Warfare: The Delightful and Dreary Sides of Gay Life

A Valentine's For Homophobes

2012-02-04T10:01:00.000+02:00

A valentine’s message to all the homophobes out there whoare against Gay Marriage brought to you by the FCK8 campaign. Help http://FCKH8.com #OccupyValentines for GayMarriage: http://clicktotweet.com/u9d11

MDNA: Madonna, Give me all your luvin'

2012-02-03T16:52:00.000+02:00

The Bitch is Back! Madonna is releasing her new album MNDA (yesit’s the name for ecstasy but I am sure if you ask her it will mean somethingdifferent) within the next two month or so, but she did release her firstsingle of the album today. Check out Giveme all your luvin'!

Too Gay for Ugliness!

2012-02-02T17:04:00.000+02:00

It is well known and documentedthat I am generally unpleasant and bitchy when I am not surrounded by beautifulthings, running water, air-conditioning and flattering lighting. Case and point would be that court case (ofwhich we do not speak) that I had to attend in the Johannesburg CBD. Every day of the week (for months) I draggedmy ass there and had to walk across a road that the fire department had to hosedown every morning because homeless people would piss and shit on it during thenight. Every day I sat in a courtroomwith little to no air-conditioning or flattering lighting, had to buy food forlunch (and sometimes dinner) from places you just knew was infected with allvariations of hepatitis, and the only water I could surround myself with wascarbonated and bottled. I wasn’t happythen, and I am not happy now.

Road rage is something I sufferfrom and my most recent episode caused me to have an epiphany. You see I was driving back home from workwhen an old lady cut me off. She didn’tuse her indicator lights before she cut in front of me (which fucking drives meinsane) and she was driving way under the speed limit. When I honked my horn at her she proceeded tostick her wrinkled and liver spot covered hand out of the window and flipped mean arthritis encrusted bird – twice! Shehad done exactly the same thing to me three months earlier, as I recognized herdeathmobile (a 1974 Toyota) and her geriatric middle finger. So I did what any normal person would do - Icontemplated killing her!

For a brief moment I consideredwhere exactly I would have to bump her car in order for her to veer violentlyinto oncoming traffic. I knew it wouldhave to look like an accident or else my insurance would not pay and I am fartoo pretty for prison and didn’t want to be charged and convicted of vehicularmanslaughter. As I was considering myevil plot of revenge and murder by car, I looked around me. I was surrounded by hawkers, beggars, dirt,broken paving, weeds, trash and dust. Iwas in the middle of Uglyville. Then Irealized, maybe the old lady wasn’t the real cause of my anger, it actualy wasthe hideous road.

For just under three years I havebeen driving the same stretch of road to work. It is ugly, straight and there is nothing inspiring or aestheticallypleasing about it. Sure some days thereare people collecting money at the traffic lights for whatever cause or charitythey represent while dressed in costumes. Some days it is delightful and other days it is not. Just this morning I drove past a bunch ofstudents collecting money for their college. The one guy was either dressed as a zucchini or a squid; I couldn’t tellwhich it was because the costume was that badly made. I sometimes give them money, if they are cute,and on such a day the road seems less dreadful.

Then there are those days when straightguys insist on publically embarrassing their soon to be married mates and I dolike watching heterosexuals making fools of themselves in public. Last week I drove past one such spectacle. The guy was dressed in nothing but a diaperand a cowboy hat begging for cash at a traffic light. He was build like a Greek God. I did slow down and gave him a donationbecause I wanted to see his biceps up close and express my sympathy and regretover his lifestyle choice. He would havereceived a bigger donation had it not been for the diaper and the fact that hewasn’t gay, but I digress…

Any self respecting homosexualwill tell you there is nothing more unsightly than an unkempt bush and on mystretch of road there are plenty. Mycity seems to have an aversion to pulling out weeds, trimming bushes andgeneral beautification. So my roadremains ugly and it ruins my day daily! Would it destroy the national budget to plant a few trees, a flower ortwo or God forbid just clean up a bit? Would it kill my city council to even consider lifting up their fatasses from their comfy chairs, for which I as a tax payer pay for, and putforth an effort to make my city attractive? I ask these questions daily while breathing in dust and dodging hawkers,taxis and old women drivers.

Sure, I know the economy is inthe shitter and the price of crude oil is having her period, but this is allthe more reason to make an effort to gayify our environment. I don’t deserve to be depressed by my commuteto work and back, and neither does my fellow road users. The only reason I get road rage is because Idrive to work surrounded by hideousness. It is my God given gay right to have my stretch of road beautified! So this is what I am going to do.

