Friday, May 8, 2015

Killer Pussy

As some of you probably realized by now, I have retired from blogging.  I have been doing this for six years and in blogging terms that is a fucking long time. It is not that I am bored or tired of writing. I have just decided to shift my focus.

Currently I am mostly focused on my book:

Killer Pussy 
The Memoir of a Semi Delusional House Cat

If you liked my dark and sometimes off-center sense of humor you will absolutely love this book.  But in the meantime you can get a glimpse of this on my Facebook and Twitter presence for Killer Pussy.  So go and like her on Facebook and follow her on Twitter.

Monday, February 9, 2015

I am a winner, mostly.

So I won an award last week for the Best LGBT Blog in the SA Blog Awards.  It’s kind of like winning a People’s Choice Award but you don’t get a statuette, a ceremony or given an opportunity to thank whoever helped you (or who did not) become successful on the internet.  Also, it’s for writing a blog.  And yes, there are still people doing that.  You are reading one right now.  Winning something like this is flattering but to be honest, it’s not like my blog is my life, my reason for being.  It’s something I do and enjoy and something I am glad you enjoy reading.

This is not my first stint with the SA Blog Awards.  In the past I was runner up in the Best Political Blog and Most Controversial Blog categories; Both categories being somewhat strange to have been in:  My blog is not about politics nor is it controversial but I will take what I can get.  I am not picky although I would have preferred winning money.  My lifestyle does not just happen or come cheap and someone needs to pay the bills.

Speaking of my lifestyle, having kids is expensive.  Since we got our son finances have been tight.  With school and all the other expenses kids come with (and there are many) I do not understand how people with more than one child cope.  If having kids was an actual job I would not have taken it.  Firstly, it doesn’t pay. at. all.  Secondly, you get no time off and the hours are brutal.  Your boss is also demanding and prone to throw tantrums (and sometimes you) when you do not do things right.  I once saw a YouTube video about the hardest job on earth and I can now totally relate.

Our son has entered the terrible two’s a year early.  He has learned that he can throw tantrums if he doesn’t get what he wants.  The first time he threw a tantrum I just stood there thinking “What the fuck?  Is he dying?” and the second time I was like “Is he having a seizure?  Do I need to put a wooden spoon between his jaws?”  And the third time I just decided to ignore it and put the music louder in the car.  And no, this doesn’t make me a bad parent – I googled it!

There are a plethora of reasons why our son would lose his shit.  Mostly, it is when you take something out of his hands that he is not supposed to play with.  This includes remote controls, iPhones, iPads, a cat that is being unintentionally choked and anything made of glass.  He is also prone to throwing thing in the toilet, mostly electronics and expensive and hard to replace items.  The newest thing these days is that our floor is made of lava and his car seat is a monster that is trying to eat him.  Well not actually, but I am trying to think like a one year old.  Also, a one year old make no sense, is irrational and highly volatile when feeling constricted by the term “no”.

There are some days when I pick our son up from school and it’s when I try to strap him in his car seat that thing just go south.  When he is not in the mood to be strapped in he will fight me and he is fucking strong in both mind and body.  Getting him into the seat and strapping him in is like wrestling with an angry blubbering octopus.  When this happens I try to keep my shit together because I don’t want all the soccer moms to judge me.  I would just stick my head out of the car, smile and say “I am just waiting for him to finish his tantrum then I will have mine”.  Sometimes I swear they think I am serious, but when our son is not the only one that doesn’t want to be eaten by the car seat monster I feel relieved:  the soccer moms must then decide who to judge and my chances are 50/50, which are some good odds.

Our son also now has a pet name “monkey”.  This is because he has the ability to cling to us like a little monkey and sometimes trying to put him down is a nightmare.  He will throw a tantrum like he is dying and cling to us like his life depends on it.  Just the other day I was busy in the kitchen and I had to put him down.  It was a fight, he cried and I decided that he would be an only child.  When plan A didn’t work and realizing that I was not going to pick him up he resorted to Plan B – clinging to my leg.  Do you know how difficult it is to cook with a 12kg child clinging to your leg refusing to let go?  It is near impossible.  Also, that is why I burned dinner.

Getting back to the Award I won, being a blogger can sometimes be thankless.  But when I get some positive feedback about my blog on my fan page it makes it all worthwhile.  I would like to thank everyone who voted for my blog in the SA Blog Awards, without you all of this would not have been possible.  Lastly, if you are reading my parenting blog posts and it is scaring you from having children, don’t be.  It is the most rewarding thing you will ever do and the rewards are endless.  Except 2am in the morning when you are awoken by crying, then not so much.  Or if you have to change a nappy right after breakfast that makes you gag; then it kind of sucks.

Till next time.

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

Preacher Man

Gaellou Greenwood is an brilliant up-and-coming singer and songwriter.  She wrote the song "Preacher Man" out of frustration by being a Lesbian and a Christian.  In some Churches the two are mutually exclusive. I am sure many of our LGBTI Christian brothers and sisters can relate.  You can listen to the song below by clicking on the link.

You can listen to more of Gaellou Greenwood's songs HERE
Or like her band page HERE

Thursday, January 22, 2015

My son’s teachers are going to hate me.

