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.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Heterosexuality - A Queer Perspective

In all my gay years I have often been asked many questions by well meaning heterosexuals, questions that often times starts with the phrase “Can I ask you something personal?” The questions that follow usually would be about my queerness, our gay old lifestyle and homosexual intercourse. And I have always answered these questions, frankly and in great descriptive detail, sometimes to the regret of the questioner. So now I thought it appropriate to flip the tables and ask a few questions of my own about heterosexuality that I have been burning to ask for years. So here goes…

I have always wondered whether straight folk where "born that way" or whether heterosexuality is actually a lifestyle choice. You see I have been pondering on this for a while. Why on earth would any person choose to be straight? Straight folk never have any fun. They never have any colorful parades.  They only dress up once a year for Halloween. Very few have any fashion sense and then there’s the small little horror of accidentally falling pregnant – something that never happens with homosexuals!  Or at least the ones I know off.
Straight folk’s lives are also predictable and scripted. They are expected to achieve certain milestones at certain times in their lives – get married, get pregnant, raise the kids, get them out of the house at 21 and nag the next generation to procreate in order to reach the final milestone of becoming grandparents. Gay folk don’t have these pressures. We can meander through a full life without being expected to do any of these things - we only do some of it because we choose to.

And then there is the sex. I don’t understand heterosexual intercourse and I find it puzzling. Firstly, the equipment that’s to be utilized for pleasure differs vastly in mechanics, design and general function. At least with homosexuals we have an innate understanding and intimate knowledge of our sex partner’s erogenous areas, the only thing that differs is the model size, religious cosmetic alterations and grooming.

Queers don’t necessarily have to learn how to swim in the sea of pleasure, we can jump right in, have a splash and both can make it to shore satisfied. With heterosexuals I suspect this may be slightly different and some experience is required before they get their sea legs. This being said, heterosexual sex must be terrifying and possibly dangerous!
Imagining the experience of heterosexual intercourse could easily make a standard homosexual lightheaded. Having seen the female anatomy in all its glory a few times in my life (for which there will follow no explanation or elaboration) I just can’t figure out why straight guys enjoy it.

The vigina must be the strangest organ in all creation. It’s a curious little fleshy miniature canyon with understated accessories sometimes hidden by a forest and other times just plain bare. Then there are the breasts for which I fail to see the purpose off during intercourse. It seems like they would just get in the way and could potentially be hazardous. Depending whether they are coconuts or tennis balls they do have the potential to cause a concussion or lead to suffocation.

The actual act of heterosexual intercourse I think we can all figure out on our own. The train goes into the tunnel and then comes again, as Freud would say. But, I have heard some straight guys boast, when trying to make straight sex seem better than gay sex, by stating that they have a choice of three orifices to choose from, whereas gay men only have two. To which I ussually candidly resond "Well honestly, I do really just care about the two!" Besides I always also tend to take matters that one step further by asking the said heterosexual guy’s girlfriend whether she has taken it up the ass before and if not I am always willing to give her some pointers.

But then having sex with straight men could be daunting too. For woman having to deal with a penis and testicles could pose their own challenges as not all men are created equal and not all men tend to their gardens, if you know what I mean. Being faced with an erect penis and not knowing how it works could easily lead to confusion.  And when it’s surrounded with a moist and uncultivated tropical rain forest, its appeal factor can easily drop to zero. Then there are the differences: some wieners are turtle necks and others are kosher, and some women prefer the one over the other as do we queer folk.
The last thing I have wondered about is, can heterosexuals see and appreciate the beauty of people of their own gender. If a straight guy walks down the street and see another guy who’s attractive, well build and groomed can he say to his mates or girlfriend “Wow” without having his own masculinity threatened or questioned? Or can a woman admire another without thinking she has lesbian tendencies. We queer folk can do that all the time, gay guys appreciate good looking women, lesbians can acknowledge a fine male speciment, but that does not mean we want to sleep with them. Can straight folk do the same?

Yes, heterosexuality is a queer phenomenon that’s highly prevalent, very public and truly fascinating. I don’t think I will ever understand it and the fact that they flaunt their sexual preference and lifestyle choice in our streets, offices, shopping malls and on television sure isn’t making it easy to ignore them. At least they don’t have a flag yet, but I’m sure that too will happen someday. Even though I don’t understand it, sometimes don’t approve of it, I accept my heterosexual friends, family and colleagues just the way they are – they are people too and the heart doesn’t choose who you love.

Till next time.

Margaret Cho: Beautiful

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