First thing tomorrow morning I amcalling up my Mayor’s office and demanding they fix this madness. I don’t care if they have bigger problems athand like municipal strikes, pot holes, prostitution and drug dealers. Even whores and drug dealers deserve a prettywork environment and most people in my city drive 4X4 vehicles and recycle anyway. If they get pissed off at my demands myresponse will be simple. I will merelyask them “How was your drive to workthis morning?” and I will ask them this every day until they get a restrainingorder.

How long it will take for myhideous piece of road to get its facelift, I do not know. But I will be driving to work from now onwith seeds in my car; seeds for flowers that I will be throwing out of my car’swindow ever couple of feet. It’s notlittering if it’s natural and the world could do with more daisies, poppies andsunflowers! Hopefully my small concertedeffort will shoot sprouts, the flowers will grow and bloom into somethingspectacular. One day my commute to workand back will bring a little smile to my face and perhaps to others too.

Till next time.

Take it up the ass like a good Right Wing Evangelist Christian

2012-01-27T15:37:00.000+02:00

There seem to be a few evangelist pastors out there whoclearly are experts on gay male sex. After all they seem to know a great deal more about gay sex than Ido. Especially surprising to me is theresilience the male sphincter muscle (aka your asshole muscle) has according tothem. Apparently you can shove a wholebaseball bat up there, your BlackBerry and a gerbil. If I knew this I would not have wasted somuch money on grocery bags all these years and I could have carried my shoppinghome in my rectum all along. Reflectingon the most recent comments of Pastor Patrick Wooden I could not help butwonder, is there anything gay men will not shove up our asses.

Pastor Wooden seems very preoccupied with the gay male anus,as all gay men are. After all it is inthat general area where we like to keep things neat, tidy and in some casesbleached and pierced. But, in Wooden’sdefense, the anus is a wonderful organ. It is resilient and can stretch when needed. You don’t even have to be gay to haveexperience this phenomena.

If you have ever been constipated and finally had that bowelmovement that sets you free, you probably have experienced that glorioussensation. You know that feeling whenyou push and push and you feel it is just too big to come out. Finally, as the monster turd crowns and youfeel like your asshole just is not big enough and about to exploded, it makesit’s way through and takes its final plunge leaving you relieved, proud andsemi euphoric. Well, gay anal sex is notcompletely unlike that. Apart from theturd 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, also can be “asscurious” at times. But I can honestlysay I have never shoved a baseball bat up my rectum nor have I attempted toinsert any live stock or rodents. Mostly,because I do not understand the logistics of it and I don’t condone animalabuse. I mean honestly, how exactly doyou force a little gerbil into a dark crevice if it doesn’t want to go in. Doesn’t it have teeth and sharp littlenails? Or is that part of the fun? I’m sure PETA would have a lot to say on thisissue and clearly Pastor Wooden have some experience in this area. But to get back to my rectum…

Inserting foreign objects into our rectums is something thatgay men do. As per definition a foreignobject is anything “originating elsewhere” or simply put “outside of your body”. Look it up. So it can be pretty much anything including someone else’s penis, whichis predominantly what gay guys prefer. In my case we have a drawer in our bedroom with preferred foreignobjects that we like inserting in our rectums.

The drawer contains nothing particularly out of the ordinaryfor a professional homosexual on the go, a dildo, vibrator, and a butt plug, tomention but a few. My father-in-law thispast December accidentally opened this drawer thus destroying any illusions hemay have had of his son and I being celibate and not engaging in anal sex. He emerged from the ordeal pale as a ghostand dramatically quiet for the rest of that day. He’s probably still traumatized and digestingwhat he had seen.

Using foreign objects that you can buy from any sex shop oronline to enhance your sexual experience is one thing, but what if you don’thave the time or money. Well, like anyresourceful homosexual will tell you, there are a plethora of everydayhousehold objects that you can safely use. Let’s turn our attention to your kitchen. Fruit and vegetables like bananas, cucumbersand carrots are perfectly safe. You won't get any nutritional value but you will have fun. Butternutson the other hand are not safe nor are any frozen items, fish or cutlery. The broom closet is pretty self explanatory asmost closeted right wing evangelist pastors will tell who have lost their analvirginity there.