Last year hubby and I started looking for kindergartens to enroll our son in for this year.  Being gay parents with an interracial child we were cognizant of the fact that we would have to choose very carefully.  We are not your typical …uhm… cookie cutter family.  We did not want our son to experience intolerance or discrimination of any kind and we wanted him to be in an environment that is open minded, conducive to empowering him and to be fully integrated.  Also, the school would have to tolerate me.  I have been told that I am an overbearing parent with the potential of driving our son’s teachers completely nuts.  I am embarrassed to say that this is totally true and accurate.

In this day and age there is still discrimination prevalent and schools are not compelled to accept a child for enrollment.  They can decline an application for any reason without providing you with an explanation.  If you know me you will realize that this makes me very uncomfortable and somewhat rebellious.  I mean how any school could decline our application would be a mystery.  Sure we are a gay couple with an interracial child, but this only makes us a fabulous rainbow family.  And I know all parents think their children are the prettiest and smartest but in our case this is undeniably true.  Any school would be doing themselves an injustice by letting an opportunity pass by to be graced with our son’s presence.  See this is where the overbearing side manifests.

After a few phone calls a school was recommended to us by my sister-in-law as her son was already attending it.  Granny and my sister-in-law were already familiar with the school and we thought it would be nice if our son and his cousin attending school at the same place.  The selling point of the school to me was the fact that they had a petting zoo.  It’s kind of a dream of mine to have a petting zoo of my own, one day, which includes a rescued gay donkey called Theodor the 3rd.  I have also daydreamed about quitting my job and joining Kazakhstan’s male synchronized swimming team but some dreams will just stay that - dreams.

We phoned the school and made an appointment with the principal for “the interview”.  The afternoon of the interview we arrived at the school on time, which is rare these days.  Our son has the ability to screw up our knack for being punctual.  We met the principal and we started chatting.  I could tell that she was immensely impressed by our super smart and well behaved son.  Well, that was until he started misbehaving and chewing on things on her desk which I chose to ignore because if we didn’t make an issue of it then hopefully she wouldn’t either.  See this is where my years of studying psychology finally came in handy in a non-professional setting.  Either that or I was just lying to myself again.  Something I do frequently as to not hurt my own feelings.  I never said I was totally sane, now did I?

The first thing she asked us was if our son was adopted and I was all like “No, he is our biological son!  Can’t you tell that I am still struggling to lose the baby weight?”  But I didn’t because I realized pissing off the principal might not be the best way of getting our application accepted.  Then she brought up the subject of us being gay and again I was all like “No, technically we are straight.  I was born female and had a sex change” but then I told myself to shut the fuck up before what hubby has dubbed my “foot-in-mouth disease” screws this up for us.

We went through all the different challenges that lay ahead of us as a gay couple raising an interracial child.  We discussed how the school will handle it when our son starts to ask questions that could make people uncomfortable, which he probably will if he takes after me.  I fully expect our son to grow up to speak his mind, be confident in himself and to call a spade a spade.  If he has a slight case of foot-in-mouth disease I will be proud.  I would have raised him well.  The interview went glowingly, mostly because I hardly spoke.  I just let all my paternal energy shine through and prayed that our son doesn’t break anything expensive in her office.  After the interview she took us on a tour of the school.

We were shown where our son’s class would be, met his teacher and was showed their play area.  The teacher looked a bit timid and I remember wondering if she would survive the first day with our son in her class.  As we were shown the play area my parental alarm system went haywire as I spotted sharp edges, steps and moveable pot plants.  I wanted to wrap the whole area in padding because god forbids our son gets hurt.  Then I remembered to just breathe and centered myself.  I also reminded myself that I cannot wrap our son in bubble wrap and that getting hurt is part of life.  As long as no blood is drawn or bones are broken because that is when I will lose my shit completely.

I was impressed with the school’s security and the fact that they have CCTV cameras everywhere.  Soon we will be able to log into our son’s class’ cameras and will be able to watch what he is doing.  The poor teacher’s life will never be the same again after that.  She can be expecting quite a few texts and calls from me.

Our son started school a couple of weeks ago and he seems to love it.  He is enjoying his friends and all the stimulation he is getting.  In the afternoon I can see that he had a good day because he is exhausted.  His teacher says that he is a very busy child (which in our house is also code for naughty) but that generally he is a joy to have in her class.  She is an excellent liar.  On his first day she texted us that our son was doing well and that he made friends.  I was happy to hear that and pleased that he was finally in a good school.  What the future holds no one knows.  Only time will tell but I really think his teachers will start hating me once my true colors come out.

Till next time.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Things I’ve learned in my Thirties

I am now closer to my forties than what I am to my twenties.  It is kind of depressing because I still don’t always feel or act like an adult or act my age for that matter.  In just a few years I will be forty and be expected to have gotten my shit together.  To a certain degree I am ready for it but mostly it terrifies me.  Fortysomething has always seemed so old to me especially when I was in my twenties.  But now that I am almost there myself it doesn’t seem that old anymore.  Funny how life works, isn’t it?

