There's lots in a name

This is somewhat belated given the event occured a few weeks back when once again I was watching the rugby. The Super 15 final, which NZ did not win. We'd toddled off to the local for a few drinks and some watching of the big screen. Mainly to get out of the house, to catch a few friends and to soak up the atmosphere - which was, sadly, verging on violent. No actual fisticuffs but there were some angry people out that night. None appeared to be drunk but all were in favour of shouting abuse at the telly, mostly at the ref but also at the Crusaders. One chap, in particular, was very much of the school of thought that says screaming in a crowded pub at the telly is bound to win your team the championship. In fairness, no one stopped him, I think we were all too scared. His team won, for which I was somewhat grateful - he was still muttering in an angry fashion after 'his' victory was assured by the final whistle. His girlfriend sat though the whole thing calmly sipping wine. I'm guessing he does this on a regular basis.

The blokes behind us attempted to be a little more polite in their disgust at some of the moves the Crusaders were showing on the field. One of them shouted 'Don't be a poof, ref', and as we looked at him said, 'Sorry ladies. At least it wasn't the c-bomb'.

And I couldn't help myself from answering with, 'I'd rather hear cunt than poof'.

We left not long after.

I can see that to several people poof is a great deal less offensive than cunt. Cunt 'sounds' harsher to the ear for starters and has a nastier rep, if you will. But if you call someone a cunt, I don't think you're calling them a vagina. You're expressing your distaste for them on some level but it probably isn't specifically in regards to their gender. You can be a good cunt. A total cunt. An utter cunt. A very bad person indeed. But if you call someone a poof you are in effect saying that they're gay - and that it's not a good thing to be gay.

Am I making any sense? Talking out my lady bits?

Points to ponder

I had to work from home last Tuesday because I had what ranks right up there as one of my top ten worst periods of my life (so far). I got to work and then I went back home again, but, like a trooper - took my laptop with me and proceeded to do more work than usual, while scoffing chocolate, being quite ratty to the brotherman and refilling my hot water bottle at regular intervals. I may have also been wearing pyjamas. Anyway, apparently in some Japanese offices you are legally entitled to take days off during your bleedy time - this is separate to your 'normal' sick days. I'm not entirely too sure how I feel about it. On the one hand - days off for bleeding - woot! On the other, galloping on the heels of that chap that lost his job in NZ for making some terrible statements about women and their bodily functions - is it condescending?

'I see you've got your period (I'm not sure how your boss knows this, maybe you have to wear a scarlet letter P?) - you'd better take some time off because you're probably in pain and incapable of working.'

I brought this up with our latest houseguest, Courtney, who said, screw that line of thought and roll with it, baby. Which of course I can't because I'm in Australia. Not Japan. A workmate pointed out that if men had periods, this rule would be mandatory worldwide. Also, a cure for period pain and PMT would have been found years ago.

I wasn't sure what to think. My poor little head was too busy trying to remember how many neurofen you're allowed in an hour.

This was even less fun than a few weeks before when I suddenly had what we shall politely describe as VERY, VERY SORE BOOBS.

They seemed to think they had a period coming, only I knew, in my not necessarily infinite but quite definitely more knowledgeable wisdom, that they did not. Because I'm on the pill and I dictate the bleeding.

I'm not sure why they do this. It's like a phantom period - all the symptoms but no actual period, for which I guess I am grateful, but usually I just get concerned that something is wrong, that I'm with child (lack of sex life suggests phantom baby), as old ladies like to whisper, or some female acquaintance has fucked up my cycle and I've got a two for one deal I didn't ask for and the no actual period is about to become a full-on neurofen popping bloodbath, for lack of a better description.

They're not all like that, in fact, most of them aren't. Afterwards I barely remember them. But all women have at least one nasty period story. They recall them with involuntary body clenching as though this will ward off future visits from the period demon, let's call her Trixie. We talk about periods like old people do about the war and summers of long ago. 'Do you remember the one of '94? That was a shocker. Now these young folk, they've never seen anything like that one. Whew, when I think about how many sanitary pads I went through and that night I had to sleep on 14 towels so as to protect the mattress, it just brings me out in spots thinking about it.'

Men will often leave the room at this point and from the kitchen will come the sound of a bottle being opened and swigged from.

Anyway - it transpired I'd forgotten to take the pill for a few days so actually, it was all my fault. Feck.

Indoctrination complete

I'm watching the State of Origin. Men in tight, tight, oh sweet baby jesus, they're too tight, shorts. A distinct lack of biffo so far.

A wino tried to talk to me about the Super 15 while I was waiting for a bus yesterday. I am concerned I am exuding an air of 'rugby fan', although I can see that complaining about that while watching the State of Origin might not be sensible.

The wino also said that if I got home and my husband or boyfriend hadn't cooked me dinner then I should demand he go out and get me takeaways. I suddenly regretted not having a husband to demand this service of. I want takeaways! Stat! There is a nagging wife buried in me that just wants an outlet.

Won't someone think of the children

Ways to make volunteers for Save the Children laugh in disbelief: When they ask 'Do you like children', the correct answer is 'definitely not'.

A small child had tried to run me over on the pavement moments earlier and I was feeling less than maternal. However, I very much dislike charity volunteers who cannot be content with collecting in a bucket. I will give money to a bucket. I don't to the ones where I have to sign up out of guilt and bullying. It's not that I think the charities don't need more money, it's that I really don't like being bullied into anything and I find an encounter with such volunteers usually ends with me feeling less than charitable.

Basically I'm a capitalist bitch and I need all my dosh to buy more materialistic items I don't actually need.

I gave blood yesterday though so I think I've redeemed myself in my own eyes. Because I dislike giving blood a great deal. Needles! They're for sewing, not sticking in flesh.