When it comes to the bathroom and the bedroom wardrobe itcould get a little dicey. Firstly, it isnot good hygiene to insert anything into your ass that you will not be able toget out again later, having to wash your face with or have to put in your mouth. Secondly, electrical items and anythingbigger than your hand and arm could pose some serious medical repercussions and shouldalways be used with extreme caution. Itis also extremely important to remember that KY conducts electricity extremelywell, as I can attest to from personal experience, and electrocution does notenhance an orgasm it does quite the opposite and it's not sexy!

My BlackBerry is the one item I have never consideredinserting into my rectum and people who do clearly have no respect for theirphones, themselves or other people and should be ashamed of themselves! Honestly, what if you get a very important call,a Facebook message or are re-tweeted? Are you going to phone, message and tweet that person back apologizingby saying “I was busy stimulating my prostate, and thank you for calling me atexactly the right time – you really hit the spot for me right then! It was the best orgasm EVER!” It is just wrong people! Don’t do it!

Contemplating the good Pastor’s recent comments and especiallythe part about gay men’s rectums being mutilated resulting in some gay menhaving to walk around with butt plugs and diapers, I consulted with a medicalprofessional. My pharmacist told me itwas bullshit! Sure with regular abuseand inserting very large objects the sphincter muscle can get damaged anddeformed over time, but for that to happen the person must have been doing some seriously fucked up shit to themselves. Surelythis is not the norm. To conclude onthis, any person who walks around with a butt plug up his ass for a whole dayhas some serious skills, would be noticed and possibly would need diapers laterin life.

Whether Pastor Patrick Wooden spoke from personal experienceor secret desire I guess we will never really know. His fascination with gay anal sex and brevityof 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 ranksnumber one on that list. Even though Ido admire the fact that you are so very adventurous with your own anus, I willnever be as able a power bottom as you are. Your accomplishments are awe inspiring!

Till next time.

Killer Pussy Behaving Badly

2012-01-24T17:01:00.001+02:00

Most of my regular readers know that hubby and I share ourhouse with a prolific serial killer. She’s a ruthless, indiscriminate and sadistic destroyer of lives andanimal families. Her name is Katja aka KillerPussy! We have learned to live with the carnage,the guilt and the shame. Hiding corpses,cleaning up crime scenes and the occasional lies we have to tell our neighborsabout not having seen their missing birds, bunnies or small dogs have all becomepart of our daily lives. Even though the“missing posters” haunts us and we are fast are running out of places to hide,bury and dump the bodies, never before had it crossed my mind that our innocentlittle ball of fur might be suffering from a behavioral problem. Well, that was until recently…

This year killer pussy is turning two. Being all cute and cuddly she crawled intoour hearts from the first day we brought her home. But under all that cuteness hides a terriblemonster. Even as a kitten she exhibitedsigns of being an extraordinarily talented hunter. She made her first kill at four monthsold. She started off small with flies,moths, baby lizards and then small birds. At six months old she caught, tortured and killed her first adult bird andwith that massacre her blood lust started.

For the last two years it has not been uncommon waking up inthe morning to a dining and living room looking like the Manson clan had aslaughter party in it. During the lasttwo years I have innumerable times unsuspectingly stepped in pools of blood and/oron disemboweled birds, mice and, most recently, fish. It’s not the best way to wake up and nor isit conducive to a good morning appetite. You can’t exactly go from cleaning up blood, innards, feathers andsevered heads to having a cup of coffee and a bagel for breakfast all in anhour of each other.

Recently killer pussy decided to broaden her killing repertoireto include aquatic animals as well. Yousee a couple of months ago hubby and I bought and installed a pond in ourbackyard. It was one of those rare butchmoments we occasionally have. Theinitial idea for the pond was that my frog, which I obtained in a rathersuspect manner (illegally), could have a place to breed. The frog ignored the pond like the Popeignores gay marriage. So we decided tobuy some water plants and fish to make it pretty. It was a good and aesthetically pleasing ideaat the time.

Two months past and killer pussy showed little interest inthe pond or its inhabitants. At first wehad about eight fish living in the pond and then one Saturday afternoon we hada tragic pond cleaning accident which killed them all. The pond of tranquility turned into the pondof horrors not unlike the holocaust.

With the fish dying, one after each other, floating to thesurface killer pussy started seeing the pond in a whole new light. Perhaps she never noticed the fish before, ormaybe they just seemed too boring to peak her interest. However, with the unintentional exterminationthat occurred she now knew the pond was once teeming with life and she wouldbide her time and strike once life was restored.