In the last few years of my thirties I have come to realize what an idiot I was in my twenties.  The things a twenty year old worries about are so frivolous, yet at the time these things seem so important.  There are a couple of things that I know now which I wish I had known in my twenties.  For instance, don’t worry about what people think of you.  It is exhausting and a total waste of time.  Conforming to what is expected of you slowly massacres your soul.  It’s like trying to fit into a pair of jeans that is two sizes too small for you.  Not only is it uncomfortable for you but everyone else will notice that something is not quite right.

In my thirties I have also come to accept that deep down I am a very neurotic person.  Instead of seeing this as a negative thing and hiding it from the world, I decided to embrace it.  After all that is a part of who I am.  I have realized and accepted that I have flaws and that it is ok.  Nobody is perfect and perfection is fundamentally boring and most certainly unattainable.  Whenever I doubt this I just remind myself that even the people who I may have thought were perfect have also, at one time or another, had raging diarrhea.  This has always made me feel better.

I wish I enjoyed being young more, having had a great metabolism and being able to eat whatever I wanted.  After I turned thirty everything went to hell:  Things started to sag, got flabby and I realized that the saying “a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips” is totally fucking true.  My thirties was also the first time in my life that I actually tried diets.  They all failed because I am a non-conformist and measuring food just seems like so much work.  Naturally, I also developed body image issues and a strong aversion towards scales.  That was until I finally realized that we cannot all look like Greek Gods and that is ok as well. - the world can do with more chubby people.  We stand a much better chance to survive a famine than skinny people.  That being said, it is important to accept yourself just the way you are (I once read that in a self-help book.  It sounds like bullshit but it is totally true).

In my thirties I learned not to prophesize about the future.  Shit happens and not always the way you planned it.  In my twenties I never wanted children.  Children scared me and I thought they were annoying.  I thought all babies were ugly and I considered people who brought their little brats to restaurants as just plain inconsiderate.  Well, today I am a parent and one of “those people”.  I now also bring my child to restaurants and on planes.  It’s not like I am being discourteous, it’s because I don’t have a bloody choice.  It’s not like I can leave my eleven month old at home alone.  Duh!  Or that there are nannies sitting next to their phones just waiting for my call and are willing to work for free.  Don’t be an asshole.  Some of us love our children, love their company and love taking them to places.  Get over it.

The one thing I did right in my twenties, that I have never regretted, was meeting my husband.  We were so young when we first started dating and this year will be our seventeen year anniversary.  However, one thing my twenty year old self did not know, at the time, was that making a relationship work takes a lot of work.  I will not lie and say that it has been sunshine and roses all these seventeen years, because it was not.  That shit only happens in fairy tales.  When you meet “the one” you must be willing to suck it up through the tough times in order to reap the rewards during the good times. 

In my thirties I have come to realize that marital spats become less of a “who will win the fight” and more of a negotiation.  You learn to pick your battles.  Neither one of us are screamers and we tend to resolve our differences in a more mature manner – through passive aggression, as it should be.  We would do this until the other one eventually catches the hint and asks “what is bothering you?” and then we will have a discussion.  However, sometimes the issues are more complex than just the habitual non-compliance with filling empty ice trays or the inability to close drawers.  For instance, when it comes to religion we differ fundamentally and eventually agreed to disagree.  Also, my views on religion are the correct ones and hubby's views are wrong.  Just saying.

Lastly, in my thirties I have come to realize what is truly important in life.  I am sure this will mature even more as I grow older.  I no longer have time to indulge in bullshit if it interferes with my happiness and/or that of my husband and my son.  I have learned that being happy is a choice.  If you allow negative people into your life and invite them to stay or dwell in the past you erode away your own joy.  Sometimes you just need to move on and not look back.  Sometimes all you need to do is focus on your priorities and your future.  In my twenties I was incapable of doing this and I wish I had this realization sooner.  I am now closer to forty than what I am to twenty.  And thank god I am.

Till next time.

Monday, January 12, 2015

Gay Guys React To Gay Porn

We all know gay guys dabble in gay porn, but what do we really think about porn today?

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Homo for the Holidays

Homo for the Holidays a "Born this Way" parody but with Jesus. 

Monday, December 22, 2014

Hallelujah How I Blew Ya: Concerto in BJ Minor

A beautiful piano solo by Sherry Vine.  A master work really.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Happy Holidays Y'all

Yes, it is that time of year and I am wishing you a happy holidays.

Friday, December 19, 2014

Santa's Baby

Are you in the holiday mood yet? Jackie Beat sings her scandalous parody of Santa Baby, in a video by Austin Young!

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Demonic Possession & Homosexuality: Are you possessed?

Those who are friends with me on Facebook know of my secret obsession with the television programs The Haunted and A Haunting.  The scariest episodes of which are the ones featuring demonic possession.  These programs scare me so much that not so long ago I got frightened by my own shadow in the shower, almost peed myself and screamed like a little girl as a result.  So imagine my surprise when I learned this week that I too might be possessed by a demon.  I might be possessed and not even know about it and to make things even worse - you might be possessed too!
My old friend Pat Robertson (the American “Christian” Televangelist) had a religious epiphany on his harebrained morning television show a while back.  While discussing a man in a brokeback marriage’s behavior of trolling the streets longing for cheap sex with men, Pat came to the conclusion that it must somehow be related to demonic possession.  When I saw this I must admit that I did get a little excited but not for the reasons you might think.

