Thursday, April 17, 2014

Sometimes you just need to relax and say fuck it.

Being slightly OCD it is only natural that I value punctuality.  After all, this is what separates us from animals.  Well, punctuality and the ability to fly through the air at 30 000 feet at a speed of 600 mph that is.  And the fact that we can blow shit up.  So imagine my surprise when I actually managed to miss my flight yesterday even though I was at the airport four hours ahead of time.  Now you may ask yourself “How the hell did he manage to do that?”  And the answer would be rather complicated so let me explain.

Yesterday I had to fly from Cape Town back to Johannesburg.  I was in Cape Town for work and by yesterday morning I had finished what I needed to do there and decided to go to the airport early.  I had some work to do on my laptop and decided that I might as well do it at one of the airport lounges and the fact that they had free Wi-Fi would also help.

So I arrived at the airport four hours before my flight and checked in.  The lady at the check in counter looked at me funny and we had a slight altercation about my luggage.  This is totally normal as there is always some kind of issue:  If I don’t set off the metal detector then I forget that I have a knife in my hand luggage; if that doesn’t happen then my luggage is classified obese or looks suspicious for drugs.  I am used to being harassed at airports.  I have now come to expect it.

As I was busy working minding my own business about an hour before my flight, I heard an announcement.  Apparently my flight was delayed and was now to board at Gate C12.  I was a bit annoyed as I was looking forward to arriving in Johannesburg at 4pm and now I was going to be thirty minutes late.  About half an hour before my flight was due to depart I packed up my stuff and proceeded to Gate C12.

There was nobody there so I assumed the flight was delayed even further.  As my flight’s departure time neared and eventually passed I got suspicious.  I thought “What the fuck is going on?  Has it been delayed again?  But if they were boarding surely they would have been calling my name?”  Nobody called my name.  Not even once.  As I proceeded to go to the viewing deck I was also surprised that my plane was no longer on its spot on the tarmac.  It was gone.  Could it be that they left without me?

I promptly went to information and was told that my flight had indeed left.  Without me!  Now I had to go and get my ticket transferred to the next available flight.  I could feel a panic attack looming but decided to just stay calm, compose myself and that it was not the end of the world.  I have never missed a flight in my life and was mortified that my once clean record had now been stained, especially since I had been at the airport for four hours now.

As I proceeded to the flight controller counter I immediately thought about my luggage.  Where was it?  Was it on the plane?  Has it been molested?  Will I ever see it again?  If it is broken into will that person judge me?

As I got to the front of the counter I told the lady about my predicament.  She got on the phone, bashed away on her keyboard and then looked at me with concern.  “It seems that there is a problem.  According to my computer you boarded the flight, so why are you standing here?” she said while giving herself unsightly frown lines.  “Well, I don’t know.  I am not on that flight” I replied sarcastically.

Apparently there was another passenger booked on the same flight who had the same name and surname as mine and they checked off the wrong person.  As if this was not bad enough there was a problem with our luggage as well.

I was told that they kept my luggage onboard the plane and had bumped his luggage off.  So my luggage would arrive in Johannesburg two hours before me and his two hours after him.  “Well isn’t this just great.  You know this is how planes blow up, don’t you?!  Aren’t you supposed to match passengers to their luggage?!  Just wait until the terrorists discover this loophole.  It will be 9/11 all over again” I screamed.  Softly.  As I didn’t want to get arrested and I really wanted to make my next flight.

Eventually I made it onto the next flight, dripping with sweat and smelling like a funky monkey.  Seeing as I was a last minute addition to the flight I was banished to the very back of the plane where all the degenerates who have punctuality issues are seated.  And to make matters worse I had the middle seat.

As I sat down the person to my left was some kind of far right Afrikaner bearded man in kaki clothes and to my right was a nice Indian lady.  I apologized to the lady about my odor and told her I just had a very rough day.  I did not apologize to the kaki bearded man.  All three of us were reading.  I was reading Chelsea Handler’s Uganda Be Kidding Me, the lady was reading 50 Shades of Gray and the kaki bearded man was reading some book on Siener van Rensburg (a right wing profit).  This made me rather paranoid.

The flight was rather uneventful as we did not crash or go missing.  Our pilot was a rugged, tall and a ridiculously good looking man.  The only problem was that he was finger fucking his iPhone before and after the flight.  Possibly also during the flight as it is apparently not necessary to tell people to fasten their seatbelts when there is severe turbulence, which we had!  But I forgave him because he was gorgeous.

After arriving in Johannesburg I immediately went to the baggage claims counter.  Also there was a young woman who lost her glasses.  They are still missing.  There was also a woman who just flew in from Washington DC on a Delta Air flight who lost her blood pressure medication on the plane.  Her description of what she kept them in was rather vague and she may have suffered a stroke since.  We should all really pray for her as she seemed really distressed.

Eventually, I was reunited with my luggage and it is a miracle that nothing was missing from it.  Well, actually the only things they could steal from it were dirty laundry, my toiletries and prescription medication that would not even make them high.

I arrived home last night just after 7pm; meaning that I was technically in transit for six hours instead of three.  This was the first flight I have ever missed and it was not even my own fault.  How was I supposed to know that there were two Gate C12’s and that some other person on the same flight shared my name?

I am however impressed with myself for not having had a panic attack, breaking down falling on the ground crying like an emotionally disturbed child and for keeping my shit together.  Sometimes you just need to relax and say fuck it.  This is what I did and it really helped.  I however still hate airports.

Till next time.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Why Oscar Pistorius is screwed.