The cleaning accident was a chemical one, and we had to waita week before we could again introduce other fish to the pond. When we received the all clear eight new fishwere released. For a brief few weekstranquility was restored and all was well. Then one morning while feeding the fish I noticed their behavior hadchanged. They seemed nervous, scared andrefused to come to the surface to eat. Then I noticed that one of the water plants was almost completelydestroyed. Killer pussy had taken upfishing and four fish were confirmed to be missing!

Still in denial that killer pussy had killed half the pond’spopulation, I wanted to believe the fish were taken by birds. Then we woke up one morning horrified to finda pool of blood and scales with one fish head on the dining room table. It was a fish head that I recognized; it wasone of our pond fish. It was like ascene out of the Godfather except it wasn’t a horse’s head and it wasn’t in ourbed!

Still semi asleep I tried to reprimand killer pussy. However, midway through the reprimand shegave me that big eyed “but you love me” look and I was instantly manipulatedinto killer pussy’s spell of submission and the reprimand ended in a cuddle. As this was happening hubby stood watching mybad parenting and obvious weakened defenses that were no match for killerpussy’s charm.

When he finally had enough he took her to the pond, gave hera proper reprimand and as further punishment banished her from the normalmorning routine withholding her favorite breakfast catnip cookie, which sheloves. Shocked that she received herfirst hiding ever and enraged that we dared to withhold her only earthlydecadent pleasure she proceeded to throw an epic tantrum.

Properly pissed off, killer pussy made her way to the ponddetermined to kill every last living thing in there. I knew she was angry but I underestimated herdetermination to make her point. Onehell of a raucous broke out in the backyard. I could hear water splashing, rocks falling and our other three catsmoaning. As I made my way to thebackyard I was not prepared for what I was about find.

I saw killer pussy wet and neck deep in the pond, all thewater plants were uprooted and our other cats hiding in the foliage audibly tryingto convince enraged killer pussy to stop the madness. Evidently killer pussy decided that seeing asshe got a hiding already and was deprived of a cookie she might as well finishwhat she started and she almost did. Theother three fish survived, but they were not unscaved. I never thought fish could be emotionallytraumatized and could suffer from post traumatic stress disorder but our fishnow do.

The pond has since been covered with netting, the fishsometimes refuse to eat and the pond of tranquility has now become to pond of imminentterror. Every so often killer pussy willstill sit on the edge of the pond terrifying the fish while trying to locate aweakness in its defenses and I am sure one day she will find one.

For now the fish are stressed but safe. Having developed a taste for cold blooded animalsand the fish just out of reach, killer pussy has now focused her attention onthe next best thing – frogs. One of myfrog’s offspring got murdered the other day and killer pussy hissed and growledat me as I tried to save it. As killerpussy demonically warned me to leave her alone while she murdered the frog, Idid momentarily consider buying her a muzzle,like the one Hannibal Lecter had, but then realized I would have to put it onher and decided against it. After all, Idon’t need the drama or the scars.

Whether killer pussy is suffering from a behavioral problemor if killing is just in her nature and something she does really well, I donot know. But one thing I do know is thekilling is not going to stop any time soon and no cat psychologist in the worldwill be able to convince her to stop either. So we will continue hiding corpses, cleaning up crime scenes and lie toour neighbors in the hope that one day she may just stop.

Till next time.

The Cure for Homophobia

2012-01-20T08:36:00.001+02:00

Finally there’s a cure for Homophobia and it is 100%effective. It’s free, has zero calories andcan be taken up to 6 times a day. Haveyour prescription filled today!

Censorship isn't Freedom: Stop SOPA!

2012-01-18T09:41:00.001+02:00

There is abig hype on the internet about the US government trying to censor, or even shutdown sites with user generated content. Eg, Twitter, Facebook, Reddit, andGadgetzz and even Blogs would have to turn commenting off. Risk of Jailfor Ordinary Users. It becomes a felonywith a potential 5 year sentence to stream a copyrighted work that would costmore than $2,500 to license, even if you are a totally noncommercial user.

TheStop Online Piracy Act, commonly known as SOPA. Generally speaking,this legislation is intended to help content creators like movie and music companies to combat the overseas Web sites that host illegal downloads. Sounds fairly harmless, right? Couple ofproblems with that. First, it wasapparently written by people without a basic understanding of things like DNSentries and IP addresses. Long storyshort, it wouldn’t stop people from accessing the sites Congress (and bigmedia) want to block. For added fun, itwould give those big media companies – and just about everyone else – a wholeraft of legal tools allowing them to harass hosting companies, search engines,social media sites and little old bloggers like you and me.

