The Whore Moans… A post about woman things.

NSFMWAGOBTMMOP

(not safe for men who are grossed out by the mere mention of periods)

But I don’t talk about anything truly gross, so it’s ok. But maybe a bit boring…

———————-

Anyhoo

I’m a lousy rotten excuse for a woman.

No, I’m not talking about my personal hygiene or lack of ladylike, classy qualities. OR even how much I mistrust, dislike and am generally not nice to other women.

I mean… I still haven’t come to terms with being born a woman, in a species that isn’t an equal opportunities employer, and where I will have my period for a good 18 to 25% of my life.

Ever since I was 12 years old, I have been getting periods. Every month. Ever 29 days to be exact, the period fairies bring me their unwelcome, yucky gift. Every month I rage against the injustice. FUCKING HELL I JUST HAD ONE LAST MONTH, this is BULLSHIT. I never expect it, it’s always a hideous surprise. ARGH! Dying! Oh, no, just womb realising it has a lot of sex but somehow no sperms get in there, so should just give up on the nest-making for this month. Body doesn’t understand about condoms. Body keeps trying, though. Keeps making more nests for this baby it thinks I am foolish enough to allow set up shop in my tummy.

It is always a big drammatic surprise…

But I should. They are so fucking regular, I’ve never even missed one…  apart from once when I was 16 I went to Glastonbury and I wanted to get laid so bad, I asked my doctor for some magic no-period beans. I cited unwillingness to use tampons in a portaloo, but he probably knew I was just eager for carefree hippie sex… and what joy! Period-no-get pills actually exist! So that month I had a glorious but unsafe fuck with a gorgeous older guy who I told I was 21. He had to have known, is all I’m saying. I was crap- he asked me afterwards if that had been my first time. I laughed but it hurt like no amount of penis ever could. I tried to take it as a compliment to my youthful tight-itude but knew it was more to do with my lying there like a nearly dead fish on a riverbank. I mooned over him for a month after the festival. I lay in bed and came up with scenarios where I got pregnant and had to track him down to tell him I was pregnant and getting an abortion. I thought of going to find him in Glouscester where I knew he lived and worked. Just arrive and ask for the hot hippie guy…  and pretend to have just been passing through casually. Thank FUCK I didn’t have any contact info for him or I certainly would have gone on a stalk quest. It took me ages to reach my present level of casualness about sex, I used to fall in love with every penis I became aquainted with. And I still sort of do… which is why it’s good that I keep sleeping with total gobshites, because then there’s that as a deterrent.

Anyway not to get bogged down in my sexual history… sorry… it’s just all my stories refer back to sex… and they probably always will.

So. For 12 years, half my life, I have been getting a period roughly every month. I did some calculations and: I have had roughly 150 periods so far. And they have been regular, as far as I have kept track of them… which is intermittent at best. Every time I go through a phase of noting the start date on a calendar somewhere, the next one comes exactly 29 days later. So knowing that, you’d think I would be prepared. You might think I’d expect it, or carry some accoutrements with me on the day, or avoid wearing a pale skirt and short jacket. Or warn my family just to avoid me, and avoid saying anything inflammatory.

But no.

Every time it’s over, I’m free again, free from the constant swiping my hand under my ass on public transport, just to be sure… and free to have sex again… (I know certain people who are able to have periody sex with strangers but I am NOT one of them. Yeah I’m talking to you, you filthy critter…)

Every time it goes away I rejoice. No more period! Hooray! Party time!

And I promptly forget all about the existence of nature’s cunting buzzkill, and how it’s already putting the wheels in motion for its next invasion of my life. The clock is always ticking, I’m always somewhere on my cycle. I have, frequently, said all and any of the following:

Sorry I’m in a bad mood, I am about to get my period.

Sorry I’m in a bad mood, I have my period.

Sorry I’m in a bad mood, I just finished my period.

There is only one week in the month when I am “normal” and also skinny. That is THE week.

I go shopping during that week. I buy C-cup bras and think, fuck yeah, my boobs have finally come in.

I try on stretchy dresses that a Latina woman might wear while sexy dancing in a music video, you know that vibrating they do that is just not fair and I think of the ad for milk, them bones them bones need calcium… and it said “an adult has X amount of bones, a child has many more” and I think, those bitches, they have more bones, or muscles or something. There is definitely no way I could ever do that, ever. But I can still wear the dress.