You see I thought that my possible demonic possession could explain my mood swings and IMS (Irritable Male Syndrome - in case you missed that blog post).  If I was indeed possessed by a demon then all I needed to do is contact my local Catholic Church and get an exorcism sanctioned by the Vatican.  We all know the Pope adores me and if he could he would jump at the chance of making me straight.  But being the rational person that I am I decided to examine this more closely before I voluntarily invited the Pope or any of his priests’ holy ghosts to enter me from behind.

The Exorcist must be the one movie about demonic possession that scared the living shit out of me the most.  Needless to say I have watched it several times too many and it serves as my personal point of reference when it comes to extreme cases of demonic possession.  So being a professional homosexual it would be expected that I (according to Pat) too be the victim of an extreme case of possession and, in light of this, I decided to look for any of the warning signs.
During the last 21 years of being openly gay I am not aware that I ever ran up the stairs upside down on all fours, intentionally peed myself, masturbated with a crucifix, spun my head around 360 degrees while spewing vulgar curses intermingled with Latin phrases or told a priest to suck me off or told him his mother performs fellatio in hell.  With the absence of these telltale warning signs I concluded that I could not possibly be possessed by a demon, or could I?  Is it possible that I could be wrong?

In most episodes of The Haunting the ghosts, spirits or demons either hid away in a closet in a house or used a closet or a fireplace as a portal to enter our realm with the purpose of haunting a house or to possess  humans.  Is this a coincidence?  Is this why homosexuals come out of the closet?  I don’t know.  But I do know that most people’s closets are scary godforsaken places and the only creatures that like to spend time in there are cats, mentally disturbed children and apparently demons.  Whether they do this to secretly judge your wardrobe or are taking pleasure from looking at items of clothing that are reminiscent of some bad life choices you have made in the past, who knows.  But they like closets, and I do not.

Demonic possession is always portrayed as this scary evil thing but if Pat is right and all queer folk are indeed possessed by demons it would mean that the media’s portrayal of possession is wrong.  Sure some homosexuals can talk in tongues when drunk, stoned or high.  Sure some homosexuals can get violent when her girlfriend is being chatted up by another chick at a bar.  Sure some homosexuals could neglect their personal hygiene (Robert Patterson I am talking to you).  But it’s not all vomiting green slime, foaming from the mouth and sexually violating religious paraphernalia while levitating above your bed.  There is more and according to some religious fanatics we also have an earthly leader paving our way to hell.
Demon possession and the embodiment of evil have been attributed to Lady Gaga and her legion of little monsters of which I am one even though her latest album kind of sucks.  Mother Monster, as she calls herself, has been called many things and some fanatical religious folks even went as far as to say the devil is working through her.  Furthermore, they claim Gaga’s album Born this Way is filled with evil messages and satanic symbolism.  Apparently what we all saw as dramatic flair and artistic expression has in fact always been evil and straight from the devil himself.

One nut job even wrote on her blog “If Gaga scares you that means you have the power of God giving you discernment”.  I am not sure exactly what this Sarah Salvation meant to say with that statement other than the fact that she loses bowl control whenever Gaga plays over the radio and that she blames the shit in her panties on her religion.  Maybe if Sarah Salvation invested in a good enema kit she would not be so anal in her world views and would shit herself less.

After some strenuous research on Google I could not find any evidence supporting Pat’s theory on homosexuality and demon possession.  If you think about it, why would any demon from hell want to possess a homosexual anyway?  If you have seen the weird shit homosexuals do to their pets when we are bored you can just imagine what corny outfits we would dream up for our demons.  Some of us queers curse like sailors anyway and the demon may find it difficult to keep up with our four letter word vocabulary.  And then there is hell and I am sure Satan would not appreciate it if a bunch of Queens merrily skipped in there signing “I am on the right track, baby I am born this way” while putting our paws up and started redecorating.
So before you reach for the holy water, crucifixes and run into the warm not so platonic embrace of your local Priest, chances are that you are not possessed by any demon.  Our dear friend Pat in all likelihood just had one of his regular brain farts and clearly did not think it through before he made that statement.  Just like we did not cause Hurricane Katrina and the lesbians aren’t partly to blame for 9/11.  Sorry Pat, perhaps it is time to start taking those meds again.

Till next time.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Clown Porn: The Circus is Cuming to Town!

You know what they say about men with big feet, is the same true of clowns? Well, just the other day this disturbing conundrum was forced into my psyche by one of my loyal and well meaning blog readers. This led me teetering down an upsetting path of discovery of just how bizarre human sexual fetishes can be. I never knew it existed and now that I do, my coulrophobia has spring into overdrive!
I have written about strange sexual fetishes before: Golden showers, Belgium Chocolate, S&M, Scarfing, Furring, Fisting, to mention but a few. They are weird, unhygienic, could possibly be dangerous and attracts a selected few individuals who just can’t get aroused or shoot their load if they’re not being peed on, defecated on, strangled, whipped or chained. But now Bozo the Clown seems to have stepped out of the Circus Ring and into the Porn Studio where he has swapped squirting water into people’s faces to squirting bodily fluids from things other than fake flowers.

