Me

Random thoughts about things not to do with faith. Like boys. And poo. And dancing when you’re drunk. My story is here.

Words for Male Slut

Posted on Sep 4, 2012 in Me | 2 comments

Let’s have a look at how many words there are for a female slut:

Wench, floozy, harlot, hooker, hussy, prostitute, tart, vamp, tramp, whore, strumpet, Jezebel, broad, jade, trollop, scarlet, woman of the street, working girl, hustler, minx, loose, skank, slag

I’m sure we could think of more colloquial ones as well.  (PS: love the words Strumpet and Trollop.   Wish we could recycle these sounds with a different meaning…)

Okay, now for the boys’ turn:

Pimp, gigolo, player

That’s all I could think of and thesaurus.com isn’t helping me at all.

What astounds me about this clear bias against women having sex is that sex is a TWO WAY PROJECT.  Look at ALL THOSE HUSSIES having SO MUCH SEX… good thing the boys weren’t vamping around like those Whores, we’d have a sex epidemic on our hands!

I’ve been privvy to a number of male conversations about the difference between the Floozies you fuck on the way to the woman you marry.  I think the idea here is that a guy runs around in his 20’s with the Trollops until he meets his pure, lovely bride who’s been chastely waiting for him to devote his seed solely to her life long dream of procreation, despite the fact that it’s been spread over half the world’s continents by now.

How does this work though, considering the act of sex requires both a male and a female? Is there one tramp girl taking it on behalf of all the other pure girls?  I’ve done my math on this and if boys have slept with 4 times as many women as their counterparts (let’s say 1:4 or 2:8, 3:12 or 10:40), a fifth of the female population (we could call them Strumpets) is sleeping with thirteen times as many men as the rest of us just to make that possible.  Excuse me but Oh. My. God.  That’s three times as many as the ‘average’ male.  I’m gonna help you out here guys; when was the last time you met a girl who had slept with three times as many people as you!?  Never?!  That’s cos it doesn’t happen.

Here’s the fact: girls numbers are the same as guys.  Some are high, some are low.  If she’s a slut, so are you.*

So it’s become my little pet project to balance out the English language with more words for male slut.  Here’s what I have so far:

  • Clap Rat; I can’t take full credit for this, it was a brainchild born from a boozy dinner with some very creative ladies in Barcelona.  I leave the origins of this to your imagination.
  • Flaggart; It just sounds dirty in a bad way
  • Moucha; This clearly applies to foreign pests who just don’t leave you alone
  • Skank; this is technically a female word but I just feel like it translates really well to those guys you see ‘skanking’ around a club, using their cute, pretty face to surprise a girl with the bad smell of Asshole the next morning.

Ideally of course, it’d be better to just rid the English language of words for male and female slut altogether.  We all know a slut is simply anyone who has more sex partners than you.  And just as I don’t need a derogatory word for someone who drinks more coffee than me, I don’t need one for someone who has more sex than me.

Until then though, Ladies (and enlightened Gentlemen), I bequeath the above words to your witty mouths for use as the occasion arises.

—–

*Pointed squarely at a male acquaintance of mine who called the girl who agreed to give him a BJ ‘just cos’ the other day a Slut.  You asked for it, took it and hopefully returned it… Flaggart.

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Hi Myself

Posted on Aug 28, 2012 in Me | 0 comments

“Hi Myself.” I venture, awkwardly.

“Where have you been?” Myself asks.

“Just around…” I offer.  I try a joke. “Off with the fairies, as they say.”  There’s a slight pause as Myself acknowledges the explanation with a nearly imperceptible nod, blinks and looks past my shoulder at nothing.  I try again. “So… what have you been up to?”

“Not a lot really.”  Myself says slowly.  “It’s all a bit hazy.”

“Yeah I know what you mean…” I sigh.  Another pause.  The years between us ruffle in the wind.  “Still, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Definitely.”  Myself says.  “Shall we go for a walk?”

 

We begin our meander, unsure whether to hold hands or not.

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If I could I would live my life over…

Posted on Aug 26, 2012 in Me | 0 comments

Stolen from my new Brussels friend, Moji.

If I could I would live my life over. 
This time I would try to make more mistakes. 
I would try not to be so perfect, 
I would laugh more. 
I would be so much sillier than I have been 
that I would take few things seriously. 
I would be less hygienic. 
I would risk more, take more trips, contemplate more sunsets, 
climb more mountains, ford more streams. 
I would go to more places I have never been. 
I would eat more ice cream and fewer beans. 
I would have more real problems and fewer imaginary ones. 
I was one of those people who lived every minute of life sensibly and productively. 
Of course I had moments of delight. 
But if I were able to go back it would be for good moments only. 
Because, if you don’t know it, that’s what life’s made of: moments. 
Do not waste even this one. 
I was a guy who never went anywhere without
 a thermometer, a hot water bottle, an umbrella, and a poncho. 
If I could live my life again I would travel more lightly. 
If I could live again I would start going barefoot
 when spring comes and not stop till fall’s long gone. 
I would walk down more side streets, contemplate more dawns,
 and play with more children, if I had my life ahead of me again. 
But, come now. 
I am 85 years old. 
I know I am dying. 