Like so many people I am following the Oscar Pistorius murder trial.  I mean it has its own 24 hour channel on television and has its own Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts.  There are also live video and audio streams.  And no matter where you go or what you do Oscar is there.  If he sobs or vomits in court it trends on Twitter.  When he covers his ears it immediately gets hundreds of likes on Instagram.  Phrases like “I put it to you” and “my lady” have also even made it into our pop culture.  The Oscar Pistorius trial has infiltrated our daily lives on so many levels and has piqued our macabre interests.  But one thing we tend to forget is that no matter what happens with this trial Oscar Pistorius is screwed either way.
Look, I will be the first to admit that the events that transpired on the morning of 14 February 2013 are tragic.  Reeve Steenkamp died and the only two people who really know exactly what happened that morning are Reeva and Oscar.  And Reeva is dead and the veracity of Oscar’s version of events is questionable at best.

Oscar’s defense is making him out to be a pussy.  When Barry Roux put it to one of the witnesses that Oscar screams like a woman when he is scared, it caused even some on his own defense team to struggle not to laugh.  This also led to the meme that went viral that read “What if I put it to you that when my cat gets scared he barks like a dog”.
Before this happened I must be honest and admit that I didn’t even know who Reeva Steenkamp was.  It is sad to think that she had to die horribly before she became world famous.  I’m sure this was not part of her ten year plan nor was killing her in Oscar’s either.

There are many people speculating about Oscar’s guilt or innocence and I for one will not tender my personal opinion on this in a public forum.  It would be irresponsible as it is too soon in the trial to make any predictions.  However, one thing is certain – Oscar is guilty of murder.  Whether he is found guilty of premeditated murder or culpable homicide the fact stands that he shot and killed Reeva.  Nothing in this world will change that.  Whether he killed her in a fit of rage or accidentally, she is dead and this will follow him around for the rest of his life.  He will always be known as the Olympian who shot and killed his girlfriend.

Oscar’s career is over, sponsors will not touch him and even if he walks away from this it would take a miracle for him to revive his career that he destroyed with four gunshots on Valentine’s Day in 2013.  As the world watches the graphic crime scene photos and imagines how terrified Reeva must have been in that toilet cubical that morning; the terrible pain she must have been in and the undignified manner in which she died; it is hard to believe that he will find any forgiveness anytime soon.
Emotional tears, vomiting in court and retching may have worked to win over a jury elsewhere but this will have no effect on the judge and assessors in his trial here is South Africa.  Some members of the public may feel some sympathy for him as he breaks down in court, but skeptics like me still speculate if this is due to him suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, extreme guilt or if it is remorse.  Only Oscar will be able to answer this.

There have also been numerous jokes about this murder on the internet.  Some jokes are quite funny and others are more distasteful and disrespectful.  Also having a dark sense of humor and having a tendency to laugh at my own private jokes my husband caught me last week laughing while I was in the shower.  He asked me what was so funny but I was rather hesitant to tell him.

You see, while I was in the shower I imagined what the scene must have looked like that morning:  Oscar on his stumps running into the bathroom, all angry or scared and then firing off the shots.  I found that mental image extremely funny but then immediately felt guilty for laughing.  Naturally hubby did not find this funny as he doesn’t always approve of my sense of humor.  Sometimes I don’t either.
My husband and my father-in-law refuse to follow the trial and I think they are missing out.  I mean honestly, how can you be angry or happy with the verdict if you didn’t follow the trial?  How do you have small talk with people in awkward social situations if you cannot comment on the goings on of that week’s trial?  This is our OJ Simpson and if you don’t follow it you will miss out on catchy phrases like “If the gloves don’t fit you must acquit” from the OJ trial.  I will be very pissed off if the only catch phrase we are going to get from Oscar’s trial is “I put it to you”.

At this stage of the trial I have many questions about what happened.  I want to know why Reeva was still in the clothes she arrived in when she was shot that morning even though she brought an overnight bag with her; what was found on the iPhones and iPads; why their phones were in the bathroom; why he carried Reeva downstairs; why Oscar didn’t phone an ambulance; did they have a fight before he shot her; if he truly thought there was an intruder why did he not wake Reeva up, is that not normally the first thing a reasonable person would do; and if the bathroom light was on when he shot Reeva why did he choose to conceal that fact.
To be honest, I think by the time we get close to the end of this trial everyone who has followed it will be suffering from Oscar fatigue.  Many people would have learned a great deal about how the South African court system works and how it is not glamorous and that real life forensic police work is nothing like the CSI you see on television.

But that being said, it remains tragic.  A woman who very few people knew of is now dead and famous for all the wrong reasons.  The once proud son of South Africa is now a fallen hero with very little chance of redemption.  Even though many of Oscar’s fans will still love and support him no matter what, he is screwed either way.  Oscar is now a murderer.  Oscar is that guy who killed his girlfriend.  This is how he will be remembered and there is very little that he can now do to change that.

Till next time.

Friday, April 4, 2014

Gay men will marry your girlfriend

If you don't support gay marriage, well then you're in for a rude awakening.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Do I look like a Heroin Addict to you?

As some of you who read my blog regularly know, I was diagnosed with early onset male menopause a couple of months ago.  And yes, that is a legitimate thing.  And no, I have not started growing boobs and getting my period.  People this might come as a shock to you but I don’t have a uterus or a vagina.  My body just started producing less testosterone than it should and consequently I have to get hormone replacement injections.

It’s like getting a vitamin B shot.  Only it’s not vitamin B.  It is hormones.  I have to get a shot once a week and I use to have a nurse at my pharmacy who gave it to me.  Then she resigned and I was left with a conundrum:  Do I find another nurse or do I give the injections to myself.  As things turned out, in my cornucopia of options, there was a third option – my husband.