Yes it’s true! There is such a thing as Clown Porn as I wincingly discovered. You see after receiving an e-mail from one of my readers I decided to go to Google. I changed my search setting from "vanilla" to "hardcore", went to image search, typed in “Clown Porn” and pressed enter. What appeared on my screen was more unsettling than the movie IT by Stephen King. Bozo the clown, Coco, Scruffy and others lost their innocence and were doing nasty things, sexual things and things clowns really should not be seen doing or be seen having done to them.
Personally, I have never liked clowns, they freak me out and I am scared to death of them! I have always thought there was something macabre and evil about clowns and now I am certain. After all you never quite really know what the person behind the makeup looks like, what true feelings or urges they are masking behind their silly acts and what their true motives are behind those chilling laughs. I have never trusted clowns and not in my wildest imagination (and it gets pretty wild sometimes) did I think off clowns as ever being sexual or God forbid – SEXY!

But, evidently there are people who do see clowns as sexual objects and are aroused by them. There are people with twisted circus erotic fantasies and people who want to do unspeakable things to Bozo the clown and have him do unmentionable things to them. Maybe they enjoyed the circus a little too much as children. Maybe instead of reading Playboy or Playgirl they got off by watching clowns perform and misguidedly misinterpreted it as burlesque shows. It is wrong and twisted on so many levels that I can’t even begin to fathom it!
I take solace in the fact that this clown fetish phenomenon is currently largely a niche and heterosexual thing. However, I suspect it’s not long before a Gay Clown Porn movie is made. I for one most certainly would not have any interest, whatsoever, to watch it, as I would have nightmares for months or even years to come. I can’t even imagine what the story line and setting of such a queer film would be. The circus seems too obvious and a children’s party would just be wrong and not to mention illegal. Would Bozo venture into plumbing, mechanics, the army, a sexy camping trip or be kidnapped by sexy Amazon men? Or would poor old Bozo be lost in the streets looking for his circus tent and then be sexually exploited by a bunch of street thugs? Who knows, the possibilities are endless.  And the thought troubling. 

As disturbing as this is to me, I wonder how the clown community feels about this. Are they livid and disgusted too? Having almost been blinded and made nauseous by my Google Image search, I proceeded to do a normal Internet search on Clown Porn, for the purpose of being thorough. There actually is a website called “Stop Clown Porn Now”. Naively I visited their website, thinking the creator(s) would have been just as appalled as I was. But, on closer inspection, their website was nothing more than a Clown Porn Directory disguised as something else. Clearly Clown Porn freaks have a twisted sense of humour, is shrewd and this led me to my next puzzling question.
How do you know if your lover is a Clown Porn Freak? In all probability the first tell tale sign would be if he gets super excited when he hears the circus is coming to town, then when at the circus he pitches his own tent in his pants when the clowns enters the ring. Your suspicion should also be roused when the circus programs with Bozo’s face on it have not been discarded weeks after the circus have left, and have now became all wrinkly and crusty. You should really be worried when you lover comes home in October with two clown costumes with accompanied clown paraphernalia, and when asked about the odd purchase he tells you it’s for Halloween. Finally, all suspicion should be gone the night he enters your bedroom dressed as the clown Funking Frankie and then enters you calling you his bitch Coco!

When it comes to sex the human race is a Pandora’s Box of the strange and bizarre. All people have their own flavours and preferences, whether it’s silk or leather, cowboy or clown. Whatever you are into you will find pornography that depicts your every fantasy, twisted as it may be. Today I learned something new and this I know for certain – when the circus is coming to town I’ll be not go and stay clear of clowns!

Till next time.

The Black Party: Fetish

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

I don’t want to research vaginas.

They say it takes a village to raise a child.  And whoever said that was not kidding.  Parenting is hard.  You find yourself questioning yourself constantly.  Am I doing the right thing? Am I handling this situation correctly?  Am I going to do psychological damage to my kid requiring me to pay a shit load of money for therapy for him when he is sixteen?  Mostly, I ask myself these questions when I am at my wits end.

You know those times when the world almost ended because your little bundle of joy lost his dummy and wants back it now.  When you try to dress your little poop factory when, according to him, clothes are evil and from the devil and all he wants to be is naked.  When he wants to play with a remote and you say no and he cries as if you just killed a puppy.  Being a parent has taught me a lot of things.  Most importantly, it taught me that nothing can prepare you for parenthood and you just have to fake it until you make it.

At this stage I think the first word my son is going to say is the word “no”.  I try not to excessively use the word no but when he is about to do something that will either hurt or kill him I don’t really have a choice.  My son also has a six sense about where all the dangerous objects are in this house.

All cupboards and draws with childproof lock on them fascinate him.  It’s like he is hell bent on proofing that not all childproof locks are actually “childproof”.  He is also fascinated with our cats’ food, the rocks on our indoor water feature, well actually anything that is not nailed down and within reach of him.  He has also now learned that he can throw things which is a good developmental skill for him but not so good for everybody else.