Jorge Luis Borges – The Instant


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Things I have lost in 7 weeks of travel

Posted on Aug 7, 2012 in Me | 0 comments

Things I have lost in 7 weeks of travel:

1. Waterproof, shockproof camera swimming in Croatian harbour at 3am in the morning.

2. Chicken fillets doing a back flip into a club’s pool in Myknonos, Greece.

3. Micro fibre towel getting back to the hostel in Rome at what I thought was half an hour before checkout to find my bag hastily packed by the girls when kicked out by some grumpy cleaners half an hour earlier.

4. European plug adaptor at same hostel.  Found another one left by someone else in the next hostel though, so I’m even on this one.

5. Shampoo and Conditioner, Body Wash and Exfoliating Glove in one of the towns of the Cinqe Terre, Italy.

6. My nightie. This one is particularly concerning.  Possibly on an overnight train in France.

6. A second Waterproof, shockproof camera swimming in the beach at Lagos, Portugal at 3am in the morning.

7. The accessories for the replacement for above camera at a cafe in Paris 2 hours after I bought it .  Still have accessories from the last time I replaced my camera so not an issue.

8. My Kindle. (Sorry Dad)  The first and only time I ever said to myself “I’ll remember to put that back in my bag before I get off the plane.” I won’t.

New Rules for Not Losing My Camera:

1. Camera is not invited out on drinking nights, especially if there’s a chance of swimming in a large body of water in the early hours of the morning.

2. Camera now has a hairband attached which goes on the wrist anytime it is ‘out of the house’.

3. Camera is housebound (side pocket of handbag) and not allowed to play outside (bottom of handbag along with streeturchins Chewing Gum and Crumpled Receipts)

According to the above schedule I managed to travel through an entire country, Spain, without losing anything of value (I am counting the nightie as France).   Still, estimated cost of battle against the Clair Brain so far; $900.00.  Which is like, an entire MONTH in South America. FML.
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The Mirror in Vernazza, Cinque Terre

Posted on Jul 29, 2012 in Me | 0 comments

I catch my face in the mirror after drying off from a cool shower.  The old toilet and plastic curtain of the B&B we’re staying at for the night are reflected in the background.  I’m brown and fresh.  Glowing.

It took the restorers 25 years to bring the Sistine Chapel back to its original colours; bright reds and blues, yellows and greens whereas before was only a smudge of grey.   Restoration was a painfully slow process of slightly, slightly rubbing off of the grime built up over the years until the original colours were free.  Two perfectly square patches of grime are left in the top back corner of the chapel ceiling for comparison.

I feel a bit like the Sistine Chapel.  Layer by layer, not just the last 5 weeks but each day of the last year or so has been a slow, gradual rubbing away of 24 years of expectations, boundaries, perceptions, biases, right and wrong, confusion.  A flash of colour is just starting to peek through and I hold onto these moments like gold.  What an incredible feeling, sensing your whole self in sync, even if just for a second.

I think the reason it’s so easy to ‘find yourself’ travelling is because you’re surrounded by constant beauty.  Hills and castles out the window of a train, sunsets over the ocean, ancient architecture towering over your head.  The beauty permeates you like the sun on a warm day.  It becomes a part of you, meaning you get to reflect it back to the world.

 

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Protected: The MAP

Posted on Jul 20, 2012 in Me | Enter your password to view comments.

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To My Nieces #1

Posted on Jul 3, 2012 in Me | 0 comments

Dear Caitlyn, Isabella, Elise, Giselle and Scarlett,

Today I saw a man wheeling a big flat piece of wood on wheels across a harbor. The wood had someone’s luggage on it and he was using his voice as a horn! Bleeeeeeh, bleh, bleh, bleh, BLLLLLeeeeeeHHHHH, bleh, bleh, bleh! I thought it was something you would all find funny – if ever you need a horn and you don’t have one, you could just use your voice :D. You might need some practice at home first before you do it in public though. It made me want to write to you and tell you a bit about my adventures overseas so you know how much I miss you all.

I started my trip in Venice, which is in Italy. Can you find it on a map somewhere? See if you can draw a line on a map and follow my adventures as I tell you where I’ve been. Venice is a town made completely on water; all the buildings sit directly into the canals.