Look, I probably am one of the few people who are not afraid of needles or injections.  I guess the fact that I have had so many injections in my life probably desensitized me to it.  I have even given myself a few injections in my day.  Both times were out of sheer desperation and both times involved my back going into spasm while I was working away from home.  Both times also involved dodgy medical facilities with questionable hygiene which was the reason I opted to rather inject myself.

When I learned that my regular nurse resigned at the pharmacy I normally go to, I did not think of it as a huge train smash.  I was in no mood to test drive the new student nurse who was there in the interim.  So I asked my pharmacist if I can’t just administer the injections myself.  To which she rather nervously answered “Well, I suppose you can but I don’t recommend it”.  In my mind this meant she was saying “Sure, knock yourself out.  Just don’t hit a vein, ok.

So I bought some syringes, needles and alcohol swabs.  When I got home I tested to see if I could inject myself in my bum but soon learned that it would not be possible.  I did not want to inject myself in my leg muscle, because you know – the vein issue that the pharmacist warned me about.  Then I realized that hubby could do it.  He loves me after all and won’t intentionally hurt me.  Besides, it’s only an injection and it’s not like I would be asking him to perform major surgery on me or give me stitches.

When hubby arrived home that evening I told him about the nurse that resigned and that I did not feel comfortable allowing the student nurse to inject me.  I told him that he had to do it.  To which he responded “Let me get this straight.  You’d rather have me give you an injection who has never done it before rather than have a professional do it?”  To which I responded “Yes, if you love me you will give it to me in my ass”.  Sometimes my husband does not get my sense of humor.

After some negotiation hubby eventually agreed.  So we went into the bedroom.  I drew the correct amount of hormone out of the vial, replaced the needle with a new one and handed it over to hubby.  I then downed a glass of chardonnay and presented my ass to my husband like a mandrill monkey during mating season.  I told him to stick it in me already.  At first he was hesitant but eventually he did and he injected me flawlessly.  There was no bruising and very little bleeding.

It was then that I realized we are getting old.  I mean if the most exciting thing you do on a Friday night is downing a glass of chardonnay and getting a hormone injection from your husband then it is probably a good time to start shopping for a retirement home.  But you are only as old as you feel and since my hormone levels started stabilizing I have been feeling younger, have more energy and certain other areas in our marriage has also greatly benefited.  And yes, I am talking about the sex.

Hubby gives me my shot every Friday and we do this religiously.  The doctor said that I would have to do this for a year and then we will re-evaluate if further treatment is needed.  The downside of all of this is having to buy the syringes and needles.  For some reason people always give me “that look” when they see what I am buying.  It’s the look that says “I am judging you.  Are you a drug addict?  Or are you dying of something.

For some odd reason I always feel like I have to explain myself in such situations; that I have to reassure those judgmental assholes that I am not a heroin addict.  But I never do.  Out load that is.  But in my mind I am storming up to them and getting into their personal space, up so close that they can smell my onion breath from the salad I had for lunch that day and I scream “These fucking needles and syringes are for my hormone injections.  I have fucking menopause.  Mother! Fucker!”  In my mind this is highly effective but in reality I’d probably get punched in the face or kicked in the balls.

Last Friday night as we went through our new ritual I accidentally stabbed myself in the finger when I did the needle swop.  So not only did hubby have to deal with injecting me he also had to deal with the blood fountain squirting out of my index finger.  Those needles are damn near lethally sharp.  Had hubby not seen that the needle I stabbed myself with was in fact bent the injection would have been very painful.  We look out for each other that way.

So what if people think I am a heroin addict once a month when I go and buy my four syringes, four needles and alcohol swabs.  So what if the cashier looks at me with those eyes that has more questions than answers.  It is none of their damn business what it is for.  It is however a tad strange that part of our Friday evenings now includes syringes and needles, but you know what they say – a couple that inject hormones for menopause together, stays together.

Till next time.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Everyone is Gay

This is the gayest song ever from the band A Great Big World.

The song was written in support of the website Everyone is Gay that offer support for LGBT youth.

A Great Big World believe in the work that Everyone is Gay is doing and stand by everyone who live in fear of being their authentic selves.  They believe that no one should be bullied or treated unfairly based and their sexual preference.

Diversity should be celebrated.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

What moms say to gay sons

"Did you need more hugs?  So that's where my cucumbers went? But you like girls?"

Yep, at some time or another we have all heard these questions from our moms.  Check out this video for a giggle or two, or three.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Camping When Nature Hates You.

Camping is a queer concept to me.  I mean really, who in their right mind would willingly submit themselves to the elements if they are not homeless, raised by wolves or competing for a million dollars?  If humans were intended to live in the bush or mountains we would not have evolved to be able to build houses, nice hotels or invented electricity and room service.  Don’t get me wrong.  I do love to do quad biking, horse riding and I do appreciate nature’s absolute splendor.  But this doesn’t mean I want to spend a night in nature, sleep in a sleeping bag in a tent with God knows what crawling over me.  I have been camping twice in my life and this was enough times for me to realize two things:  One, I don’t like “roughing it” and two, I do NOT do camping.
About ten years ago hubby and I decided to go hiking with my sister, brother-in-law and some friends.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.  We would spend two days hiking up a mountain, walking about 10 kilometers a day.  That is like 6.2 miles a day.  The selling point for me was that we would not need tents as we would be sleeping in what they called “chalets” and they said there was electricity at both “camping sites”.  The only down side, I thought, was that we would need to carry everything we needed in backpacks with us.  Optimism never served well, and in this case optimism would once again dismally fail me.