Censorship isn’tfreedom. SOPA needs to be stopped.

The Day I Almost Died

2012-01-16T16:50:00.000+02:00

There comes a time in every man’slife when he is faced with his own mortality. Unfortunately these moments come at the most inopportune times and theyare unattractive, unsettling and offensive. Regrettably for me I had two such moments all on the same day. Once at a very small airport on an Islandcalled Nosy Be in Madagascar and the second more protracted one on theinternational flight back to Johannesburg all culminating in just over 12 hoursof unadulterated hell.

This past December hubby and I agreedto take our annual holiday and spend it in Madagascar. We both had a hellishly busy year and neededto get away to place that was remote, tranquil and quiet. We decided to go back to Sakatia Lodge, aplace we visited back in 2009 which met all the requirements for the relaxingbreak we so desperately needed. Wedecided to stay for 12 glorious days, and glorious they were, at least up untilday 11 that is.

You see, for the first 10 days welounged around, I read three books, we swam, snorkeled, scuba dived and wenthorse riding. It was utterly fabulous! Then came day 11. I woke up not feeling my normal gayself. There was a distinct discomfort inmy abdomen and I had a slight fever. Naturally, I thought I was constipated seeing as I am full of shit mostof the time anyway. But, even though Iwas in some pain we went ahead and did a day trip and we were also scheduled todo quad biking in the afternoon.

The day trip was pretty muchovershadowed by me being in pain, having difficulty walking and secretlywishing that I could have a bowel movement to ease the discomfort I wasfeeling. I ended up in three ratherdodgy public toilets, each time sitting down waiting for the dump that nevercame. By late afternoon we made it tothe quad biking. By that time therational side of me knew it probably wasn’t a great idea, but seeing as it wasour last day in Madagascar I was determined not to ruin anyone’s fun and try tohave some fun myself. Sadly, it was noton the cards.

You see, when you have the apocalypsehappening in your innards going up and down hills on a quad bike for two hoursis not as much fun as one would think. Iwas in pain, being shaken about, getting dirty and sweating profusely. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t fun. It felt like it would never end. But two and half hours later it did end andafter taking the boat back to the lodge and consuming a large number oflaxatives I finally made it back to our bungalow, stripped down to my underwearand lay on the bed in front of the fan reeling in pain.

The lodge manager eventually broughtme a handful of pills: a strong laxativeand something for abdominal and ovarian cramps and spasms. It did help somewhat and I made it down fordinner even though I didn’t eat anything, but I did have a couple of gin andtonics. At exactly 4 o’clock the nextmorning, an hour before we needed to take the boat that would take us to thetaxi that would take us to the airport; I woke up in excruciating pain.

I was crawling on the floorunable to stand upright. I thought I wasgoing to die! A couple of pain pills andthirty minutes under a warm shower, I managed to get dressed, get on the boat,then into the taxi and got to the airport. Then the real hell started. Ourflight to Antanarivo was cancelled due to the plane’s engine having some kindof problem. We ended up being delayedfor four hours waiting for another plane which could take us directly toJohannesburg.

In the mean time the pain I wasexperiencing grew exponentially worse to the point that I was actually hyperventilating,sweating and unable to stand up straight. This placed me in a very precarious situation. If I looked too sick the airline could prevent mefrom boarding. After all which airlinewould knowingly welcome a medical emergency 30 thousand feet up in the air overthe Indian Ocean?

All I could think about was thatI didn’t want to pass out and wake up under a mosquito net with a Catholic nun pattingdown my sweaty brow with a dirty wet towel while praying for me, with the soundof chickens and goats outside, while hubby is being molested by a priest andthe natives rummaging through our luggage. Luckily my tan and Botox sufficiently concealed how sick I was and standingand sitting in the airport with my hands placed on either side of my ribs mademe look more annoyed that our flight was cancelled rather than me being inpain.

After what felt like an eternity ourplane finally came and we boarded. Theplane took off and 15 minutes into the flight I turned to hubby and said “I don’tthink I am constipated. I think I needto go to a Hospital!” He had a look oftotal helplessness on his face and from that point on his job became to give mea pain pill every 20 minutes and to pray for a tail wind. The 3 hours and 26 minutes flight was utterhell. I was in pain, couldn’t breatheand was alternating between having a fever, chills and sweating. At that stage the cabin crew knew there was aproblem but choose not to get involved.