Oh, in case you are asking, I don’t know what age she is but it has been up on youtube for years so I am sure it is OK.

But I can still. wear. the dress.

And I’m briefly happy and confident and then another week passes, or 2, and it’s gone… the stretchy fabric dresses in my wardrobe laugh at me. SERIOUSLY? You must have been high when you tried us on. We are not for your kind…

Suddenly I am fat. Why am I so fat? It must be those nutritionally complete dinners I ate. Greedy bitch. Why do I keep ruining my figure with these gluttonous binges? Ugh so much hard work to lose that weight, and I go blow it all on a measly feeling of fullness. It’s going to be a lifelong fight against the weight, I realise. Such sacrifice. I love food. I love it so… if I thought bulimia was an effective method of weight loss and not so bad for your teeth and stomach, I would totally just spend my life scoffing macaroni and cheese and drinking red wine and eating fizzy cola sweets and these chocolate biscuits that have caramel inside them. And cake. And chips with pepper sauce and steak. Oh maaaaaan so fucking hungry. And deep fried brie. And then puking it all up.

But bulimia IS super bad for you, and it doesn’t even work well as a weight loss thing, apparently. Also there is the unpleasantness of throwing up. I tried when I was a teenager but after half an hour gingerly avoiding sticking my fingers down far enough because I didn’t like the feeling… I had to give up. Needs more determination. I’m glad I didn’t persevere…

I came up with a solution one time, the “mouth-dom”.

It’s a condom worn inside the mouth, hanging down the throat. You attach it to the back teeth with some string or something, then eat all you want. Then when you are done eating you pull it out and throw the food in the bin or put it in the fridge for later, depending on how much it is chewed. I usually don’t chew my food well so it is probably good for another go.  Anyway I don’t know if it is possible to breath while your oesophagus has a condom full of food hanging down it, and I am not about to test the idea on myself. Just another one of my inventions, starved to death on the drawing board.

So I’m lying in bed, totally ignoring the fact that excercise would probably solve most of my problems, but I don’t want to waste my precious lying down watching comedy programs time doing something boring and embarassing like running around in ugly shoes that make my feet look bigger and smell funky, so I prefer to focus on the food aspect.

And I prod my stomach, and it’s ok but it was so much better very recently. And I feel my love handles which aren’t exactly handles but they are certainly grabbable. Love grips. Well. Maybe it’s not so bad. Used to be a lot worse, I remember when people would congratulate me on my pregnancy. That happened twice. Fuck me that was awful…

It’s just, since shedding quite a few pounds I have become much happier and more confident (if you think, WTF this is you in a GOOD mood? then Fuck You, and you probably haven’t read my earlier posts.) but instead of being glad and thinking, hooray for me, I never thought I’d look good in jeans again and now I do… instead, I’ve just raised the bar for myself. So now I sit and grab any bit of me that’s not hard and lithe and feel depressed and angry like it’s either look like a model or else be a fat pig.

And all this time, every time, there’s no fucking need to be upset. At all.

Because every month it is exactly the same. A few days before Auntie Uglypants pays her visit, I bloat up like I’ve just spent a week in Ireland, drinking and eating potatoes…

It’s just water retention. There’s nothing I can do about it. Every fucking month, I freak out and hate myself and grab extra flab between my fingers and think this is it, back to wearing those floaty dresses with the high elasticated waists, just under the tits, fooling no one… I lie here miserable and think… does crying burn calories? And maybe it does, so I cry a bit because I don’t want to be hungry and one of those bitches that men complain about being obsessed with not eating, and boring, who can’t just chill out and have a burger, but those men complain but they still want the women to look like that. It’s hard to be a woman sometimes, just the hypocrisy of myself alone is enough to drive me crazy, and then I have to go and add everyone else’s… And then my face is puffy and my jaw looks fat too. I’m like Miss Piggy. Goddammit why can’t you stop EATING?

