Some of you will know who was involved in the events below. Please do leave a comment and feel free to ask questions, but I would appreciate it if no names were mentioned, in order to protect the innocent (and the guilty.)
I was having drinks with an old friend when the subject of my particularly heinous ex came up.
“You need to be smarter,” he advised as I wrapped up the latest update.
“Fuck off,” I replied. “It’s not as if these guys come with a big tag saying DOUCHEBAG. You can’t pick them.”
“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “Well I can, anyway.”
All men think this. They have absolute faith in their ability to spot an arsehole, presumably because they’ve been one themselves at some stage.
“Go on,” I said.
“Okay. So if a guy has a popped collar – he’s a douchebag. And if he’s got the southern cross tattooed anywhere on his body, I won’t even speak to him. Also, bleached hair is a huge indicator of fuckwittage.”
“But my ex didn’t have any of that stuff,” I protested. “Then again, he wasn’t a conventional douchebag. He was actually…evil.”
“Yeah, yeah, all men are scum,” my friend said, and waved his hand dismissively.
I opened my mouth to argue, but found myself at a familiar loss. I’d already had this conversation with various people over the past few months – with both men and women – but I was still struggling to find a way to explain exactly what went on in my relationship.
In a nutshell: I chose to be with an emotionally abusive, lying, manipulative cunt, for nearly two years.
Did I know it at the time? Yes. Was I able to walk away from the relationship? No. How did it actually happen? I’m not sure.
I’m a reasonably well-balanced individual. I’m relatively smart. And ordinarily, I’ve got a pretty healthy sense of self-esteem. But over the years I was with this guy, he took all the parts of my brain that made me normal and systematically destroyed them. By the second year, I was a mess. I couldn’t concentrate at work, I didn’t sleep, I was 8kg below my normal weight, I took too many drugs, I drank too much, I had no interest in my friends, and I lived in a perpetual state of fear and intense anxiety.
It started slowly… A few comments about my weight, my make up, my dress sense. Some condescending remarks about my work or my writing or my professional reputation. Over time, that developed into plain insults, combined with accusations of cheating, irrational jealousy, and constant arguments. He made a habit of pointing out everything I did wrong (and I was always doing something wrong.) He told me that my friends were conspiring against me and I should cut them out of my life. He read my emails and went through my things. He joined forums to follow my online interactions. He forbade me from talking to some of my male friends. He ranted and raved and screamed until I learned not to complain about anything. He told me I was paranoid. He told me I was stupid. He told me I was inappropriate. He told me I was a slut. He yelled at me when I cried. He said he wanted to punch me in the face. He threatened to kill my family.
And he cheated. Oh yes, he cheated, a thousand times. And for an obscene period of time, he had two serious girlfriends concurrently.
“Why did you keep going back to him?” is the question everyone asks.
Quite simply, I was terrified of not having him because he had rebuilt every aspect of my life to revolve around him. There was just nothing left. I had alienated most of my friends, and my relationship with my parents had become strained because I was so agitated all the time or trying to hide the fact that I was fucked up. My work, my music, my writing, my social life, and everything else I enjoyed had somehow come to involve him to such a degree that I couldn’t do any of those things without him. He made my life miserable, but I needed him desperately because I had come to depend on him for almost everything. I had no coping skills left and having someone else control my life was somehow comforting, even if they were the one who made the mess in the first place. He would regularly orchestrate situations that he knew would devastate me, then swoop in at the last minute to fix things as I floundered. Eventually, he was all I had.
I suffered most of this in silence. I never really told anyone what was happening, because I knew what their answer would be, and I knew I couldn’t leave him. Plus, I was just plain embarrassed. There was simply no point in having that discussion.
But of course, it ended eventually. I uncovered a series of transgressions so major that even I couldn’t talk myself into believing his bullshit anymore. I arranged a meeting, and then I threw myself at him, kicking and screaming, hitting and biting. He didn’t feel it, but he left me alone after that.
