As Suanie Sees It

Menstruating is one annoying expensive bloody mess of an affair.

I don’t know about you, but it is no fun to be me. Perhaps the faceless bodyless powers that be forgot to check the box that would have allowed me to be slightly normal before tossing me into the reincarnation cooking pot.

For the sake of argument, let’s say that my period comes regularly once a month, right on the dot when it’s supposed to flow. That means 18 DAYS of mild depression and apathy. Then comes the ooze, 5 DAYS to sputter and dry. Assuming there are only 30 days in a month, that means I have only 7 DAYS to be happy. That is some screwed up mathematics.

Before :
I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to meet people. Feels lumpy, grumpy, bite me. Oh, you know.

During :
So far I’ve never once woken up in the middle of the night to find that I’ve bled all over my bed. I suppose that is lucky. There’s this sort of instinct you know, like unspoken communication with your body and the horrors it is about to unleash. Since November 1994 I’ve always waited it out. Just sit and wait. Watch tv, whatever. Except for one time in school when a friend finally told me that I’d been walking all around with a huge reddish patch on the back of my sky blue pinafore. Convent school, so I was sort of lucky too.

The first two days are the worst. I’d feel sluggish, heavy, you know the works. And the body pain! Sit down for more than an hour and my butt cheeks would feel as if they’d been flogged with a malicious mallet. Then I’d walk awkwardly as if I were too fat to even see my own toes. Sort of like the walk when you had been seriously humped by Andre the Giant. Then people look at you funny and hence make their own assumptions that Andre had indeed been at work. Yeah right. I’d fuck a horse if it meant that I get any real sex. And then the expensive purchase of human sheep. I have to buy 3 types of sheep - first is the Playtex Slimfits with Super Absorbency. It doesn’t come cheap but it helps a lot if you have to go out.

Second is the Whisper Ultra for heavy flow, comes with overnights-wings. The one wrapped in purple plastic. For the exorbitant price tag it makes me feel safe and comfortable at night; thin yet with damn tough soaking powers. I’d wear this with a tampon on the first couple days if I had to go out - fuck I wouldn’t be caught dead outside with a telling patch on me pants. Guys if you buy this for your girlfriends, they would be so touched that they would let you shag them during their periods.

Then comes the Sofy normal BodyFit because it is cheap and I use them like running water. The first two nights I would use one Whisper Ultra and three Sofy. If the period was particularly heavy, I’d slip in one tampon too.

I’d always been amazed when friends tell me that they could do with just one overnight pad through the night. Doesn’t it spill?!? Just because you go to sleep doesn’t mean the blood stops oozing. And because you lie down on your back, it oozes through your butt crack to your linen. If you never had this experience and would like to know what it feels like, lie down on your back, pour some honey on your balls and let it flow backwards. Almost like foreplay except that no one is going to lick it.

For clarification’s sake, it does not mean that I have a big cheebai. I just roll around a lot when I sleep.

And ladies : dumping your bloody pad into the toilet or unwrapped in the bin beside it is seriously gross, ok. I have my own blood, I sure as hell don’t want to see yours.

After :
When the final trickles stop, it’s back to 25 days of pantyliners.

Then I’d be happy. I’d go out. I’d see my friends. I’d go clubbing. I’d smile and laugh.

After 8 days the cycle continues.

All this trouble and I don’t even want to have my own kids.

p.s : I am very screwable. Call me.

… I had a massive crush on the boy next door. He was a couple of years older than me; skinny kid with a loopish grin and very sepet eyes. I used to play with him and his younger sister until he entered secondary school and became too cool for us girls. He would smile and say hi but that was it. Still I liked him. He had hair like Jimmy Lin, you know.

One time when I was in Form 2 (14 years old) I had this brilliant idea to try get his attention. It was evening, his parents and younger sister were out selling dried herbs and stuff at the night market. So I took a pen and paper, climbed over the wall that separates our houses and knocked on the door.

He answered. I told him that my teacher gave the class an assignment to ‘get to know your neighbours’ - favourite colours, food, this that so could he please help me out? He said ok but he was watching a movie so if I didn’t mind I could ask him with the video on.

So I went in, sat with him in the living room and started asking him some basic stuff (how do I spell your name? When were you born?). Moments later I realised that the video was about a white chick getting humped by a white dude and they were making some pretty weird sounds. Moments after that I awkwardly said my goodbyes.

The family moved away a couple of years after that. The last time I saw him was a few years ago, he recognised me and we said hello.

So yeah, that was my first encounter with porn.

The J sisters and I went to Penang. We stayed at the Mutiara Beach Resort. It looks like this except that the sea was blue not green.

The pool was GREAT. They have an open air bar so you could drink beer at happy hour prices in the pool.

And this is the view from our room, overlooking the kiddy’s pool and the sea.

We suntanned, ate loads of junk, sometimes both at the same time.

And got drunk in the pool.

Coincidentally my eldest sister was in Penang as well. So we kutuk-ed a dinner from her (ok, I did that), all is good.

I think my head is bigger than hers.

Janice had cravings for assam laksa, and she had lots of them.

We also went to Padang Brown for lunch.

Small photo gallery here.

Parting shot :

Beloved family and friends of the blogosphere,

We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of two blogs who have in some way or the other enriched our lives with pleasing, sometimes shocking anecdotes. I would like to take a moment to bestow some praise upon the respective blog owners, as well as express my regrets that Fireangel.tblog.com and TheHustlerDiaries.blogspot.com will cease to be updated, maybe for good.