And then I wake up and I don’t have breakfast… the only thing to pass my lips before I leave home, is my beloved vibrator… and when I come to what might be an orgasm if it wasn’t so sad, I cramp up in the vague area where my reproductive organs are housed, and it’s even harder to get out of bed. And my back aches…

And I think, why this pain? Even though I should recognise it by now. And then later, it arrives, like a policeman on my doorstep, with his hat in his hands, at once confirming and alleviating my fears:

I’m terribly sorry, ma’am.

Can I come in?

And I collect myself and remember where I put the things I need and dress to minimise paranoia and risk of leakage… and we’re back in period mode… Only then do I remember the other thing about periods, the water retention. It dawns on me that maybe… just underneath the squishy padding, my body is still in pretty good nick. And maybe next week I will lie before a man, and feel proud, and know my pelvis bones stick out just a little, but I’m still comfortable to lie on… If you catch me feeling like THAT, you are in for a treat. Nobody would accuse me of being a virgin after I confident-fuck them. I’d bloody well want to be getting better at this, I’ve slept with enough people…

But I still don’t quite believe it’s all water weight. Despite going through this exact same mindfuck and cycle of self-hate to self-love (well… I never quit the self-love. Ha. Ha. Sorry. You get it. I should stop, I know.) I still jump through the same hoops every fucking month.

Maybe, I think, some of it is water retention due to this poorly designed and mysoginistic procreation equipment, but it’s probably only partly that and the rest is I’M A GREEDY FAT PIG. Who ate all the fucking pies? What pies, I just had half a teaspoon of sugar in my coffees this week… and one time I drank a cup of hot milk with honey before bed. That’s all it seems to take… So much self restraint required (if you insist on living a life of horizontal slothery and won’t give up the booze) to stay looking good.

And then my period is over and I am back to normal and I celebrate by containing my body in the smallest amount of fabric I can get away with and I go out and drink lots of beer. And get reckless, have a pizza. With gorgonzola.

And forget all about the vicious life cycle. All. Over. Again.

150 times I have gone through this.

One… hundred… and… fifty.

And it never sinks in, that there is this horrible fat week in every month.

And then this month, for the first time, I tried to break the habit. Anticipate before I self-flagellate.

My dress doesn’t look the best on me today. My tights aren’t helping, they are bulging up over my tummy and marking a distinct line between my top and my bottom. I grab a bit of belly, feels doughy. Can’t remember if doughy means it is actual fat, or just water weight. Can’t even remember if it feels softer or harder than usual. Put my hands on my hips, feel my ribcage. THAT feels pretty good. But the hip area is not great. I had to spend a little time choosing an outfit, which means I am porkier than usual.

I would love to wake up one day and just be able to wear an unstructured, like, t shirt dress. I have tried sometimes when feeling particularly cocky and fuck ’em all, I feel like a WOMAN, be it a couple of pounds over the ideal, I am sexyyyyyy… but inevitably, once I stop holding in my stomach and standing up straight with my chest thrust out, it becomes apparent that my figure is still not lycra-ready. And then I spend the rest of the time hunching over ashamed and trying to wrap things around my waist so you can’t see any pudgy outlines.Which just makes it worse.

So when I feel a bit of chub coming on, before hatin’, I think back..  it’s true I have been delightfully curse-free lately. Maybe I’m due a period?

I start to feel relief around the edges… What if,  I am getting my period and that is why I don’t look my best today? I can’t remember the last time I had my period. Sometime around christmas, maybe.

Start to think…

Really, really can’t remember.

I was taking note in my phone, but then I stopped.

I am worried now….although I don’t remember having unprotected sex with anyone. But then again, if I did have unprotected sex it would have been because I was super drunk, and in that case I probably wouldn’t remember. Oh dear. Well, it’s likely I am just spacing out and everything is fine although it’s clear I need to go and get checked for stds very soon. Oh god imagine I had some horrible disease. Sometimes I get spots around my mouth and I become convinced that they are herpes. Imagine I had herpes. That would be the worst. I know that really they are not herpes, it’s just spots I get from hormones and the fact that I eat and other things at my computer and then I type and then I touch my face all the time and bite my nails and my face is just a petri dish for bacteria to get freaky with each other.

But still, every time I get those spots on my face, and they totally coincide with my periods too, I lie awake nights thinking of how I could possibly go on living life as I know it, with herpes on my face. And I turn on my laptop again and google what herpes looks like and comfort myself that mine are not herpes.