Once the adrenaline of that final episode wore off, I fell into a bit of a slump. I was still reeling from everything that had happened, but everyone had already heard the story and was bored with it. I looked okay, so everyone assumed I was. My job kept me busy and functional during the day, but most nights I drank until I passed out. I felt completely traumatised. I’d always known my relationship contained some untruth, but discovering the scale of the lies was devastating. It felt like an episode of Scooby Doo, when the villain peels back his mask and you realise you had completely mistaken his identity altogether. I agonised over how I was supposed to prevent a situation like that from developing again, when I wasn’t really sure how I’d let it happen in the first place. And at the end of the day, I was simply floored by the fact that a human being could be so completely, purely, remorselessly awful. So I drank until I couldn’t maintain a string of logic, I turned off my phone, and I didn’t leave my house unless I absolutely had to. I simply needed to sit, alone, and try to remember who I was. Gradually the shock wore off and I remembered how to be a normal person, but the anger never really faded. I realised that up until that point in my life, I’d never actually hated anyone. I say that I hate things or people all the time, but this was red-hot and bigger than me. I was afraid it would make me do something terrible. I’m still afraid of that.
I think about him less now, but when I do, it’s always in fantasy: I see him drunk, stumbling around the city one night. He trips and staggers in front of a bus. It crushes him instantly. His body breaks and he’s thrown to the side of the road. He lies there, a tangle of gore and smashed limbs. He can’t speak, but he can hear. And he needs an ambulance, fast. I walk over, kneel next to him, and look into his eyes. “You worthless fuck,” I say and spit in his face, then walk away.
Telephones were first discovered in 1972, secretly nestled amongst the cocoa fields of the Alaskan desert.
Scientists believe that the telephones were first planted by dinosaurs. “We have significant reason to believe that the telephone may, in fact, be post-modern,” somebody said.
Others maintain that the telephone was the original source of polio, which received critical acclaim in 2002. “We’re not making any promises,” says Jeremiah, “But I get my paycheck every month either way, so the telephone can suck my dick for all I care.”
There’s a gym across from my office and sometimes I see people getting changed through the window.
I live with two boys. They can be quite offensive.
Him: You smell nice.
Him: Yeah… you smell like.. what’s that stuff that you can spray in the toilet after you take a shit?
Me: This is my favourite perfume.
Him: Yeah, like toilet cleaner.
Him: You don’t want there to be any sexual tension amongst housemates. You just don’t want that drama. You should live with people you’re not at all attracted to.
Me: Yeah, totally.
Him: Well that’s the main reason I moved in with you, anyway.
Him: Oh sorry, I should have told you I’d be having friends over.
Me: Why do I need to know that?
Him: Because then you could have put on nicer clothes.
If you haven’t checked out ChatRoulette, I highly recommend it. This kept me and my housemate entertained for no less than 2 hours during last Saturday’s never-ending downpour and at first I was embarrassed to be talking to complete strangers in my pyjamas, but by the end I needed to be prised away from the computer.
Some of my favourites included:
- an old man picking his nose and eating it. “Hey buddy!” I said, “What are you doing?” as he stared us in the eye, picked out a booger and munched on it thoughtfully.
- some college bros in Ohio, just chilling in their dorm room, playing the ukulele and chatting to hot babez online
- a still image of a bathroom splattered with blood
- a replay of our own feed
- being asked to show my tits no less than eighteen times
- being called a dog-whore slut when I didn’t show my tits
- seeing various people masturbate and one girl taking it up the arse
- a group of South African students sitting around a room full of musical instruments, holding up a sign saying “SHOW TITS”
- getting flipped off by a bunch of thirteen year old girls/bitches.
Some of my favourite things to do on ChatRoulette:
- saying “Well hi there!” and then hitting NEXT before the other person even has time to reply
- telling everyone to read this blog
- drinking a glass of water very slowly as soon as I get a new person, and waiting to see whether they like it
- asking children where their mother is
- hitting NEXT as soon as I see the other person’s face.
During 2010 I hope to see this technology developed for IRL so I can take it to the pub and hit NEXT until I find somebody interesting to talk to.
Mum’s friend: I hate to say it, but your cat’s getting a little chunky.
Me: So’s your face.
If you can’t speak English, just copy/paste movie synopses into personal messages & send them to Australian people you met three years ago
Richard was a member of a Contiki tour group my friend Keira and I belonged to during July 2007. When we caught a ferry from Athens to Mykonos, Richard bought a T-shirt with a giant penis on it that said “Give us a kiss!” and he waved to children. One night, he got really wasted and sang karaoke, emptying an entire bar of tourists in 4.5 seconds flat.
Pop’s girlfriend: So, Annik, no boyfriend?
Me: Nah, no boyfriend.
PGF: Didn’t you have one last year?
Me: He turned out to be a lying fuck.
PGF: Oh.. my…
PGF: Well, I’m sure you’ll find one this year anyway.
Me: I’m just gonna go now.
