Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Keep bleeding, I keep keep bleeding love/actual blood/angry hormonal tears

Last night, whilst having dinner with my mother in-law & sister in-laws, I expressed concern about the fact my monthly uterus shedding hadn't occurred for a few months now. I also expressed concern that it was a likely possibility that I in fact needed to go to the fanny doctor & get my bits forward approximately 10 minutes later......

FYI Americans, Fanny = Vagina. NOT bottom.

The mysterious disappearing bleeder suddenly appeared from wherever it was hiding. I'm thinking it was laying on a beach somewhere in Hawaii, sipping Pina Colada's, reading erotic novels & staying the hell away from the water in case of hungry sharks. The joy that exploded out of me in that moment was embarrassing. I even made my mother in-law 'give me some skin'.

For all the dudes reading this, doing small vomits in your mouth because periods are major shithouse, deal with it. If you one day discover a used fanny bullet (Blake's name for tampon) floating in your bog bowl, I'm not apologising for that either. Blame the plumbing.

Evolution/God (which ever way you swing) created the female human form to bleed once a month just so we can get our vagiola ripped to pieces by pumping out your small human babies. We women folk aren't overly fond of this process but we deal with it because we have to. And quite frankly I would rather cope with this once-a-month bitch ass hoe rag, than have a stick thing jammed down my japs eye or have strange mans finger inserted up my a-hole to check for scrot abnormalities.

Now I believed that somewhere last night in rural Africa, a small tribe of saggy titted black medicine women were sitting around in a kumbaya circle, praying to little black baby jesus for my bleeder come back to me.

 Dear Black Baby Jesus, please help our friend Becky................
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Somewhere between getting up from my seat at the pizzeria & walking to the bathroom, some magical shaman dust came from the somewhere in the atmosphere & kicked started my bitch lumps. To those saggy titted shaman ladies, I am eternally grateful for this aching back, & stomach & for crying last night for an hour about nothing really after I'd shovelled a whole cheesecake down my pie hole. I'll take that, thank you.

Normally, experiencing my 'George' wouldn't be cause for celebration, but you got to understand that I had literally begun to except the fact that I was possibly dying of some serious kooka related disease because I hadn't had no 'George' for 3 months. Prior to that short stint of absence, I had it for 3 months then nothing for 9 months. Exercising apparently messes with the menstruation. As does losing weight & going off the pill. This triple threat hormone screwer has messed with my fanny bag & made it do some whacko shit.

But sleep freely my friends, all is now right within my bloody, angry world. The bullets have been restocked & are waiting with dear sweet patience for some action.

Now I am not a fan of the vag doctor at all. In fact I would rather eat a whole box of staples than let anyone, except my husband, near my lady beave. My sister & mum have both been telling me I need to go get checked out due to my mysterious missing periods, but I said fuck that & willed until I could will no more for my body to motherfucking bleed again. It seems my willing was not in vain.

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Before we go any further I just need to clarify that there is no baby child growing inside my person. Even though my 3 year old niece tried to tell me on Saturday night that there is indeed a baby in my stomach & lay with her head on my belly talking to 'the baby' for a good 20 minutes. Every time I laughed she said the 'baby' was moving. Very amusing but shattering for the self esteem. Especially after I made it clear to her that 'baby belly' is actually just a personal tribute to my love of chips.