On arriving on the Friday, the first “camping site” was basically a room with a questionable roof on it, holes in the walls that you could literally see through and stretchers to sleep on.  No electricity.  No indoor toilet.  That was the very first time I in my life that I saw an outhouse or as they called it - a “long drop”.  I was mortified!  It was nothing more than a hole in the ground with a toilet seat on top of it, smelled like shit and there were steam billowing out of it the following morning.  All I could do, when I eventually had to number two, was to go in there, hold my breath and pray that the whole thing didn’t cave in while I was in there.  In retrospect, I think that’s where my fear of public toilets comes from.

The following day we started with the hike.  Ten kilometers is fucking far, especially if you are carrying 5kg on your back.  Needless to say I cursed a lot that first day.  My sister, the drama queen that she is, also had a complete dramatic melt down three quarters through when she had a cramp in her leg.  She was a whimpering mess and wanted to be medically evacuated off the mountain.  Needless to say that didn’t happen.  The rest of the hike she was whimpering out loud and I was crying and cursing on the inside.  Eventually, what felt like an eternity, we made it to the second camp and things only got worse from there.
Again the “camp site” was no Hilton Hotel and by all means worse than the first one, again with the outhouse, cracked walls and stretchers.  With blusters the size of plums on my feet and smelling like a funky monkey, I realized hiking was probably the worst idea I ever had.  All I wanted was to take a long hot relaxing shower.  Then came another shock.

The “camp site” had a shower but it was outside in the bush and if I wanted a hot shower I had to heat the water in a thing they called a donkey on the fire.  “No hot water, no indoor toilet, no indoor shower, no electricity.  Why the fuck did I do this to myself?” I remember screaming.  I wanted to get clean so I heated the water, carried the donkey to the outside shower and hubby and I got in and opened the release valve.  First came the searing hot water then in came a snake.  I literally peed myself and that was the shortest and most traumatizing shower I ever had.  They said it was a harmless snake, but at almost a meter long it didn’t look harmless at all.  Besides nobody in our hiking party was a reptile expert.  We could have all died.

On day two we hiked back, completely paranoid about snakes, to the first “camp site” but this time I was motivated by one thing and one thing only - I wanted to get the hell out of there!  It took us about six hours to reach the “camp site” and we left immediately.  I have never gone hiking again since but I did end up going camping a couple of years later.
My parents’-in-law are avid campers.  They own a caravan and all the camping equipment one would need to survive in the event that the apocalypse should destroy all man-made structures.  They go camping often and they invite us along often.  I have always found creative ways to avoid camping and declining their invitations.  That was until the one day about 5 years ago when I couldn’t get out of it.

My in-laws got me to agree to go camping and until this day I can’t remember how they did it.  They promised me that we will have our own fully equipped bathroom and that we would not have to share it with other people.  They also said there would be electricity.  The only down side was that hubby and I would have to sleep in a tent.  How bad could it be, I thought?  What is the worst that can happen, I thought?

On arriving at the camping spot I was delighted to find that my in-laws didn’t lie to me.  We did indeed have our own bathroom, kitchen and there was electricity.  I needed electricity for my portable air-conditioned, inflating our double bed, electric mosquito repellent, ice machine and emergency light.  We helped the in-laws unpack and then set about pitching our tent.  Pitching a tent in your pants is one thing but pitching an actual tent is a whole different story.
Tents are complicated things and the instruction manuals that come with them, I firmly believe, are written by people who are high on drugs or drunk.  They make no sense.  After a struggle, some sweat and an averted mental breakdown the tent was semi decently erected.  Our bed was inflated, the air-conditioner was running and mosquitoes were fleeing.  The whole camping spot was set up and I must admit I was rather proud of myself.  Everything was done and as I was standing there admiring our handy work, I thought to myself “So now what.  We are here; we are set up, so what exactly does one do when you are camping?”  As it turns out – not much!

The only things we had to do were to go down a waterslide and drink.  I broke my rib on the waterslide that day and later that evening I got drunk on vodka jelly shots.  I would have broken my nose too had it not been for the emergency light outside our tent.  You see, vodka jelly shot, darkness and tent ropes don’t mix.  Much later that evening, I sobered up a little and we went to bed and that’s when it happened.  Back then my father-in-law use to snore, the sound of which could scare away wildlife in a five kilometer radius.  His snoring sounded a lot like a mixture between a diesel engine coming apart and a pig choking on its own esophagus.  It kept me awake for a long time.

After eventually falling asleep I was roused from my not so peaceful slumber by something tickling my face.  I brushed it away and dosed off again.  Then it happened again.  “Stop it honey” I mumbled to which hubby mumbled back “Stop what?
Just then the tickling went down my chin, down my neck and into my shirt.  I woke up, reached for my flash light opened my shirt and let out a petrified scream as only a twelve year old school girl can do.  I too am like Oscar Pistorius and scream like a woman when I am petrified.  There was a big hairy spider on my chest!  As I stared down at it in utter terror, its beady eight eyes stared back at me while its front feet were touching my nipple.  I felt sexually violated and petrified that it would bite off my nipple after it had finished molesting it.  Pandemonium broke out.  I survived.  The spider did not.  I lost three years of my life that morning and inhaled a whole can of Raid in the scuffle.  I still get nightmares.  We never went camping again after this.

Until such time as North Korea starts nuking the shit out of the world or when the Zombie Apocalypse happens and we are all forced to flee the city and find refuge in the mountains, I do not see any good reason why I should ever voluntarily go camping or hiking again.  No amount of bug repellent, vodka or inflatable and portable luxuries will see me leave the comfort of my home, or that of a hotel, to go and spent a night under the stars with the wild life, spiders, snakes and other hideous and possibly dangerous insect and animals.  Sure Broke Back Mountain made it look sexy, but in reality I would have had no problem quitting Ennis Del Mar as no high altitude fuck can be worth being dragged up a mountain to sleep in a tent and being crawled over and molested by spiders and snakes.  I find no shame in admitting that camping is not for me.  