My son will frequently stand in his cot and throw everything out of it, including his pillow, blanket and mattress protector.  Then when there is nothing left to throw he will try to climb out of it.  And one of these days he will get it right and it is a rather far way down to the ground for a 10 month old.  I suspect he throws all his stuffed toys, pillow and other items out of the cot in order to provide him with a soft landing.  I also suspect that he has been designing his cot escape plan for a while now.

Being a parent has also taught me to lie and to be sneaky.  Whenever my son spots something that he wants to play with that he really shouldn’t I will hide it the moment he looks away.  If he then starts moaning because it is gone I tell him that it was never there.  I am also known to sneak past him and my husband when I need to do stuff because the moment my son sees me he would want me to take him and then nothing gets done. You can only do some many things with one hand.

Going to the bathroom has also become a challenge.  I now never stand and pee anymore.  I now have to sit down.  You see my son follows me around the house like a little shadow and when I go to the bathroom he is there.  When I stand and pee he will stand next to the toilet and try and catch my urine with his hand.  Nothing grosses kids out at this age and it is quite disgusting.  So sitting down circumvents this and makes life more hygienic for everybody.  Because playing with pee is not ok.

Cooking dinner and eating has also changed radically since our son came.  When I cook dinner now my son clings to my leg.  He does this all the time.  When I pick him up and put him on the counter the first thing he will gun for is the knives.  I have tried putting him in his feeding chair but he has tried to climb out of it on several occasions.  I did try strapping him in the chair once.  It was a big mistake.  He acted like he was strapped to the electric chair and about to be executed.  So now I try to cook dinner when he goes to bed.  We have also adjusted our eating habits around his sleeping schedule.  We did this because we like our meals hot and not cold which is the case if you get your timing wrong.

Then there is the thing I now call the ankle buster otherwise known as a walking ring.  Do you know how badly your ankles can get bruised when you are hit with one of those things at full speed?  It hurts like a motherfucker and if having purple and blue ankles were a sign of domestic violence many people would have raised eyebrows.  My son has also learned that he can block my way with his ankle buster.  If he doesn’t want me to leave a room he would go stand in the doorway and refuse to move thinking it is a game.  However, when I move him out of the way he would cry because I clearly don’t understand the rules of the game.  I mean really, I don’t even know the game never mind the rules.

There is nothing in our house that has not been licked or sucked on and that includes our cats.  Just the other day I caught my son sucking on one of our cat’s ears.  The poor cat had this defeated look on his face and seemed to be thoroughly traumatized as if this was not the first time this has happened.  Honestly, I could not blame him; I would be too if I was ear molested against my will.  I don’t know why babies and toddlers do this and it is gross.  Imagine an adult going to a store and once you get to the checkout counter you start licking and sucking on the counter while your goods are being rung up; or if you meet someone and then take their phone and then put it in your mouth.  Well this is what our son does all the time and with everything.  He has no preference and anything will get licked or sucked on, even your cat’s ears.

I think the hardest challenge that lies ahead for us as gay parents is when our son realizes that we are not a conventional family.  The day he starts asking questions as to which one of us was pregnant and why he has two daddies.  Why his skin color and hair is different from ours and the day I will have to explain to him how a vagina works.  Not that I really know myself but I suspect Google will be helpful at that time.  These questions will probably make us long for the days when our son was sucking on and licking household objects, throwing things out of his cot, trying to catch our pee and clinging to our legs.  I do try and enjoy every moment of my son being at this age, albeit that it is sometimes hard.  My son gives the best hug, has a contagious laugh and heart melting smile.  This is what makes it all worth it even if I one day will have to research vaginas.

Till next time.


Wednesday, November 19, 2014

When Pussy Attacks!

My husband and I share our house with four pussies. They are furry, sometimes cuddly but beneath their angelic and sweat demeanour there lurks a darkside. A darkside so malevolent and vicious it’s best strangers approach our kitties with caution or face the dreadful consequence – being mauled! You see our furred critters are emotional and dangerous little souls and every now and again their tempers and tantrums take me by surprise and I left me wondering, why do I share my house killers.

Killer Pussy will eat anything she can lay her little paws on. If it is not guarded, covered or sealed she will seek it out and devour it whether it’s broccoli or potatoes – she has no preference. Her absolute favourite snack is a vitamin and catnip enrich cat treat which she gets every afternoon. So when the treats were finished, a couple of weeks ago, and the shops ran out of stock our little pussy was not amused! Then the tantrums started.

We were ignored, she would sit in the corner of the bedroom sulking, scratch us when we picked her up and when her passive aggression failed to yield the desired result she went to Plan B – breaking stuff. Two broken plates, a torn curtain and a punctured pool lillo later, the shops eventually acquired her favourite treat just in the nick of time, as I suspect Plan C would have involved murder by suffocation – I wonder who she would have killed first, my husband or I? So now she’s back to her normal routine which are the plotting and scheming about how to break into our pantry (the food room as she calls it), furthering her nuclear ambitions and setting her plan for world domination into motion.  She really is one ambitious and very dangerous cat!

Fur Monster is one of our eldest cats and she doesn’t like strangers and despises children (little humans). The fact that she was barren for so long and struggled to have kittens of her own may have something to do with her hatred of offspring. Whenever we receive visitors we always have to warn the guests of her violent streak. Many children have been emotionally and physically scarred by her and many adults have too, with my late mom included.