I first got to know of Fireangel.tblog.com when the blog owner commented on an old blog of mine, also hosted at tblog.com. The comment sparked a curiousity in me like never before. I clicked on the link provided and found to my childlike delight that hey! maybe god was listening after all, maybe there IS someone who shares my contempt for boy bands and awful cheese hamburgers! Maybe… just maybe she could be my friend!

Fireangel, or Malaikat Berapi as she is fondly remembered was no less of an erupting volcano than the ferocity of Krakatoa. Many things in life she loved and hated with endearing passion, and she was not afraid to voice her anger or frustrations of a non-existant sex life unto her little own space on the Web. Through her words and many typos, we learnt that Fireangel loathed Mondays, Tuesdays,Wednesday, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturday mornings and Sundays. Like all bloggers, she also hated anonymous commentors who were too afraid to put a name to their words.

Oh but how she loved! Not many would dare embrace nor go through the fierce passion and enthusiasm for the things she loved. Perhaps a few tried but they lack the originality that be. Number one on the list that could be counted off with five fingers was the usage of the word ‘fuck’. In fact I dare say that Fireangel’s intimate relationship with this very word created her. Try as we might, we would never be able to use this word in our entire lives as much as she did on her blog.

The price of popularity is high. It could also cause REAL people around you to say or do things that hurt you. That was what happened to Fireangel and it got to her quite bad. Hence she made the decision to commit suicide, not without anger nor disappointment that some people could be SO shallow as to be so affected.

TheHustlerDiaries.blogspot.com was relatively new, having been in the scene for only 6 months. Yet good quality stuff are quickly recognised and it soon became a very popular blog. It was even the runner-up of the Asia Blog Awards 2004.

The Hustler (though now known as ‘the cheating hustler’) wrote about girls, boys, relationships, sex and maybe the occasional banana bread. Posts after posts, clicks after clicks - we have never failed to be entertained with ludicrous stories that got us thinking, could that have really happened?!? We were always left in absolute, unmitigated awe that The Hustler inspired between porn downloads.

Then one post did ‘em all. One single post that entertained the heck out of everyone but those who failed to get any was the beginning of The Hustler’s death. I need not elaborate for most of you are familiar with the aspects of The Hustler’s work. Nevertheless the single strike of doom loomed.

Hate mail filled up The Hustler’s Gmail account. Vicious comments and blog entries were directed at him. Or her? Who really knows? Who really cares? The ones that made the biggest hoo-haas about it all were unable to differentiate between reality and the lack thereof. Entertaining and credibility? Entertaining OR credibility? I would offer those lamers a beer to move on with their lives, but I knew that even Budweiser would fail to give them a good hard grip.

And so another blog dies.

Both blogs were driven to death by one cause - pressure. Circumstances leading to the final moments were as different as they could be, yet they bear the same pressures of ignorance, vendetta and jealousy. You would donate to those vindictive people RM5 for a good blowjob at Chow Kit - but add another RM1.50 and you could buy for yourself a pack of cigarettes.

The good ones die young.

How true.

Thank you for reading.

Since everybody is blogging in parables these days, I thought I might as well join in the hump… errrr.. fun.

I once had a rabbit. I called him Rabbit. Rabbit grew from a very small rabbit to a very big rabbit. Rabbit ate rabbit food as well as carrots and lettuce.

Then Rabbit died.

Why did Rabbit die? RABBIT CANNOT DIE! RABBIT CANNOT DIE! CANNOT!!! RABBIT HAS NO RIGHT TO DIE!!!!

There was also this parrot with a brain the size of a dried pea. For the sake of story-with-a-moral continuation let’s call this parrot Parrot.

Now the common misconception is that Parrot killed Rabbit. The truth is, Parrot didn’t. Parrot merely hastened Rabbit to its early grave by continuously singing ONE song.

Because this is no ordinary parrot. Normally parrots are taught to speak and do silly, seemingly human-pleasing tricks like jumping through a small hoop but no, not this parrot. Like all parrots before Parrot’s time who were doomed to eternal social outcast, Parrot actually SPEAK without GUIDANCE. Yes, shocking as it is, the dried pea-like brain was left quite unconsulted.

Not that Parrot realised it of course. After all it was only one parrot (with nice feathers that go toink toink). How could ONE SINGLE PARROT affect the rest of the wildlife in the lush forest of Utopia? Parrot only wanted to share its toink toink feather secrets with hairy monkeys, fat elephants and grumpy lions.

So Parrot has only one mission in its rather long yet unsatisfactory life. To sing. And to sing the same song over and over again. You would think that if someone was going to sing the same song for eternity, s/he would at least attempt to change the tone or the lyrics. But no, not this parrot. This parrot is on a mission and like it or not, this parrot will damn well fulfil it.

Below is an original unabridged copy of the song lyrics;

Burung kakak tua
Hinggap di jendela
Nenek sudah tua
Giginya tinggal dua.

Letrum letrum letrum oh la la
Letrum letrum letrum oh la la
Letrum letrum letrum oh la la
Burung kakak tua!

Of course this didn’t go down too well with the rest of the poor suffering animals in the lush forest of Utopia. Where is Anthony Robbins when you need him? they thought, or Doctor Phil would do just fine!

But Parrot continued singing to any small fucks who are bored enough to listen. Monkeys tried to stop it. Peace-loving pigeons tried to stop it. Heck, even the resident shorts-wearing elf tried to stop it. But they all fail to understand one simple yet very important thing;

And from that day onwards ear plugs sales shot through the roof.

There is a lesson to be learnt in this parable. Let me know when you find it.

Until then, hum nahim jante, hum nahin mante.

Amen.