Till next time.

Friday, March 21, 2014

What if Heterophobia was real.

Imagine a world where homosexuality was considered normal and heterosexuality was considered to be a sin. This short film turns the table on "normal society" and ask what if the shoe was on the other foot.
Creator/ Director K. Rocco Shields, also check out this movie's website HERE.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

The Straight Girl's Guide to Gay Boys

This is what all straight girls need to know about gay guys.

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Uganda: Who are really responsible for the imminent gay genocide.

The world is up and arms about Uganda signing their new Anti-Gay Bill into law.  A bill that now makes it illegal to be homosexual in Uganda and makes it illegal not to report homosexuals. A bill that makes provision for homosexuals to be handed sentences of life imprisonment.  A bill that has now already caused two confirmed deaths in Uganda as a direct result.  But have you ever stopped and wondered who are the actual people responsible for this flair up of radical homophobia in Africa? Have you ever wondered who are the people who now have blood on their hands in the name of Jesus?  If you did, then watch this video and find out who are spreading homophobia in Africa and Uganda in the name of Christianity.    

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

I still want a gay donkey.

In my previous life I must have been either a zoo keeper or a veterinarian.  You see I love animals and the furrier the better!  This is something that I am sure is causing my husband some angst every time we casually stroll by any pet shop, SPCA, animal shelter and every time he gets a call from me that starts with the words “Honey, don’t get angry but…”.  I am not sure if my accumulation of furry animals is bordering on a full blown obsession and frankly I don’t care.  Our house is slowly but surely starting to resemble a small petting zoo and we are about one animal away from violating several municipal bylaws.  This is why we have high walls and poor social skills when it comes to our neighbors.  Presently, we are the proud owners/parents of 4 cats, 3 bunnies, a tortoise and several frogs which I also view as pets – a pretty normal domestic situation don’t you think?  I mean really, if Brad and Angelina can collect children, why can’t I collect pets?
Just under two years ago I bought a rather expensive bunny cage.  This was my preemptive way of ensuring that hubby would find it difficult to say no when I seriously brought up the issue of buying bunnies.  After all, I did spend some serious money on the cage already and it would be wasteful to have a cage that’s barren of cuteness and whiskers.  Hubby reluctantly agreed after some deliberation and some begging (Yes, I am willing to stoop to begging to get what I want) but he had two deal breaker conditions: 1) I was allowed to get only two bunnies and 2) they have to be fixed.  Apparently bunnies can have babies once a month and can fall pregnant again within 24 hours after having given birth, so two bunnies could easily add up to 200 in a single year.  So shortly after we returned from New York I went bunny shopping.

After several phone calls and spending some quality time on Google I eventually found the perfect bunnies.  They were hybrid dwarf bunnies and it is just a fancy way of saying their mother was a purebred dwarf bunny who had a night of unbridled passion with a pavement special.  Being “bastard” bunnies they will be smaller than your normal bunnies but bigger than dwarf bunnies and when they are fully grown they will be just under 30cm in length.  When I saw them I immediately fell in love with them and that is how Alexei and Alina become the newest members of our gay little family.

Bunnies are adorable, affectionate and highly entertaining to watch.  They also behave like very inquisitive toddlers who don’t understand what “NO” means.  You see bunnies, like most animals, are born with certain inherent instincts that drive their behavior and ensure that they stay alive in the wild.  Just because they are in the save confines of your house and domesticated doesn’t mean that those instincts will automatically disappear and this I had to learn the hard way.  You see in the wild bunnies chew on roots to make sure that their burrows are clear and accessible and, coincidentally, in your house electrical cables appear very similar to roots to baby bunnies.  To make a long story short, in the week that we have had our bunnies we have lost an iPhone charger’s cable and the iPad’s charger also due to its cable being chewed off.
Understandably, we were a tad tardy with bunny proofing our house and we paid the price for that.  Having learned a couple of expensive lessons in keeping bunnies 101 the house is now bunny proved.  We also had to potty training our bunnies.  They can be trained to use a litter box but first you have to figure out which corner(s) in the room they are in they prefer to pee in.  Bunnies are clean animals and are very specific regarding their toilet habits (not much unlike myself with reference to bathrooms).  They like to poop while eating and they like eating a lot so they poop a lot.  If they decided they like a specific litter box they will use it, but if any other animal use their litter box (ie one of our four cats) they will no longer make of use it.  This is a problem.

Speaking of our 4 cats, Boris the youngest of the four decided from day one that Alexei and Alina were his pets.  He spend the majority of his time hovering over the bunnies and he watched them like a hawk.  The fact that they are playful and likes playing with him has really helped them bond.  Unfortunately for Boris the bunnies have the energy level of an atomic bomb and they rarely stop hopping around and playing.  This has caused a very exhausted Boris to, from time-to-time, go and hide to get a moment’s rest and peace and quiet.  The bunnies adore Boris and he adores them and watching them interact in the way they do is really sweet and heart warming.