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 Here is why I won't go to the gyno unless I am dragged.
  • There's only 3 things that should go up hoe holes. Dicks, faux plastic vibrating dicks (not a fan) & tampons. I once had to have an internal ultrasound. Not pleasant. The radiology lady stuck a long white pole with a camera on the end right on up there. She gave me the equivalent of a small face cloth to put over myself  then threw a box of tissues on my legs when she was done. I felt cheap, dirty & used. And I cried the whole way home because that was also the moment that I found out I'd had a miscarriage. It was a really bad experience & I ended up laying an official complaint regarding how I was treated.  I now have a phobia of white pole camera & anyone that wants to inspect my goon. This is also the reason why I want to donkey kick the gyno in the head when he comes near me with the spatula thing.
  • It smells in the inspection room. Like vagina's & cleaning products. It's a fact that 'Flowers' don't smell like flowers at all. So whoever came up with the name 'flower' needs a swift haymaker to the face because they lied.
  • I know people who have had bad things happen after seeing a gyno & I'm scared it's going to happen to me. I don't know when this high level anxiety towards dying began. I guess when you lose loads of people you love to angry acts of freaky death sickness, it makes you over cautious & slightly hypochondriac. I worry. And I wish I could make it stop.
  • The whole legs up in the stirrup act is disturbing. I feel like I'm exposing myself in an incredibly un lady like manner, to a stranger. I know it's all business but there's something so invasive about having someone you don't know poke around down there without being allowed to have an orgasm/enjoy it.
  • I believe my fanny is sacred. 
 I made a decision today that I am going to be a brave girl soldier & book myself in to see the nurse at our local family planning clinic. I won't go to my normal doctor because he is a dude & a fattest. I need to go somewhere I feel safe & confident. Although I can't imagine myself spread eagling for the doc at FPC without a fight either but I'll give it a crack. For piece of mind sake anyway. I need to make sure everything's in working order because I intend on living forever.

Keeping with today's theme, this month for my Winner Wednesday prize, I am giving away Season 1 AND Season 2 of my favourite vampire porn, True Blood. 

I bloody love this TV series. Even though I have missed all of season 4 due to me falling asleep every Monday night before it comes on.

In order to win, you must be a follower of my blog & comment your ass off on any of my September posts. I want to see a little picture of your face on the right hand side of this blog post your are reading. Every time you make sweet comment love to me, BOOM you get yourself an entry. Read the rest of the terms & conditions here.

Does anyone else out there in blog land constantly think they are dying every time they feel a pain somewhere in their body? Or deathly afraid of the Fanny Doctor? Please tell me I am not the only crazy one.

 Peace x

P.S I always wondered if sharks smell period? Cos we all know they can smell blood from a thousand miles away so one would assume the same rule applies. I've always stayed out of the ocean when I'm bleeding anyway just to be sure.

P.P.S For the easily angered sensitive people, I am in no way disrespecting saggy titted African tribe ladies. They are beautiful & spiritual & I wish they'd let me join their magic club.


    1. I am with you! Unless there is a knife/bullet/shard of glass sticking out of me, I don't want to go to any doctor of any sort. Lady doctors are particularly humiliating. You are not crazy. Some of the things they want to do to you seem straight out of medieval times. :/

    2. How do I comment my ass off on all the August posts when we are into September? And no I have no issue having my bits poked at, have had it done every year since I was 16! Im a safety first kind a girl:)

    3. My personal method (aside from disassociation like Sybil) is to crack jokes the whole time. If they don't at least chuckle I stop the proceedings and leave.

      I told the internal sonogram technician that she was in deep enough if I started to gag and that I wouldn't want to arm wrestle her the way she was working that dildo / 'legitimate medical device'. Luckily for her she laughed.

      Any douchcanoe can slog through medical school, you just gotta kiss a lot of frogs to find the prince (or princess) of a doctor. Of course, at this writing, Americans can shop around for a doc and I don't know your situation.

    4. I swear you and I are the only people on the planet that calls it "George" everyone else calls it "Tom"

      George is currently visiting my house and I have lost 5 pints of blood as of this morning and am receiving a transfusion. Dan can't figure out how I am still alive and believes I am actually a vampire.

      Do you get the "period poops"....worst fuckin' thing ever

    5. I call it "George" I always have, unless I am calling it son of a bitchin' rag!!! I am also completely irregular. I was on birth control forever just so I knew when it would come.

      Bonnie. I get "period poops" and gas constantly when George is in town.

    6. I went to get my tubes tied and they found a tumor on my Fallopian tube. All removed, all checked out, no cancer, and I've been too scared to go back to the Gyno since. It's been 4 years. I'm a big ass fucking scaredy-cat and I know all the bullshit about why I need to go but I'm fucking terrified. You're not alone.

    7. I'm with you on the whole legs in the stirrups shooting a beave to a stranger thing. Makes me want to clamp everything together so tight you'd be lucky to get a toothpick to fit up in there. Also, once the doctor ducks down below the drape I always just know he's down there rubbing his hands together, licking his chops and drooling at the wonder that is my snatch.

      It does help to go to a lady doctor. I figure at least if I'm talking about something hinky in the nether regions, she can relate.