As we were making our finalapproach to Johannesburg I was never as happy to see that smog filled skyline. I was almost home and I was going tolive. The plane landed and within anhour I was in hospital. First they thoughtI had appendicitis and then after numerous blood tests, X-rays and a CAT scan Iwas finally diagnosed with double pneumonia.

Relieved that we found out whatwas wrong with me, I was ready to go home and have a shower. As I was collecting my stuff to go home the doctorlooked at me with a very perplexed expression on his face and said “No!Stop! You are a very sick man we areadmitting you to hospital now.” To whichI responded “Ok, but I’ll go home, have a shower, get some stuff and come back.” To which he rather abrasively responded “Thereare showers in hospital! You are NOTleaving”

Then there was the HIV issue “Iknow this is a sensitive matter” the doctor said “Are you immune compromised?”he asked. “Well, I smell like shit, I amin pain, can’t breathe and have been in transit for the last 12 hours in mycondition, the only thing that is compromised right now is my fucking patience! AND NO I am NOT HIV+!” I responded and thenproceeded to ask him whether they always assume that all gay men who come intohospital with pneumonia have HIV. Inretrospect I guess I was a bit hard on him, but then again I was not in a goodplace at that moment. I was admittedminutes later.

I was in hospital for 5 fuckinglong days, had blood drawn 17 times and had 12 injections. The day of my discharge I had a particularlyrough morning. The student nurse who triedto fix my IV ended up bursting one of my veins. I completely lost it! I phonedhubby sobbing pleading with him to come and fetch me.

After composing myself andreturning to my room, my doctor came and just as he asked me how my evening wasI lost it once again but this time spectacularly so doing the ugly cry with snotdripping from my oxygen tubes that were stuck in my nose. Like an emotionally disturbed child I wassobbing holding out my bruised and battered arms pointing at each of them whilebeing completely incoherent. He ended updischarging me but under strict conditions.

The doctor told me to monitor mytemperature every 4 to 8 hours, I had to return for more blood tests, was toget bed rest for at least one more week and if I had any breathing problems orif the pain increased I was to return to hospital immediately. In the sternest voice I have ever been spokentoo he conveyed all of these conditions and ended with saying “If you do notfollow this you could die!”

I have been home now for a coupleof days and am feeling better. They sayit takes some time to recover from pneumonia and I can attest that it is notfun. I will not be going out in publicfor at least a couple of more days, my arms and hands are still bruised makingme look like a heroin addict. At least Imade it home, am alive and maybe someday I will look back at this experienceand think it is funny. But for themoment it really isn’t very funny at all!

(Disclaimer: This blog post was written entirely in bed while medicated. I'm in no position to operate heavy machinery and I suspect I should not be blogging at the moment either!)

Till next time.

Pinky & the Brain: Aquatic Domination

2012-01-12T09:15:00.000+02:00

This funny video was the brain child of Jacques Vieira of Sakatia Lodge who would come to us every morning and ask "So boys, what's your plans for today?" to which hubby would answer "The same thing we do everyday..."

Then there was our Quad Biking trip around Nosy Be island.

The best for last, our dive - truly spectacular!

Grey Hair! What the F...

2011-12-22T13:33:00.002+02:00

Denial n denying; statement that thing is nottrue or existent; disavowal. This is howthe Oxford Dictionary defines the state I have been in since I left myhairdresser’s yesterday. What wassupposed to be a carefree and relaxing day bleaching my hair and making me all prettyand blond for our island holiday turned out to be a “life event” so horrendous,so horrifying I can barely bring myself to write about it without sobbinguncontrollably into my Bloody Mary. YesterdayI discovered my first grey hair(s)!

Yesterdaystarted out like any other normal day. Islept until 8am (I am on holiday after all), had a quick breakfast whilemaintaining my social media presence and catching up on all the GLBT news from around the world. Then got dressed andmade my way to my hairstylist’s salon, completely oblivious to the fact that myworld was about to be turned upside down.

Seeing as I wasbleaching my hair I arrived at the salon early as it normally takes a good 5 to6 hours for my hair to turn platinum blond. My stylist decided to cut myhair first as I still had some blond bits from the previous bleach in myhair. As he cut my hair I noticed apatch of hair on my fringe that didn’t seem to grow out. There was no regrowth just a blondpatch. “It must be my naturalhighlights” I thought, I remembered having them as a child and how nice of itto make an appearance again now. I waswrong.