A house right on the water. The driveway is a jetty!

There are no cars or bikes and people get everywhere by a boat or by walking. They don’t have garbage trucks; they have garbage boats! The most famous boats are called Gondolas and men in funny hats push them around very slowly with a big long pole. Sometimes they even sing!! I got one to have a photo with me.

A Dump Boat!

Gondola Man with Funny Hat

Venice is famous for masks; The people who used to live in Venice years ago (Venetians) would have big parties where everyone covered their face with a mask so you couldn’t

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Protected: Midnight in Croatia

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How To Lose A Guy in 10 Seconds

Posted on Jun 14, 2012 in Me | 12 comments

Challenge: get rid of the guy you’re having a drink with.  As in, you want him to stand up within the next 2 minutes, walk away and never speak to you again.  What do you say?

I was presented this challenge last week by some uni friends.   I’m practically an expert in this subject.

Me: “I think you should go get a drink.”

Him: “You want me to go get you a drink?”

Me: “No, I want you to go get yourself a drink.  At the bar.  Over there.”

My very best attempt though at losing a guy in 10 seconds was a stomach-churning, memory-paralysing, god-awful 3 paragraph text message along the lines of “And here I was thinking… very worst I’ve ever been treated… usually you *insert derogatory term* regret… let’s save my time and your ego and pretend we never met… etc.”

Nothing like getting rejected, hungover at 8am in the morning to really bring out the best in you.  I cried all afternoon and sent an apology message to which he responded quite graciously. Haven’t heard from him since.   That’s probably cos he left to compete in the Olympics and it’s SUPER expensive to text from overseas. Yep.

The prize has to go to my buddy Myles though for the best way for a guy to forfeit a date with a girl.

Guy on arrival: “Oh, I didn’t realise we weren’t dressing up…”

-Your best ‘how to lose a guy (or girl) in 10 seconds’ stories please!??!-

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Paragliding

Posted on Jun 12, 2012 in Me | 3 comments

Jumped off a mountain last weekend.

Just want to confess that if judged by quantity of alcohol consumed, I’d had possibly one of my biggest nights ever the night before, crashing at Perrin’s at 4am for a fitful 4 hours of drunken, jeiger-interrupted sleep before being picked up by Johann at 8:30am.  On a scale of 1 to peak-condition-to-jump-off-a-cliff-for-the-first-time, I was sitting on a solid 2.  It’s a miracle I was standing vertically, let alone asking me to fly a glider in a specified direction.

It was a car full of blokes and me though, winding up a one-lane dirt road clinging to the edge of a mountain, so I kept my mouth shut for the sake of woman-kind’s reputation.  I’m a self-appointed ambassador for the ‘Anything Boys Can Do, Girls Can Do Better’ brigade and moments like that are crucial to our cause.

Fred, who took me on the tandem last time we were here, is driving.  He’s exactly what you always thought the hot young surfer every girl had a crush on in high school would grow up to be.  Energetic and friendly but totally chilled in a big-cat-I-could-take-your-head-off-in-one-bite sort of way.  Just the kind of guy you want around the first time you suspend yourself a few hundred metres in the air by a piece of plastic.

I just do what I’m told for the first few minutes without really thinking; run, run, run, brake slightly, sit, get comfortable, cross your legs.   I check I’ve still got hold of the brakes and notice the glider above; massive, yellow and red the sun winking in and out behind it.  I am dwarfed, just a tiny dot suspended under this magnificent wing.  Wind rushes past my ears, the only indication of how fast I’m actually going and I take a moment to look around.

There’s a funny sense of ownership I get whenever looking at an incredible view.  I feel like it’s mine, like I’m a part of it… in my mind, I’m sneaking through the tracks in the forest , finding a hidey-hole on the side of a cliff overlooking the beach or climbing a fence to get into the geometrically patterned field way behind the hill over there.  Like when you look at a map at the beginning of a fantasy book.  Who didn’t want to live in Neverland once you saw exactly how far away Hook’s Pirate Ship was to the Lost Boys’ Tavern…??

When paragliding, instead of looking at the map, you’ve fallen right into it.  You’re above the house with the smoking chimney and can see their dogs lounging on the back porch.  The geometrically shaped field is cabbages and there’s actually someone opening a gate to get in.  A slight tilt of the head brings the horizon into view; rolling hills and hidden spaces suggesting a hundred more worlds to observe, if you can only get there.  It’s Narnia, Enid Blyton and Gumby all rolled into one.

Officially addicted.  Definitely getting my full license sometime in the next few months overseas so I can jump of mountains all over the world.  Yeah.

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