A few years ago Fur Monster’s sister had kittens and my mom and her housekeeper wanted to see the litter/kindle. They forgot about the saying “curiosity killed the cat” and they went into my garden cottage while I was out. They didn’t make it past the kitchen. Fur Monster and her sister Sly Monster cornered them and held them hostage, literally, in my kitchen for well over an hour. Eventually I received a hysterical call from my mom “Your cats have attacked me! I’m in your kitchen! Can’t. Get. Out!!! Oh God have mercy!!! H E L P MEEE!!!” and in the background I could hear the housekeeper praying "Jesus, Mary & Joseph" and the cats hissing and growling. Careful hostage negations followed and both my mom and the housekeeper were released bruised, bleeding, traumatized and forever fearful.

Cute Monster is the middle child and the fruit of Fur Monster’s loins. She’s not the sharpest tool in the shed and the only thing she does well is eat, fart and look cute. She has never mastered the art of tree climbing and is still trying to learn how to play but without any notable success or improvement. The one skill she recently acquired is the much envied skill of paw-to-paw combat.

Seeing as she doesn’t know how to play nice she settled for second best – fighting. She picks fights with her mother, her aunt and her adopted sister and she usually loses. Did I mention she isn't that bright? Every other day all hell breaks loose in our house and it’s a choir of hissing, growling, screaming with fur and pot plants flying everywhere. Breaking up a pussy orgy of violence is near impossible and after two attempts and some loss of blood later, hubby and I decided to leave them to sort out their own problems. If it involves violence so be it!

Apart from eating and shitting the garden the only thing our pussies enjoy doing together as a family is kill things. This is where our youngest comes in Lover Pussy.  And as his name suggests he is a gentle soul and is more a lover than a fighter.  However, he also loves hunting and he's fiercely good at it.  He also usually leads the family hunt.  Like a ruthless pride of lions (which I swear they think they are) they stalk their prey on the African plains that is our garden. Many a bird-, lizard-, moth-, butterfly and lady bird family has lost loved ones at the claws of our feline predators. So when a flock of weaver birds decided our leopard tree was the perfect spot for them to raise their families, last summer, their fate was sealed and the bodies piled up!

Last Saturday we experienced the worst massacre since bloodshed Wednesday of 8 May 2007. It started at roughly noon. I heard a commotion in our back garden and didn’t pay it much attention until the commotion made its way to under the dining room table. Killer Pussy caught a juvenile weaver bird and was busy interrogating and torturing the poor thing North Korea Style, while the other four Monsters were watching. I tried to save the non combatant but Killer Pussy would have none of that and ran outside. We intercepted at the pool and I tried to pry the screaming bird from her fangs but she refused to loosen her grip and punctured two of my fingers.  I considered getting a tetanus shot but then realized the hospital would asked too many uncomfortable questions so I took my chances.

Then I realized the non combatant is doomed anyway and feeling like a horrible human being I let the murder continue. In the lounge I was close to tears as I heard the bird's screams become fainter as the minutes passed. The bird’s parents, family and neighbors all tried to save its life, but one-by-one they too were interrogated, tortured and killed. At sunset the screaming stopped and our backyard was a scene of utter horror and devastation. There are now only four weaver birds and eight eerily empty nests left. Every day and every night our monsters patrol the leopard tree and soon the surviving weaver birds will be no more.

Sharing our home with temper tantrum killers, admittedly is not always fun. But even though I sometimes pitch up for work with arms, legs and hands looking like I shoved them into the blender, I love my little monsters dearly and can’t imagine my life without them. Our backyard may be littered with the skeletal remains of countless avian victims, the bird population on the plains of Africa may be living in fear but my pussies are a delight to have and one day, may just one day, the birds will stop screaming.

You can like Killer Pussy's Facebook Fan Page by clicking HERE.

Till next time.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

An Unconventional Lesson in Anal Sex

Oddly, there seem to be a couple of evangelist pastors out there who allegedly are experts on gay male sex. I kid you not.  Apparently they seem to know a great deal more about gay sex than what the average homosexual does.  Especially surprising to me is the resilience the male sphincter muscle (aka your asshole muscle) has according to them.  Apparently you can shove a whole baseball bat up there, your iPhone and a gerbil.  No wonder so many people get rectal exams in prison:  You never know what they could manage to smuggle in there; it could be anything from a nail file to a ladder.   Reflecting on some past comments of a certain Pastor Patrick Wooden I could not help but wonder, have we as gay guys even begin to explore the wonderland that are our rectums.
Pastor Wooden seems very preoccupied with the gay male anus, apparently as all gay men are.  After all it is in that general area where we like to keep things neat, tidy and in some cases bleached and pierced.  But, in Wooden’s defense, the anus is a wonderful organ.  It is resilient and can stretch when needed.  And the best of all you don’t even have to be gay to have experience this phenomena.  Straight people can experience this too.  I'm speaking to all those straight guys out there who like it when their girlfriends stick her fingers up your ass, and you know who you are!  And I know that you are worried and wondering and the answer is NO.  That does not make you gay! But it's not just through sex and ass play when you can experience this.  Normal bodily functions also helps you experience the elasticity of your sphincter muscle more frequently than what you may think. 