The only downside of having bunnies, apart from chewing on cables and some peeing accidents, is my allergies.  As most of you who read my blog regularly know, I am allergic to world and I really should be living in a plastic bubble.  But, strange as it may sound I am not allergic to the bunnies.  However, I am allergic to their staple diet.  Being allergic to all forms of grass it should not have come as any surprise to me that I am allergic to hay.  Since we got our bunnies Alexei passed away in a tragic car accident.  Hubby accidentally reversed over him.  It was all very traumatic.  That is how Vladimir came into our lives.  Being a descendant of a wild rabbit he still maintains some of his forefather's tendencies.  However, he loves the luxuries of being a domesticated bunny.  He loves the fact that he sleeps inside the house, there are food on demand and the fact that he does not have to dodge predators in the wild. 
Dimitri, our new fluffy addition to our family is also doing splendidly.  I rescued him a month ago and he was in really bad shape when I found him.  Since he has been with us he had two operations (long story) and his luxurious coat has grown back.  I think all Angora rabbits think they are aristocrats and Dimitri is no different.  He behaves as if he is a prince and he demands love and attention.

Dimitri and Boris have become fast friends but our other two bunnies still don't trust him.  The fact that he taunts them by running laps around them trying to get them to chase him also doesn't help.  I suspect that the first couple of weeks Dimitri was on his very best behavior because in the last two weeks he has been a bad BAD boy.  He has chewed on two pairs on pants (which are now destroyed), chewed off an iPhone charger cable and chewed off a lamp cable.  So now our bedroom (in which he sleeps at night) has also been bunny proofed.  One would have thought that we learned our lesson the first time.

Our petting zoo is growing by the day and I have succumbed to the fur yet again.  Hubby said that this was now the last animals I was allowed to bring home and he drew a proverbial line in the sand.  “We don’t live on a Farm and this is NOT a Zoo!” he said in his Tim Gun angry voice.  I am not sure what will happen if I accidentally cross that line and I am not sure hubby knows either, but let’s hope neither of us find out.  I still desperately want to get a gay donkey (and no I am NOT kidding), I shall make a horn for him and call him our “special needs unicorn” and name him Rainbow.  I don’t think the neighbors would approve and I don’t think my husband will allow that, but one day is one day…

Till next time.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Fuck you Uganda!

As a professional practicing homosexual who is most certainly guilty of aggravated homosexuality, naturally I want to give you my two cents worth on the Anti-Gay-Bill that the President of Uganda signed yesterday.  I do not want to mention him by name because I fear that God will send lightning bolts down from the heavens to strike me as I am such a worm infected abomination according to the Ugandan Government.

According to the Ugandan President I am also a prostitute by default or like he prefers to say “all gays are mercenaries”.  It seems as if Africa is having one hell of a homophobic revival which seems to be fueled by religious fanatics, Christian and Muslim alike.  Since when did homosexuals become such a threat to African Governments that they now need laws and the encouragement of public violence against our people?  Are we really that dangerous?
Well I guess the simple answer to this question would be yes.  Why else would certain African countries go out of their way the imprison us.  Not so long ago the same thing happened to the Jews, Gypsies and Homosexuals in Europe.  It was called the Holocaust and it now seems like history is about to repeat itself in Africa.

We as the LGBT people have worked very hard and fought tirelessly for the rights we have today:  The right to get married; the right to adopt children; the right to be equal under the law and the right to be who we are.  Yet, in certain parts of the world draconian laws are being revived that threatens our very existence.  You may say I am being overdramatic but just read what bizarre things the President of Uganda believe about homosexuals and then tell me again that I am being overdramatic.
For one, he believes that we give each other worms during sex.  I have been gay for over thirty years and I never got worms from anyone.  I mean for god sake, how would that even work?  Is it a new STD that I have never heard of?  Is it something that only happens in Uganda?

He further claims that all homosexuals are actually heterosexuals who just have sex with the same sex for money.  Also, I have been gay for over three decades and I have never been paid for sex.  I cannot believe that I have screwed myself like this.  I could have made a shit load of money by now.  But then again how would that work.  Who would pay who?  If both guys pay each other for sex wouldn’t that financial exchange just cancel each other out?  And if you don’t get paid for sex, are you still really gay?
The Ugandan president also claims that none of us were born gay.  Apparently this was proven by scientist which seriously makes me question the Ugandan education system.  Does he not know that homosexuality is also found in nature across many different species?  Are these animals prostitutes as well?

He also said that oral sex is a culture and that the mouth was engineered for kissing and not for oral sex.  Guess whose wife refuses to give him blow jobs because she does not “condone that kind of culture”.  Well Mr President, if you want to get all scientific and technical and shit, the mouth was actually engineered for eating and the act of kissing is also an “unnatural” act.  Maybe you should criminalize kissing as well while you are at it.

The intellectual giant also explained that the “address for sex” is the vagina, not the mouth or your rectum.  If you use your ass and mouth for sex you will get worms and contract Hepatitis B.  We all know the worm part is ludicrous because you will most likely only get worms by fucking a corpse and I strongly condemn necrophilia.  As for Hepatitis B, you can also contract that from toilet seats.  Does this now mean that all Ugandans must avoid toilet seats as well?  Why not just declare toilets homosexual tools and ban them!  With your logic it makes sense, don’t you agree Mr President?
The West has also been blamed for homosexuality in Uganda.  According to the Ugandan President, Westerners come to Uganda to recruit “normal” people into homosexuality, effectively making these poor defenseless people gay whores.  Having traveled in Africa and being a professional practicing homosexual I can declare that I not even once recruited any person to become gay.

Also, being an African I can confirm that nobody recruited me to be who and what I am.  The Ugandan President also stated that he has a huge problem with gay people “exhibiting themselves”.  In other words showing that they are gay.  Well, unfortunately for most of us we cannot help it because that is just the way we are.  Some guys are femme and some girls are butch and there is nothing we can do about it.

