Time of the Month Tiger

I'd like to draw your attention to the new meme that gives voice to your worst period woes, including dropping your last tampon in the toilet, feeling like your uterus got stabbed, and the "unexpected goodbye leak," as only a man-eating tiger can.

So get creative and make your own Time of the Month memes to send to your friends. What slogan would you put in?

I must say I do sometimes wish I lived back in ye olden days. Cures for menstrual pains included a patented medicine called 'Cardui.' This testimonial from a booklet entitled Cardui medicine for difficult menstruation, leucorrhea, backache, headache, dizziness and general female diseases 1874 says:

"When I was sick at each month I would stay in bed because my back would ache and my head would swim so that I would almost faint when I stood on my feet. I endured this for three years. Then I went to a doctor. He did not help me much. Then he recommended Cardui and I began to take it. I took about a bottle and felt much better [I bet you did love] I have now taken several bottles and feel just all right. I have no backache, headache or dizziness anymore and would recommend Cardui to anyone."

Of course Cardui cured the aches - the stuff was 19% alcohol by volume, 38 proof; that's stronger than wine.

Now where can I get my hands on some Cardui ....?

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS NUN?

For most of the year Sr. Ignacia is a good nun - docile, sweet and pure. But around Halloween some wicked impulse takes over and she finds herself scaling the walls of the convent and mixing with the town's more nefarious inhabitants.

If you have seen her please inform her Mother Superior at your earliest convenience. If you see her about town please do not take advantage of Sr. Ignacia's guile and innocence ....



 Please act now. Her soul IS IN MORTAL PERIL. If you've seen her please call:

0800-NUN-WATCH

Call now! If you do not Sr. Ignacia's soul is at risk of burning in hell's eternal flames.

Recipe For Mr Right

When it comes to love affairs so many people are utter fools. Innumerable delusionals subscribe to some idea that it was an utter fluke that they met their wife/husband. That it was a one in a million chance and they were so lucky to find them. Take Michael Douglas, who is always banging on about what a marvellous chance meeting it was to sit next to Catherine Zeta-Jones at some Hollywood dinner. Once he was thigh to thigh with the world's most famous Welshwoman the lovestruck old git immediately started babbling like a loon about wanting her to have his babies. Later when she deigned to go out with him he was deluded enough to state  'luckily for me she likes older men.' Of course she does Michael. So maybe she'd never been out with one before and maybe if you'd have been a rag and bone man she wouldn't have given you the time of day but dream on pal...delusion is the fuel to love.

That's why it was so refreshing when my Aussie pal Fingers recently penned a post about all the things he was looking for a woman and how statistically when he broke it down there was only one woman for him left after going through all the things he wanted starting here: "So, say there are 6 billion people on the planet; half of them are disqualified immediately for not being chicks, so that leaves 3 billion; still a pretty BFN." Then he eliminates them for not being what he wants in various ways including:

Don’t like ‘Seinfeld’…25 million.
Hold their cutlery like baboons…15 million.
Can’t drive a manual car or reverse park…8 million.
Are Holocaust-deniers…4 million

...and on and  on .....until he whittles it down to one woman (and even that one isn't much of a prospect because she'd have to like him back and what are the chances of that happening!)
It's absolutely hilarious. Please go check it out right now!

But in any case I thought I'd give this a go. It's worth thinking about. I have to say sometimes I cry with joy at the fact that I am married and don't have to go on dates anymore but ... let's say I was a widow, what would I be looking for? I don't think I'm that choosy. Like this researcher contacted me the other day and said she is writing a book on food and what is my favourite food and I wrote back "Well trifle, chocolate mousse, fried chicken, lasagna, clam chowder, roasted peanuts, chocolate Hob Nobs etc etc." And she wrote back and said, "No I just need one!" Which left me scratching my head. How on earth can you have only one favourite food, the same as how can you have only one type of man, leaving aside all that nonsense about how 'there is someone for everyone.' I think... although obvioulsy I can't prove this ... that if I hadn't met my husband I would have married someone else. I might now be divorced with six kids, a 40 Bensons a day habit, genital piercings and living in a council estate in Peckham but still, I'm pretty sure I would have found someone else.

Now, I'm the first to admit I can't crunch the numbers like Fingers can but I do know that this would be my top ten wishlist:

1. Must be able to listen or pretend to listen to me ramble on while nodding sagely now and again
2. Sexually athletic - no premature ejaculators or men who have to narrate sex like "Oh you're so wet do you want me inside you you horny bitch?"
3. Must wear glasses (I'd say 90% of the men I've dated have worn glasses. I have no idea why this turns me on!)
4. Must enjoy bankrolling my lifestyle
5. Must not be overweight (yeah I know I'm a hyprocrite but I cannot deal with fat rolls on men)
6. Must be good at doing massages
7. Must enjoy doing crosswords together
8. Must not be one of those insanely competitive nutcases who has to win at everything even Monopoly
9. Must enjoy working at a well paid job for fifty years without having a mid-life crisis, growing a ponytail and shagging his secretary
10. Must not talk a lot as a I am a chatterbox

So go on, give me your Recipe for Mr or Mrs Right!! I would love to hear it. What are your top ten things you're looking for in a man or woman? I'll link anyone who takes part below. Think about it, this could be a golden opportunity. If you are single someone might read your post and get in touch because they tick all your boxes.