Lorikeets are horrible, horrible people and should not be trusted under any circumstances.
I saw some lorikeets once when I was a child, and then I fell off my rollerblades and chipped my four front teeth.
I also have a birth mark on my leg that looks like a pimple.
My favourite rice crackers flavour is salt & vinegar, but not as many brands are making it lately. I am not sure why.
The following post comes courtesy of the sometimes inappropriately funny and always rather good-looking @liceri. I didn’t have to edit this at all, which is awesome, because I’m lazy.
Canadian people are insane
My parents are Canadian and mental. From this, I assume that all Canadians are insane. I’m Canadian too but I’ve lived in Australia since I was 3 so it doesn’t really count. As they age, they become less and less guarded about the things they say in front of me (as far as they’re concerned, I’m too old to be emotionally affected by them), and think less and less before they speak because they think I don’t listen anymore. To outsiders, my mum is quiet, reserved, dignified and conservative. She doesn’t swear. She’s never lewd or crude. She’s lovely and cuddly and a pure delight; a true lady. However, in private (and after fair amounts of alcohol), she’s often the opposite.
As for my dad, well, he’s quiet – but he’s measured and thinks before he speaks.
Together, they’re unstoppable.
She’s a mathematical genius
Me: [sings something about ballsacks]
Mum: “Hey! You’re 24. I thought you grew out of that stuff!”
Me: “I grew INTO that stuff, not out of it.”
Mum: [after a long pause] “Wow! You’re going to be 25 soon!”
Me: [laughs hysterically]
Dad: [laughs hysterically]
After seeing an advertisement about bushfires
Mum: [To my dad] “If there’s a fire here, I’m going to take the dog, run straight to the beach and stay in the water. [long pause] What are you going to do?”
Discussing the new Australian Idol judge
Mum: “Well, of course he’s better than that fat dickhead, but he’s also heaps better than that other idiot, whats-his-name, Four-Door Holden or whatever…”
She saw me playing with my iPhone
Mum: “Who are you twatting?”
After I shouted “I have a headache” to no-one in particular
Mum: “SHUT UP!”
After being asked what our (French-inspired) dessert was
Mum: “The menu says ‘apple and lavender tarts, with dulche de leche’, which means ‘I haven’t the foggiest’.”
She saw a T-Shirt with the letter ‘W’ and an anchor (implying ‘wanker’)
Mum: “I don’t get it. Only women allowed on the boat?”
Regarding sperm donation
Mum: “I don’t get it. Why go through all the hassle of buying sperm, all the legalities, all the money spent, when you could just go to a bar, pick up, have sex with anyone and in five minutes it would be done for free?”
On the female anatomy
Mum: “So here in Australia ‘fanny’ doesn’t mean bum, it’s the front bit, right? So, what do you mean by ‘beef curtains’? I don’t get…” [watches me mime parting curtains] “Oh my goodness! Ewwww!”
On Situs Inversis (congenital condition in which the major organs are reversed or mirrored)
[Recieved via Email]
“That’s unbelievable! Guess it could be worse if your body parts were reversed (top to bottom) then your nose would constantly run and your feet would smell……….Anyway, I’m making shepherds pie for dinner. xox”
After being asked to rate a film out of five stars
Mum: “Oh, nine-and-a-half, easily!”
After watching Seven Pounds (film about organ donation)
Mum: “When I go, go ahead and give all my bits away. As if I’m going to even notice – I’ll be dead!”
While reading the morning paper
Mum: “I mean, imagine if you were the parent of the girl who bullied her online, driving her to suicide. How would you feel? It’s just so – OOH! POTATO AND LEEK PIE!”
On David Koch from Sunrise
Dad: “Did you know he used to be a finance reporter?”
Mum: “Did YOU know he’s a total KNOB JOCKEY!?!?”
Mum: “I don’t think I’m going to drink.” [pause] “I’ll just have a glass of Rosé instead.”
They were discussing wacky party themes
Dad: “What about a party with NO ALCOHOL?”[flails arms dramatically]
Mum: [death stare]
Re: their Christmas Eve party
Mum: “We don’t really need plates – it’s all fingering food.”
Dad: [throwing arms up triumphantly] “Excellent!”
On seeing my low-cut dress
Mum: “Are you allowed to have bosoms like that at work?”
Me: “Well, they’re not really removable.”
Upon entering the living room while I’m watching the Sixth Sense with a friend who’s never seen it before
Mum: “Isn’t it amazing that he’s actually DEAD the whole time?!”