I am still not allowed to enter the boarders of Uganda as the travel ban the Ugandan Government imposed on me in 2010 is still valid.  Apparently they view me as a gay terrorist and a threat to their national security.  It’s actually ridiculous because all of this is due to the fact that we tried to facilitate the escape of a lesbian couple out of Uganda.  We did this in order for them to tell their story of abuse, discrimination, corrective rape and the constant fear of death they face every day in Uganda.  We never managed to get them out of Uganda and I have not have contact with them since.

There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about them.  If they are still alive the recent turn of events in Uganda does not bode well for them or any of our other LGBT brothers and sisters over there.  Our people are being brutally oppressed in Africa and we cannot just sit around and allow this to happen.  We must stand up and fight.  Edmund Burke once said “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing”.

Till next time.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Why I hate my Smartphone

Those of you who know me well would know that my smartphone and I are inseparable.  We have a completely unhealthy and symbiotic relationship.  Like most people I also spend more quality time with my phone than I do with my loved ones.  Sometimes this quality time is spent in the most cumbersome of places.  When I am bored my phone is always there.  When I am in an awkward social situation that I want to dissociate from I have my phone to use as a social barrier or to utilize as a form of escape.  When I am waiting for a meeting or standing in a queue I have my phone to occupy me.  But lately I have come to realize that I have started to resent my smartphone.  Actually, I have come to realize that I maybe not only resent my phone but that I possibly also hate it and this is why…

Siri is a bitch.  She seriously is.  Whenever I ask her to call my husband she wants to phone some guy on my contact list that I don’t even know.  She clearly is either confused or homophobic.  You see, a couple of months back I tried to “come out” to her.  You know, because she lives in my phone and my phone and I are always together and I thought she needed to know.  Let’s just say it did not go well.  She refused to acknowledge that I was gay and towards the end of our very unproductive conversation she hinted that I was being vulgar.  Ok, so I did call her some nasty names but she provoked me.

Siri also sometimes pretends not to understand what I am saying even when I speak American to her.  Other times she is vague with her answers and answers questions with questions which I hate.  She also refuses to tell me what she is wearing or what she was doing before I spoke to her.  In short, Siri is super judgmental and not helpful at all.  But if Siri doesn’t frustrate me enough then there is also the addiction side of smartphones – the games from hell!

My phone made me a Flappy Bird addict.  Now this is not something that I am proud of and all you parents out there should really talk to your kids about the dangers of Flappy Bird.  If you have never heard of it, God bless you and the rock you live under.  Flappy Bird is a super frustrating game and it will ruin your life.  I started playing it a few weeks ago and I suspect this is the reason I started biting my nails again.  Currently my fake high score is 99 (long story) but my real high score is actually only 27.  It’s been 27 since last week and I just cannot seem to beat it.

I have also since developed a phobia of green pipes and yellow birds.  I know I should really delete this fucked up game from my phone but I just cannot bring myself to do it.  Flappy Bird has found my weaknesses and is exploiting all of them.  It’s no joke you guys.  I fear this game might be the beginning of the Zombie Apocalypse and y’all should be running for the hills screaming.  You should be running with axes, guns and preferably with Daryl from The Walking Dead and then remember that you were warned.

My phone has also invaded my toilet time.  I know most of you also take your phones to the toilet and it is disgusting and we should all collectively be ashamed of ourselves.  But in my defense, I get bored when taking a dump.  I mean really, am I just supposed to sit there while I squeeze out a chocolate brownie and stare at the floor, tiles and the door.  That is like totally unproductive and I could be doing something far more useful during this time because bodily functions really should not make you lazy.

I could be reading and answering my emails, answering whatsapp or wechat messages, updating my Facebook Fan pages, reading some articles or playing Flappy Bird.  Coincidentally, my Flappy Bird technique is better when I am making a number two.  Also, most of my fan emails I get from my blog are answered while I am on the toilet (I know this is an upsetting image that you now have in your heads and you are welcome).  The only thing I would not do on my phone while in the bathroom is answering or making calls and I definitely will also not do facetime.  That would just be rude.

Lately I also found that sometimes I fight with my phone and most mornings I end up negotiating with it and then end up late for work.  I sleep, like most people do, with my phone next to my side of the bed.  This is the most practical spot for it because this is where my phone’s electrical umbilical cord is.  Also, it is at arm’s length for easy snoozing of its alarm clock.

My phone’s alarm clock is an asshole and hates me.  The asshole sometimes tricks me in switching off my alarm instead of snoozing it.  This has caused me to wake up late, be in full panic mode, ruins my entire morning and my hair.  I then also end up late for work by an hour on average looking all flustered.  I swear the fucker does this on purpose!

I have also learned that screaming at your phone does not help.  If it forgets to remind you about a meeting, make you miss an appointment or if its battery decides to die unexpectedly during an important phone call about Flappy Bird, your phone does not give a shit.  You only end up looking like a crazy person; a crazy person screaming at a phone who requires specialized psychopharmacological help.  But I don’t only hate my own smartphone, I hate my husband’s as well.

Just call me an equal opportunity phone hater.  You see, both my husband and I are avid pinners on Pinterest and we are also active on Instagram.  However, one of us is more obsessed with this than the other.  And no, this time it isn’t me.  Whenever my husband has a chance he is on one of these two apps and it fucking drives me bat shit crazy.  He is on it when we watch television, when we are next to the pool and the only time he isn’t busy with these apps is when we are having sex.  I suspect he knows that would just be awkward and that it will cause World War III in our house.

In recent times this has gotten better, after several altercations, and we have decided to be more present when we are together.  I suspect smartphones may have been the root cause of many a broken marriage and I will not allow that to happen with us.  Because fuck you home wrecking smartphones!