So far we have these saucy recipes for Mr or Ms Right:

Note From Lapland's not too fussed - but he should be clean and not scratch his arse in public

Slummy Single Mummy wants a man who won't twiddle his mole hair

London City Mum is looking for a woman who doesn't snore

World of Sheds would be chuffed with 'Vic Reeves circa 1991'

Mr Shev's ideal man is a Jedi whose light-saber would slice bread and make toast at the same time

Steve's ideal lady has raven tresses and warm baps

Vegemitevix's ideal guy should have goodness gracious great balls of fire!

Scarlet Blue needs a man who wouldn't mind cleaning up cat sick

Hard As Nails and Tough As Old Boots

People often say to me, "Emma, since you're not in the adult entertainment industry why do you sport long colourful acrylic nails?"

To which I roll my eyes and say, "Look, my nails are just a symptom of Porn Creep."

"Porn whatty?" some of my less informed friends invariably retort. So I go on to patiently explain:

"Well Porn Creep is the term for how porn culture has gradually spread into mainstream pop culture. Brazilians - the removal of all hair in the genital region - started in porn and is now widespread. Also, we don't think about it much anymore but the idea of plastic surgery as a mainstream trend including breast implants and now labiaplasty started in porn. And the sporting of really tacky acrylic nails was until recently the province of the porn actress. Now of course tacky talons are on runways as 'fashion statements' (although it beats me how you can see those nails from the side of a runway) and are all over the fashion glossies. Acrylic nails are the latest example of Porn Creep. And I am their latest victim!"

Porn Creep: Metallics at the Nary Manivong Show Spring 2010 (sort your hair out love!!)

So what happened was a couple of years ago I started getting my nails done. I was actually one of those people whose natural nails were a disaster and I chewed at the cuticles leaving them ragged. I was an embarassment. So I started going to this fabulous spa run by a bunch of Vietnamese who speak barely a word of English and I started paying through the nose for fake nails. The French Manicure was my gateway drug and as soon as I sported my first pair of fake nails I was hooked. Soon like those SM people who have to keep going for more and more pain for the same high I had moved on from your basic French manicure to having stars and transfers stuck on them. After that it was everything from fake diamonds to having half pink half purple to glitter bits and floral motifs. I freely admit I have a problem. I am also addicted to the Vietnamese spa. While I get my high from having my nails done so I can feel like a flashy trashy rich bitch I also adore the no nonsense attitude that pervades the place.

The French Manicure was my gateway drug...soon I was asking for fake diamonds and handpainted designs

The other day I went in the spa and the nail woman screamed: "You have nail fungus!" She was referring to a brown discoloured patch on my nail. All the other nail technicians gathered around and shook their heads distastefully. "Don't worry," my lady said. "We take care of you." I hoped she wasn't going to get out a pair of pliers and just rip the nail off in one fail swoop. No, it was fine. She looked at me in a disgusted fashion, told me she'd put a new fake nail on and then, "We do design to cover nail fungus." So that's how I currently come to be sporting a design of a tropical rainforest on my nails.

I love that take no crap attitude. It's like "You shut up! We take care of you!" Sure I love the massage chairs and the pedicures but it's also that attitude of whatever the problem is we will deal with it. Like I went there with my friend Jane who is a bit of a veggie nut and the nail technician took one look at her fingers which were a bit orange and said, "You have liver cancer!"

"No, I just eat a lot of carrots," Jane replied. But the woman kept shouting, "No, you get special herbs to cure it. I tell you to go to my friend she fix it. In my country we cure it with herbs.You got liver cancer!"

Whether or not Jane had liver cancer is beside the point - the lady told her what was what and how to contact the local Vietnamese witch doctor to get it sorted out. Man, I love that place. I love the way it is full of their kids running about the place and when you open a door looking for a toilet you find four people crouched on the floor eating rice from bowls with chopsticks. I love that I can't understand a word they say. To me, they are family.

The Vietnamese spa is - yes - it's my haven from the realities of life. In fact it's the equivalent of a massage parlour for men - the only difference, really is that I don't leave behind two tablespoons of viscous liquid. Like 'working girls' the nail technicians are paid to act like they care about whether I want stars or stripes on my nails and to pander to me making out that it is not crazy for me to spend fourty dollars every time to be cossetted and have bits of plastic stuck on my fingers.

