside my head, and even outside my head.
Once cyberspace tried to tag the face of the Mona Lisa that was in a poster behind me.
"Who is this?" it asked.
Dude, you are facebook. If you don't know, how the hell would I?

See No Evil...Hear No Evil...WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SMELL ?!?!?!??

Fill up the kettle, bust open the chocolate Hob Nobs and take a load off, you may want to get comfortable for this.
Blind Dating.
That is: leaving the house to meet up with someone you don't know and agreeing to spend at least the length of a glass of Pinot with, in order to find out whether or not it was worth the time and effort it took to put on a layer make-up .
This is opposed to dating the blind for which, it would seem to me, would require less time in the initial preparation due to the whole not being able to see thing.
As I get older and my make-up routine gets more complex and I am increasingly aware that the moments spent trowelling over the cracks and repainting the walls is time I shall never get back. Thus I am learning to resent what I see as a waste of perfectly good products on a man- sighted or otherwise- who turns out to be not only not 'sponge worthy' but not even worthy of a bit of spack filler and lippy.
Virgin Ewe Placenta doesn't come cheap y'know, and there are plenty of men with two perfectly good working eyes who are totally and irreparably blind to everything other than themselves and their own greatness.
But my target today is not male stupidity.
Well, not mostly.
It's Blind Dating.
I've done this before.
I am single, I date.
I have left the house covered in a paintbox and returned home with the paintbox kissed clean off.
I have even- after an initial blind date set up- spent some fairly decent time and energy on a delightfully intelligent man whose only flaw was his tendency to share his nether regions with every passing female with a pulse.
Meh.
For the record, I'm not cool with that, but whatever.
( To be fair, lest you think I'm being picky, he did have the MOST excruciatingly off putting cum face, so it wasn't JUST his philandering)
But tonight, I went on a blind date- with a sighted- but insight less man.
Lets call him ' M.V' which is not his name, but are the initials of someone I truly detest and so, as a writer, can use at will as a kind of written word cathartic revenge.
Ah.
Sometimes I love being me :)
But back to this.
MV touted himself as a forward thinking, well travelled, mature, creative, educated man.
I'm 'thing' with creativity and intellect.
It simply has to be there.
End of story.
What I prefer less of, and this is why we are talking, is the creepy " Hi I'm MV, I have no personal hygiene, and a few major issues surrounding my ex girlfriend, plus I'd like to sleep with you as soon as you have finished your drink because I am desperate and horny and this bar's Happy Hour is drawing to a close".
He was mature, I'll give him that, like an over ripened Pont l’Eveque or rancid Roquefort.
I am not kidding when I tell you I HONESTLY thought it was the cheese platter on the table beside us, but then I began to realise that cheese doesn't smell like crusted sweat.
However, this issue aside- bleugh- what really scuppered the evening was the constant and repeated use of what felt and sounded like of a set of 'how to's' in the 'losers guide to making a girl get naked' booklet for losers- as such-......which I have deliberately repeated.
MV " Blah Blah Blah, me, me, me, my amazing work etc......You look nice, by the way"
WH"Why, thank you" ( You smell dead, are we sure I am in the right bar?)
MV" I like a woman who knows what she wants" touches arm for one...two....three...seconds ( Mental note- dry clean jacket).
WH" Well, I guess at my stage of life I know a few more things about myself" ( Like how to wash, and where to buy deodorant)
MV "My ex-girlfriends a bitch, you are so lovely"
WH ( Your ex-girlfriends a saint, I can only imagine she had lost 2 of her senses in an horrific accident)
MV" Lets me buy you dinner and then head back to my place, I want to kiss you from your ankles to your forehead"
WH " Here's a hundred bucks for my wine, I need to go and get a tetanus shot" ( OK, I didn't say that last part out loud)
MV " Don't go, you are the only person who truly understands me, plus, I want to lick your pussy'- he ACTUALLY said this......
WH" I'm really sorry, my producer has just send me a text and has called an unexpected and urgent meeting at 9:30pm on a Wednesday night, and I REALLY need to attend it or I will never work again"- I ACTUALLY said this too.
Never mind that I currently have nothing underway that requires anything more than a diary meeting and a gossip over coffee, but mentioning an 'anxious producer' and simultaneously rolling ones eyes has a certain wiki magic.
Baffling the less initiated with bullshit is one of the true joys of my profession.
How can they see with sequins in their eyes? As they say.
I escaped, but not before he tried to stick his tongue down my throat- thank God for resistance training at the gym- and sent me off with a winking, lip licking, eye rolling attempt at what one assumes was a 'come hither' parting look.
Given my previous experience with sexual facial contortionism that bore an uncanny resemblance to a stroke victims final breath, this I understood to be designed to entice me into his lair.
It didn't.
I know there are no books out there on this one, but guys, if you want your ladies to think of you as 'hot' try not to pull faces that say 'aneurysm' when what you mean to say is ' thank you'.
I ran away, and caught up with a couple of friends with lives marginally weirder than my own, and when Rancid Man- for that shall be his other name- sent half a dozen follow up texts suggesting other ways he would like to give me septicemia or possibly golden staf, or that flesh eating bug, I sent a polite 'no thank you' message back which he promptly dismissed as ' banal and lacking it creativity'.
Yup, guilty as charged, if that means I can keep all my limbs.
Next blind date I am going on, I want it to be with someone who has at least a sense of smell.
For that I am willing to sacrifice sight, or even sound.
And why not ?
Both the deaf and the blind are good with their hands.
And nothing means more to a woman than a man with the ability to listen, to be in touch, to have insight and that rarest and most valued of qualities, common sense.

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.

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.

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.