Even though I do resent my smartphone for invading my life and personal space as it has, it is after all a necessary evil.  Without my phone I would be lost.  I mean if I have weird symptoms my phone and Google are always there to tell me that I am dying from some exotic disease.  My phone tells me when to be where and what time I need to do stuff.  Some nights my phone even hushes me to sleep with soothing ocean sounds.  But I do hate the fact that smartphones have become so intertwined in our daily existence and that they are so dreadfully difficult to escape from.

I have now decided that I will spend a couple of ours everyday smartphone free, only using it for what it was originally intended – for phone calls.  But for now I have to try and beat my Flappy Bird high score or else the world will spin off its axes and we will all die.  I am doing the world a favor really.  You should thank me.

Till next time.

Monday, February 10, 2014

Tears & Joy

This weekend was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for us and not in a fun way.  It was an emotional rollercoaster in the sense that it made me feel nauseous, anxious, inconsolable, had me weeping like an emotionally disturb child and also made me feel blissful and optimistic.  And no, I was not on drugs or experiencing some adverse reaction from my prescription medication.  You see this weekend we had our baby shower and on the eve of this very special day our cat died.  The death of our beloved cat was a very traumatic experience and caused both hubby and I to have a serious of emotional clusterfucks, the timing of which could not have been anymore inconvenient.

Our baby shower’s planning started in November last year already.  So as you can imagine a lot of work went into it and there were quite a few helpers.  Hubby’s best friend from work decided to captain this ship and as one can expect from her she did a stellar job.  By Friday afternoon all was organized and all the preparations were completed.  So by Friday evening we were satisfied that the baby shower would go off without a hitch because all the i’s were dotted and all the t’s were crossed.  Unfortunately, as things go in my life, nothing is ever simple.  I have always said optimism has never served me well and this was no different.

On Friday evening hubby went to bed at around 9:30pm to get his beauty sleep for the next day and I stayed up watching television.  I have always been a night owl.  At around 10pm I heard a commotion coming from my study area.  In the study area is a large multi-leveled scratching post where our cats like to sleep.  As I rushed towards where the sounds were coming from I was horrified by what I discovered.  On the floor was our oldest cat surrounded by our other four cats and she was having convulsions.  She was dying.  Instinctively I rushed to our bedroom to wake up hubby and in a very distressed and high pitched voice I screamed “Mizou is dying! YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP!”  This is not the best way to be roused from your slumber.

I woke up my husband because I knew he would want to be there for her during her last moments.  As we got to her I picked her up and placed her on my lap.  She was still having convulsions, sounded like she was chocking and her tongue was turning blue.  She fought off death for what felt like an eternity but was in fact only a few minutes.  At 10:10pm she died.  Her death was sudden and completely unexpected.  As the stroke hit, she fell off the scratching post defecating on her way down.  Both hubby and I cried while her limp body lay on my lap.  She looked at peace but it was very hard to come to terms with what just happened.  Mizou had been with us for sixteen years and it was hard imagining our life without her.

We sat with her crying for a while.  She went blind a couple of months ago and both of us were very impressed with how well she coped with her disability.  At the time the vet did tell me that she was a prime candidate for a stroke as she had suffered from glaucoma, high blood pressure, was old and had weekend veins.  I guess I wanted to believe that she would live forever.  But she died.   At least we were all there comforting her in her final moments.  After a while hubby brought a blanket for us to rap her in.  I gently place her limp body in the middle of the blanket and arranged her to look as if she was only sleeping.

The morning of our baby shower people arrived early to start preparing the house.  I woke up that morning hoping that the tragedy of the night before was just a bad dream.  But it wasn’t.  The baby shower was supposed to be a happy occasion for both hubby and I but we were both heartbroken.  After I got dressed I excused myself and took Mizou’s remains to our vet to be cremated.  It was a very surreal experience standing there holding Mizou’s now stiffened body in a blanket waiting to be helped.  People in the reception area immediately knew, just by looking at me, what I was there for and it made everybody very uncomfortable.  For once I was the white elephant in the room nobody wanted to acknowledge or talk too.  I totally understood why.

After some red tape the vet’s technician came and collected Mizou’s body.  When he brought back the blanket we had raped her in I had to fight very hard to hold back the tears.  I was told that I will get back her ashes on Friday which I know will be a tough day for all of us.  As I returned home I tried to put a smile on my face.  It made me feel fake and disrespectful.  It also made me feel terribly guilty.  I asked myself how can I allow myself to be happy after what had happened.  But there was no way of postponing our baby shower at this very late stage and like Queen said “The show must go on.”

During the baby shower I tried to forget about Mizou’s death and tried terribly hard to just be in the moment.  At times I succeeded but mostly I was constantly on the verge of a panic attack or near tears.  I suspect this may have ruined almost all our baby shower photos.  I just knew that if I didn’t control my emotions I would do the ugly cry with snot and horrible crying noises; not exactly appropriate baby shower behavior.  I am not sure how I made it through the baby shower but I did.  It was only the next day when I fully appreciated the fact that we are going to have a baby and when it finally sank in and brought joy to my broken heart.

My mother-in-law and sister-in-law came by our house to see what we got for our baby shower.  We are having a family only baby shower after we get our child and they wanted to know what we may still need.  As we went through all our gifts I forgot about our loss and got very excited for the new life that we will be welcoming into our lives.  Hopefully it will happen soon.  It was also then when I had an epiphany:  Maybe Mizou passed away to create a space for a new life that is arriving.  We had to say goodbye to a very precious soul who we loved dearly to make room for another.  This filled my heart with peace, joy, love and hope.  This has been a weekend of tears and joy.  Hopefully the next time I cry it will be tears of joy.

Till next time.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Die Vampire Die!

Fuck you Miss Johnson! I can totally relate and maybe you can as well. 
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