So am I nuts or have you ever become addicted to something that while perfectly harmless was hard to justify in the grand scale of things?

Countdown to Halloween

Halloween 2009 was a bit crap (yes that's me in the frightwig)

Okay so we've all made mistakes. We've all thought we could cut corners on our Halloween costumes and buy nylon $5 wigs and get away with it haven't we? Last year was not one hundred per cent on the Halloween costume front. I'm prepared to accept that skimping and scraping didn't give me the desired result to wow the suburban crowd around here. Some of them even asked "Who are you meant to be?" Ho hum. So this year is going to be big. It's going to be huge. I'm going to start work on my Halloween costume right now and I want your input.

At the moment I'm thinking of being:

1.Large Scary Lady with human crotch



2. Sexy Straight Jacket (downside: not being able to drink wine or stuff face full of candy)



3. Saucy Girl Scout - Does Anyone Want To Buy Any Cookies?

4. Life Sized Sock Money (Problem: I'm not a very good knitter)

5. Flying Monkey from Wizard of Oz - I love this but how do I get myself to fly?

6. Air on a C-String. Had no idea what a C-string was until VeryBored explained the ins and outs of this new fangled device for ladies who are nuts. (Downside: pretty sure I don't have the arse to carry this off).

7. Posh n Becks Skeleton Sandwich (problems: need to find a David Beckham lookalike in a few weeks. Any offers? Also need to lose 80lb)

So let's have your votes. Think carefully here about the pros and cons of each outfit. Any other ideas more than welcome. And what about you - what are you going to be this year?

Dear Mariella: Should I fondle my friend?

Misssy M recently highlighted a delightful jape on her blog; seems some smartarse prankster wrote a letter to The Guardian’s resident agony aunt, Mariella Frostrup, that was basically the plotline to the film Little Children. The funniest bit was that the cigarette-butt gargling Mariella didn’t pick up on it and replied in earnest.

Of course, being a caring sharing kind of blogging community ever waiting in the wings to pounce on someone’s gullibility to increase our own internet profile the idea was mooted that as many bloggers as possible write in to Mariella in a similar vein – choosing our own favourite films as source material – and thus stretching Mariella’s sandpaper voiced advice to the absolute limit. Here without further ado, is mine:

London, October 4 1969

Dear Mariella

I am writing to you because I am at my wit's end. I am tired of hiding it. I know that the Law says there is something wrong in loving another man but I no longer care about all that! I am hopelessly madly in love with my friend Marwood. There are no lips on earth I would rather kiss, no body on earth I would rather fondle. What a fool I have been. I thought he felt the same way. He told me he loved me only last week. But when he came down from that particular three day acid trip he claimed he couldn't remember having told me that 'your body is a bongo I want to keep drumming, your pubic hairs a guitar I want to keep strumming. I love you man.'

What makes me so angry Mariella is that I have given him the best years of my life. For ten years we tried to make it as thespians. You should have seen me a decade ago, I had the body of an Adonis. But Marwood perverted me, he corrupted me, and soon we were taking all manner of hallucinogenics to get us through the dark days of auditions which never led to any parts. And now, after all these years of debauchery; which have taken their toll in that I now look like Dorian Gray's portrait in the attic while Marwood walks around with skin as flawless as a cherub; Marwood landed an acting part somewhere up North amongst all those flat capped oiks and just upped and left. When I asked him when I was going to see him again (we squatted in a flat in London until we were elbowed out by a satanic drug dealer) he shrugged his shoulders as if to say he didn't much care if he ever saw me again.

You do understand of course that because homosexuality is a sin I can't talk to anyone but Uncle Monty about this. Monty (himself an invert) advised me that Marwood's trip up North is just the last in a long line of flirtatious 'catch me if you can' games and that he really wants me to hot foot it up to Manchester - but I'm not so sure. Uncle Monty swears blind Marwood bats for other team and that Marwood gave him the green light when we were all guests at Monty's country cottage but I refuse to think that Marwood is the sort of 'toilet trader' who would offer himself to Uncle Monty just as a sort of thank you for bed and board. I won't have the man I love soiled by those sorts of aspersions.

What I want to know is do you think Marwood feels the same but is in denial? What pray should I do? Should I follow him up North or should I give up and just hurl myself on the sword? Should I pursue the love of my life or should I simply throw in the towel, go to India and live in an Ashram? I am dying here and I have run out of booze. Right now I am quaffing lighter fluid..... it may be too late....

Yours, Withnail

Please dear bloggers send me your advice or do your own pisstake letter on your blogs!

A scene from the movie: Revenge of the Beta Boob (When Boobs Attack)

Meanwhile....if you can't get enough of me I'm talking about Alpha and Beta Boobs over here!!