Just as my stylistwas about to start applying the bleach to my hair, he inspected my blondpatch. As he was inspecting it I thoughthe too was admiring my natural highlights. Then he looked at me and I could tell something was amiss. “Dude, I don't know an easy way to say this. You are starting to go grey.” he said. He called his assistants who also had a look andthey confirmed the news I was dreading. So I had a closer look myself. “MOTHERFUCKER!” I screamed in my outside voice in my head. They were right! If it wasn't for my botox everyone in the salon would have seen how shocked I really was.

Mother nature,the cruel bitch that she is, crept up on me like horny dog wanting to hump myleg and snuck in a whole patch of grey hair while I slept. “I am only 34. I am too fucking young to be going grey! This is the last fucking time I will allow mynatural hair colour to grow out. Nothinggood ever comes of it anyway! NOTHING!”I thought.

Traumatized anddepressed I sat at the salon for 4 hours while my hair was being bleached. The grey took off 2 hours of the total bleachingtime. It’s not the sort of consolationthat makes me happy, but hey, being old I guess an extra two hours to dosomething else is helpful. Life is shortand over far too soon.

It was clearthat I have passed my prime and the only way I now will be able to maintain mydignity and the farce of a youthful appearance will be with chemicals, toxins,medical procedures and prayer. This mustbe why people become reborn Christians: Once the grey hair start appearing and you enter into this phase of life,you realize how close you are to old age and seriously need to start thinkingabout the hereafter. “Jesus Christ, Maryand Joseph! I cannot believe that I amgetting old!” I thought on my drive back home. I was not happy, but the worst was yet to come.

Later thatevening I needed to attend to my man hair in my genital area. A couple of days earlier I had a full bodywax and all my man hair that was not covered with a G-string was ripped fromtheir follicles. Even though mybeautician is completely willing and capable to give me a “crack & sack”wax, I always prefer to tend to that area myself. As I stood in the shower inspecting myself,deciding whether I was going to go completely hairless or not, the unthinkablehappened. More grey hair!

“SON OF ABITCH! My crotch and balls too?!! MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!” I screamed as lightningstruck (it really did and I don’t just say this for dramatic effect). As I sat on the shower floor crying like anemotionally disturbed child while staring at my old dick and balls, all I couldthink about was “Do you get like a hair dye for pubic hair or will normal dyedo the same thing?” At the end I decidedto shave off my pubic hair, all of my pubic hair.

I always knewthis day would come, but I thought I had more time. More time to enjoy colouring my hair out ofluxury instead of necessity. I amgetting old and now for the first time there is proof. I choose not to think about it because itupsets me too much but, in time, I guess I will accept this cruel turn of eventsand maybe one day I will be able to laugh about it.

Next week hubby and I are flying toMadagascar for a well-deserved island holiday; 12 lazy days of sun, sea,snorkelling, scuba diving and reading a few good books. 12 days of forgetting that we are gettingold and going grey!

Till next time.

Happy holidays my dear reader.

Mayyou have a wonderful festive season and a FABULOUS new year!

Baby, It's Cold Outside

2011-12-22T09:03:00.000+02:00

"Baby, It's Cold Outside" gets a gay makeover by Mister Chase and Chris Salvatore. You can download the song from Itunes or Amazon. All proceeds will go to organizations to help our youth in need. Programs such as Crisis Intervention and Suicide Prevention, as well as furthering equal rights for the LGBT community.

10 Rules / Tips for Christmas

2011-12-19T09:00:00.000+02:00

Here are a few rules / tips for Christmas

1) You are going to gain a few pounds deal with it! That's why we have new years resolutions.
2) Don't dress up your pets! They may look cute, but trust me they will resent you for the rest of the year.
3) No matter what gifts you get, look surprised and happy! You can always recycle that gift again next year.

4) Every family has a pink elephant, the aunt that got really fat, the bastard child or the odd face-lift! Christmas dinner is neither the best time nor the best place to introduce this into conversation no matter how dull the conversation is.

5) If you plan on "Coming Out", don't do it in a Santa's costume. This will not soften the blow and it will ruin Santa's wholesome image.
6) No party tricks! It may seem a good idea in your head but in reality you will make an ass of yourself.
7) Always wear underwear! This is essential and not just for Christmas.8) Be nice! We may not like all of our family, but the nice thing about Christmas is that you only have to see them once a year.
9) Don't drink and drive! I treasure all my blog readers and I don't want to loose you!
10) The most important rule of them all - BE FABULOUS!!!

(Wishing Everyone a Blessed Christmas.)