    8. Your "lady bits" terms need to invade the good ol' USofA. I'm going to start a revolution.

      And by the by, "used fanny bullet" makes me think of an ass dildo. HAHAHAHAHAH

    9. Bex, Bex, Bex. You have GOT to go to the gyno. Seriously. 2 Things:

      1) I feel for you, even though I don't have a fanny or a vagiola or a hoe hole. I am, after all, a man. But ever since a scare I had a few years ago where I sat around waiting for an MRI because they'd found something on my kidney and I thought I would either be dead in a few years of kidney cancer or dead in fifteen years of the same wacko genetic disease my grandfather died of (after being on dialysis for 10 fucking years), I have become a hypochondriac.

      So I understand your phobia, especially having lost people to various diseases (I have, too).


      2) Women's sexual health is fucking state of the art. Take advantage of that. Anything a woman can have, if you find it early, it's curable, for the most part. Or at least the cure rate is really fucking high, compared with a lot of other things, and the earlier you find it, the better your chances of curing it. If I were a woman I would go to the gyno every three months.

      This is because I, as a man, have discovered that men's sexual health medicine is still in the 1950s compared to women's. Early discovery means that they don't know jack about, for example, the prostate gland and most of the "cures" they have involve cutting shit out and rendering you impotent.

      I myself have had chronic prostate issues, and every time I go to my fucking dumbshit doctor he tells me it's psychological. Because they don't know shit. Yeah, one day I woke up with pain in my balls and penis and lower abdomen, and it turns out it's all in my head?

      Keep in mind, they used to tell women they were "hysterical" when they had cysts.

      So although it DOES suck, this is perhaps one of the few areas where women ARE luckier than men.

      Take advantage. And suck it up.

      And I am sorry about your miscarriage. People fucking suck with those, too, I have to say. When my wife had her last miscarriage, they actually made her sleep in the ward with all of the new mothers and newborn babies while she was essentially waiting for an abortion. They didn't call it that (well, the insurance did, when they refused to pay for it), because the baby was already did, but the operation is the same.

      And remember, you can always kill your doctor and get a new one. That's fucking evolution for you. Kill the bad doctors. Promote the saggy titted.

    10. You are officially my new favorite. Not even lying and sometimes I am known to well exaggerate a tiny bit. I can't even quote my favorite (or favourite in oz speak) lines or I would just insert your whole post here. I am not gonna go on and on about why you really should go to the vag-master (my personal moniker for the gyno) but I would like to keep reading your shit. Dying is not an option. Since you can't find bad shit if you don't get checked out... you see where I'm going. But new girl doesn't need to start out in a bad way, sooooo I will just reitterate, Love, LOVE!!!

      ps... I have you popping up on my igoogle homepage, is that as good as following? :D

    11. Bonnie... TOM stands for Time Of Month. What the hell does George stand for? Maybe if I knew I'd start using that too. hahaha but mostly i jsut call her Aunt Flow or AF

    12. I COMPLETELY feel you - That while pole camera is no fun at all.

      I used to feel really self-conscious about going to the Vag-Doc. As I don't subscribe to the "fanny of the month club" I always used to wonder: what if there's something wrong with mine? Should I say thank you afterwards? Is she/he judging my vag? How does it compare, say, on a scale from 1 to 10?

      I am SO sorry to hear about your miscarriage. My younger sister had one last year, and it was heartbreaking. I got lucky and have a four-year-old. Once you've been in the delivery room, legs spread, entire bottom half of your body numb and exposed to the 478 nurses who have nothing else to do at 2am, you don't really worry about what goes on down there anymore.


    13. Yep, you and I are the same I always think this is the end! And now that fear has been passed onto my 3 year old I always think its the end for her greeeeeat eh very very depressing way to be can't help it. I even got my Mum to take me to the Dr at the age of 13 because I was convinced I had breast cancer, I pretty much keep all my dying theories to my self but since you were asking.....

    14. Discovering that by "fanny" you mean vag instead of ass really cleared up a lot of confusion I had in many of your previous posts. I believe I read one time something about you and Blake "banging fanny" and I was....baffled. Haha.

      Thank god.

    15. p.s. - looks like we share a lady cycle. This is so exciting.


    I love reading your comments. Comments are sexy.