Sunday, December 27, 2009

I have felt the agony of being cheated on. I have felt the guilt of cheating on someone and I have also felt the loneliness of being the woman someone cheats with.

When your in love with someone your back to back with them, fighting off the world and when you realise someone has wedged in between you, your now fighting off the world from all angles. Nobodies got your back. Sorry means nothing- part of you thinks that finding out every detail if the betrayal will take away the mystery and take away and secrets this woman shares with your secret keeper or bonds she holds with your rock. But inevitably the details will only hurt you more and thus a bad idea as your protector is no longer doing his job and you need to step in his place and fill that roll by protecting yourself from such images. Might have been one small fuck up or might have been a year long fuck up but either way you feel lost, your little corner of the world has been invaded and you believe there will be more comfort in the bottom of a bottle of Jacks then you ll ever find in your bed again. All of the sudden your lonely.

Cheating never feels remotely similar to being cheated on. Its just as they say, "a bad decision" half the time you cant even remember you did it and other times you'll never forget the deep thrill of the new forbidden skin. You'll either regret it straight away or you regret it later on. There is nothing sexy about being sneaky, about hurting someone you love and theres certainly nothing sexy about being miserable in you home life. This of course is something that we'd all like to believe- Ill only cheat or be cheated on if my relationships going down the drain. But its not the case, we slip up and we land on our love. The combination of beers and flattery or wine and long legs is what we need to convince our selves that the angel waiting patiently between our clean sheets at home is less then perfect and deserves this. Or we deserve this. After woods you've hurt someone and in doing so hurt yourself and the one person you go to that bring you back to yourself you cant tell. All of the sudden your lonely.

I'm a mistress, I'm the other woman, I'm younger and more fun. How ever you put it you know deep down that your second best. You ll always know that someone else gets to sleep the full night, someone else gets to make future plans, someone else gets that respect that either comes from bearing children or a long history. There is another woman that calls out your lovers name while shes bathing his children, and can make him loose it laughing without even looking up at him. You cant yell at him, you cant kiss him at the checkout, cant go on a road trip together and cant call him at work. But you look dam good in a g-string. All of the sudden your lonely.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Public Masturbating

Its rude to point at someone, its ruder to stare at someone. Spitting at someone is vile and reserved for only the classiest of folk (train station dwellers.) But an all new low... and a rudeness with its own community of rude is masturbating at someone. What does one call this activity? its not flashing, its not molesting its masturbating at someone. Some characteristics of a extroverted masturbator is the inability to walk, they lurk. The inability to sit still, they shake- not a scared shake, more of a cold shake (imagine a whippet) They have strange sleeping hours, almost nocturnal.
One freezing cold Melbourne morning my sister left our house to go to work, she was doing the breakfast shift at the local cafe. She briskly walked to the tram stop to read the timetable. My poor innocent sister noticed the shadow of a lurker but thought nothing of it as she stepped into a doorway to keep warm while waiting for the tram. That's when he struck. Around the corner popped the pathetic excuse, pants down, dick in hand, desperate look on his face as he started to masturbate towards her. My poor sister ran all the way to work. Mortified.
Now I'm not naive to the fact that men love there dicks. Nor do I think I'm the only one who's been in the following situation......
Girl gets drunks, girl meets guy, goes home with guy, gets into bed and realises shes to drunk and not into it so opts to pass out instead. (Come on we've all done it) Funny part is when guy gets desperate and after trying to wake the girl up for 15 Min's realises he has to take matters into his own hands and proceeds to wank right there in front of her.
Orgasms arn't the only thing we ladies fake, we also fake sleep. So cheers for that one fellas doesn't leave us feeling awkward at all!
When I discussed this scenario with a girlfriend she admitted shed been there but didn't think there was anything wrong with it.
Anyway I'm not that understanding, I don't see it as a mans need to get off or a beautiful thing. I don't feel the need to celebrate a mans cock at every opportunity nor do I see his orgasm as an imminent ceremony.
To me these acts are desperate showcasing a sexual greed and lack of control. But a lack of self control that Iv learnt to tollorate. Should have just coughed up for a cab home.
The real villains in the story and the public masturbator... The train station wanker, the guy on a date with himself in the sand dune and the cinema creep camouflaged in all the different shades if fowl.
So after carefully reminiscing the time I almost bumped into a guy doing a poo under a statue in Madrid and the overweight, half naked hooker that looked to be halfway through her menstrual cycle on high rd Kilburn- Iv come to the conclusion that if you places public masturbators in a community with all the above and worse they would still find themselves the guy in the town being referred to as 'The Rude Guy'

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

I was just writing a blog, it wasn't going anywhere so I was getting slightly agitated. When my charming boyfriend slumped on the couch, picked up the remote and told me I had bloggers block. Naturally I told him to get fucked. Then with a smugness that only he can project he warned me against biting the hand that feeds me.
Stubbing my toe doesn't piss me off as much as my boyfriend does. Once when I was little I cut up a piece of Vegemite toast into tiny little square pieces, so exited to eat them I ran to the lounge room- tripped- and every single square landed Vegemite down. That didn't piss me off as much as my boyfriend does.
Here is an example of a Friday night in our house. Billy finishes work, tells me his going out. I ask if I can come, he says "sure" but when I actually look like I might do it he starts getting annoyed. So I tell him its fine Ill just drop him off. I ask him to empty the babies bath water while I put her in the car. I ask him, "What time will you be home? doesn't bother me I just want to know if I should cook dinner" he replies "7 at the latest babe, I'm exhausted from work. Love you"
"Love you too"
OK that's all well and good so I cook dinner. 10pm comes and my sweetheart stumbles through the door with his friend Clive. He declares to me "Clive's dumping his girlfriend, selling his house and moving back to England and Iv decided to do the same"
"OK Billy" (you can tell I'm used to this) So I leave them to it and go to bed, I sleep in the spare bed to avoid being woken up. Of course I cant sleep with the music and football and TV- finally he goes to bed after 12. I'm now starting to worry as I know the baby will wake me up at 5am and I wont get enough sleep. Then just as I manage to drift off I hear my dog Elvis barking and the neighbours telling him to shut the fuck up. So furious I drag myself out of bed, between Elvis barking and Billy's snoring I'm ready to throw a punch. I call Elvy and let him in. He does what he always does and runs straight to the bathroom for a sniff, its dark in there, he jumps into the bath and then realises its full. Poor little dog stands there shaking and in shock. The smell is putrid as I haven't bathed him in ages. I was ropable. Billy had forgotten to empty the bath.
Now If theres one thing my obsessive compulsive boyfriend hates is dirt and mess. So the only thing that I could think of to do was open our bedroom door where Bill was sleeping and let my saturated stink bomb curl up in between snoring Bill and his cotton sheets.
In the morning its- "Morning babe, Elvy slept with me"
"morning babe, that's nice dear"
I have to get off the computer so his Holiness can play medieval war games. xxx