But still, I kiss a lot of guys. I am basically queueing up for the herp.

Anyway to may a short story long, I counted up from some months ago, and it looks like, no I am not due my period this week. Or soon. I am due it in like 2 weeks. So I am not in my fat week.

This is just actual fatness.

WHYYYY?

Not fair.

Is it just that I haven’t been eating mandarins, nature’s laxative, lately? I went to LIDL and bought a crate of them but they are all bad. Fucks sake this has never happened in Italy before. I have never had a bad mandarin here. But these are fucking terrible, I can’t eat this shit.

 

This is shaping up to be a bad Friday night.

And the other thing is I am drinking wine and when I was in LIDL I was hungry (rookie mistake, a LIDL run on an empty-ish stomach, I know) and I bought chocolate and crisps and now I REALLY FUCKING HATE MYSELF.

I haven’t eaten anything bad in ages… now crisps? This is so fucking bad. I wish I had a mouth-dom right now. But I better not attempt anything stupid like that while drinking alone as I am not confident in my auto-heimlich maneuver skillz and I definitely don’t want to have to bang on my neighbours doors and gargle “Help me… condom stuck in oesophagus full of partially chewed food.. call ambulance… don’t know number of ambulance in italy as it is not an easy number like 911 or 999”

 

I’ll be back here later probably, maybe you will be lucky and get a drunk post. Everyone loves a drunk post, especially you but ESPECIALLY ME.

Happy weekend y’all.

Oh no I was ending this all chirpy and I remembered what I was pissed about, being fat and it not even being water weight?

Maybe I am wrong abut having had a period this month and I am actually long overdue one, or… gasp… preggers?

Immaculate conception?

Drunk and immemorable conception?

Conception through stomach?

 

It’s cool really I hear that drinking lots and then running up and down the stairs is pretty effective at dealing with that kind of issue.

I’m joking of course*

 

*If that offends you… I have been told that abortion/miscarriage jokes are not everyone’s cup of tea.

 

Anyway, it’s ok I am probably just fat.

Lots of love,

your pal,

Smooth-Ass MoFO

 

Ps. If you are also having a poignantly silly alone time Friday night like me, I recommend this sketch show I just discovered. I don’t know am I drunk or is this just the funniest thing Iever did see.

It is called the peter serafinowicz show.. and I just typed that, I didn’t copy and paste, so my guess is that I am totally fucking sober. So it is probably really funny.

That is a spoof of those magazines they always advertise…

But you can also view the whole episodes on Youtube by searching for peter serafinowicz show and there are all the episodes split into two parts.

I have no idea if this is actually funny or not to other people but I have been laughing to myself, at some points I actually laughed out loud which never happens, to anyone, ever, despite all the LOLing going around or to say it correctly, LingOL.

So if you are bored give it a gander. I really need to take a slash now so excuse me while I go to the little girls room. I will probably be back here later oh shit I already said that. Love you… peace out

 

4 responses to “The Whore Moans… A post about woman things.

    • Ahhh haaa I love cheesy peas, I always remember it… One time a guy brought a bottle labelled- I shit you not- “Cappuvino” up to my parents house for a party. It said something on the bottle like “If you love wine, and love coffee…. this is the drink for you” I did a search and found it on ebay. Crazy… http://www.ebay.de/itm/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=160712174041&clk_rvr_id=310672325735
      I just pigged out on most of a family size pack of crisps and two ritter sport chocolate bars as well as all some wine… urgh not helping the tummy sitch. Anyway Happy friday to you too.. thanks for the awards btw, I think I am giong to do awards too at some point.. it’s also cool because it means I get to discover some other good blogs which I guess is the point…

  1. Oh…

    My…

    God…

    What IS this Peter Serafinowicz Show?! Thank you SO much for sharing this MFO! Why isn’t this on netflix?! Why unjust god?! Just to let you know I totally stole these clips and posted them on facebook and acted like I found them myself. I shall give you zero credit. That’s how I roll.

    Real men can handle period stories. Because I’m so damn manly it’s offensive sometimes. Even to me.

    75 billion pounds.

    • Hahaha sure that’s how I found the show… someone else’s facebook. Then I obsessively youtubed all the episodes… Share and enjoy, my friend! Share and enjoy!

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