If you have ever been constipated and finally had that bowel movement that sets you free, you probably have experienced that glorious sensation.  You know that feeling when you push and push and you feel it is just too big to come out.  Finally, as the monster turd crowns and you feel like your asshole just is not big enough and about to exploded, it makes it’s way through and takes its final plunge leaving you relieved, proud and semi euphoric.  Well, gay anal sex is not completely unlike that.  Apart from the turd being a cock and instead of it coming out it goes in.

Like any good homosexual I am also partial to some ass play.  I, like some gay tops, can also be “ass curious” at times (If you don't know what that means Google will explain it to you).  But I can honestly say I have never shoved a baseball bat up my rectum nor have I attempted to insert any live stock or rodents.  Mostly, because I do not understand the logistics of it and I don’t condone animal abuse.  I mean honestly, how exactly do you force a little gerbil into a dark crevice if it doesn’t want to go in.  Doesn’t it have teeth and sharp little nails?  Or is that part of the fun?  I’m sure PETA would have a lot to say on this issue and clearly Pastor Wooden has some experience in this area.  But to get back to my rectum…
Inserting foreign objects into our rectums is something that gay men do.  As per definition a foreign object is anything “originating elsewhere” or simply put “outside of your body”.  Look it up bitches.  So it can be pretty much anything including someone else’s penis, which is predominantly what gay guys prefer.  Some gay guys are over achievers and sometimes like to have more than one penis up their man hole.  It's true, I have seen it in gay porn.  It doesn't look comfortable at all.   In my case we have a drawer in our bedroom with preferred foreign objects that we like inserting up our rectums.  Now don't pretend to be all prissy, you know you have a secret sex drawer too. 

Our drawer contains nothing particularly out of the ordinary for a professional homosexual on the go.  It has a dildo, vibrator, and a butt plug, to mention but a few.  My father-in-law, a few years ago, accidentally opened this drawer thus destroying any illusions he may have had of his son and I being celibate and not engaging in anal sex.  He emerged from the ordeal pale as a ghost and dramatically quiet for the rest of that day.  He’s probably still traumatized and digesting what he had seen.  I believe that mental pictures that were inadvertently burned into his mind still haunts him today.

Using foreign objects that you can buy from any sex shop or online to enhance your sexual experience is one thing, but what if you don’t have the time or money.  Well, like any resourceful homosexual will tell you, there are a plethora of everyday household objects that you can safely use.  Let’s turn our attention to your kitchen.  Fruit and vegetables like bananas, cucumbers and carrots are perfectly safe.  You won't get any nutritional value from them but you will have fun and in some cases vegetables can be orgasmic. Just don't use them in a salad later.  That would just be gross.  Butternuts on the other hand are not safe nor are any frozen items, fish or cutlery.  The broom closet is pretty self explanatory as most closeted right wing evangelist pastors will tell who have lost their anal virginity there.
When it comes to the bathroom and the bedroom wardrobe it could get a little dicey.  Firstly, it is not good hygiene to insert anything into your ass that you will not be able to get out again later, having to wash your face with or have to put in your mouth.  Secondly, electrical items and anything bigger than your hand and arm could pose some serious medical repercussions and should always be used with extreme caution.  I would advice you to first consult with your physician but I can see how that conversation could be awkward.  It is also extremely important to remember that KY conducts electricity extremely well, as I can attest to from personal experience, and electrocution does not enhance an orgasm, it does quite the opposite and it's not fun nor is it sexy!

My iPhone is the one item I have never considered inserting into my rectum and people who do clearly have no respect for their phones, themselves or other people and should be ashamed of themselves!  Honestly, what if you get a very important call, a Facebook message or a tweet?  Are you going to phone, message and tweet that person back apologizing by saying “I was busy stimulating my prostate, and thank you for calling me at exactly the right time – you really hit the spot for me!  It was the best orgasm EVER! Thank you for making me cum!”  I did not think so people.  

Contemplating the good Pastor’s recent comments and especially the part about gay men’s rectums being mutilated resulting in some gay men having to walk around with butt plugs and diapers, I consulted with a medical professional.  My pharmacist told me it was bullshit!  Sure with regular abuse and inserting very large objects the sphincter muscle can get damaged and deformed over time, but for that to happen the person must have been doing some seriously fucked up shit to themselves and their assholes.  And surely this is not the norm.  To conclude, any person who walks around with a butt plug up his ass for a whole day has some serious skills and I am sure that would be dreadfully uncomfortable.  As for wearing diapers, I don't think I am into that baby fetish because who likes to shit in their pants and sit on it for hours anyway?
Whether Pastor Patrick Wooden spoke from personal experience or secret desire, I guess we will never really know.  His fascination with gay anal sex and brevity of knowledge on the subject does however slightly impress.  But, I am sad to say Pastor Patrick Wooden, there are some things gay men will not put up our asses and your dick ranks number one on that list.  Even though I do admire the fact that you are so very adventurous with your own anus, I will never be as able a power bottom as you are.  Your accomplishments are awe inspiring!

Till next time.
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