Dickmatized

2011-12-15T16:21:00.001+02:00

Dickmatized is another sexy music video from our favorite Gay Pimp Jonny McGovern. The song is from Jonny’s upcoming CD “They Gayest of All Times”. To buy the song on itunes click HERE.

Is this really how the rest of the world sees lesbians?!

2011-12-13T17:45:00.002+02:00

A guest post by the talented and "non-voilent" lesbian Lilly Lampshaded

So this weekend, while at my day job, with a hang-over from hell, I tried to pass the time by surfing the net and trying to find something worthy of a good read. I often click on links to articles written by Pierre on his blog, Warfare: The Delightful and Dreary Sides of Gay Life but this time, I decided to check out what else he has on offer as I found his previous articles on Farmville, Blackberries and the joys of giving up cigarettes extremely entertaining. I never would have imagined what I would stumble upon; reading some of his blog posts, and let’s just say, it was an eye opener of note!

Let’s face it, even though we might proudly proclaim that we really don’t care what other people think of us, we always love finding out. And this is no exception. At first I had a good old laugh at what this delightful fairy had to say about us, but the more I thought about it, the more real his words became and the more it hit home for me, not just looking at myself (let’s face it, I can’t fit into every stereotype out there) but at my circle of divine dykes as well.

So the first “on the floor” moment I had, was when he wrote that should lesbians ever recruit straight women (in response to the myth that homosexuals have a plan to turn all straight people), they would, amongst other things, have to know what a spark plug is and what it’s used for, how to change a tyre, name at least 5 power tools and their uses, and know how to break a bathroom mirror with their fists, without cutting their hands. This isn’t the first time I heard this.

A little while back my good friend, GeeGee, also wondered if I could fix cars or do plumbing, and whenever I’m in the queue for the loo in a gay club, there will always be a queen behind me, pointing at the mirrors, rolling her eyes and saying: “fokken kommin lesbene!” Now even though I’ve never attempted this myself, I have seen my friend Charlie, an ex-bouncer at a popular Joburg night club, smash another woman’s head into one of the mirrors in the hallway of the club without a drop of blood being spilled.

I also realised that not only can I name 5 power tools and their uses, I can operate them all AND I know quite a lot about the practical application of a sparkplug PLUS I can change a tyre in about 3 minutes without any help or getting my clothes dirty. I don’t know much about plumbing though, but I bet you I have at least 5 female bbm contacts or Facebook friends that do!

He then proceeded to comment on our fashion sense. Everything from our comfy shoes, to jeans, and then of course the favourite plaid flannel shirt that would make any farmer proud! This is also true if you think about it. Unless you’re uberfem, jeans and a comfy yet stylish pair of sneakers, is how we roll. I’m not too sure about the flannel shirts though, even though I did wear one in my last show and strangely enough it grew on me like Spiderman’s black alien Venom suit, but I doubt I’ll wear it off-stage.

He also answered a question as to why butch lesbians don’t wear heels and dresses and this one had me literally falling off my chair! According to Pierre, we don’t do 9 inch stilettos and sequins dresses because we wouldn’t be able to win a barfight in an outfit like that and we’d pretty much look like drag queens. Now I can’t speak for the entire gay community, but even though I do not consider myself as butch, I wouldn’t be seen dead in a frock and heels.

In my younger “closet” days I did attempt it once or twice on the odd formal occasion, and yet again I have to admit that he is on to something. I’m not sure if I looked like a drag queen but I sure as hell felt like one! And as for high heels, I fell over more times than I was on my feet and had more blisters than toes!

Now the next thing he pointed out, is something I hear over and over and over again… Lesbians are drama queens! Shock, horror and dismay…until I actually sat down and thought about it! We are soooo Drama Queens! We thrive on drama, live for it, and surround ourselves with it constantly and most importantly CONSCIOUSLY. That would explain the speed at which our relationships start, evolve and inevitably end. And who am I to argue?

GeeGee often asks me why I put up with as much shit from other people as I do, and my dear friend Mrs Bratjie must be sick of me having some “major crisis” on a daily basis that I HAVE to tell her about, that in hindsight, seems pretty silly! Then I look at the people around me, and there’s always so much drama! And that’s largely why I prefer spending time with my straight friends.

A very specific person in my life is forever surrounding herself with drama by interfering in other people’s lives, and a certain unsavoury lesbian that I recently unfriended, used to bitch and whine about anything you could think of! So, guilty as charged your honour, on the grounds that I all too often get suckered in to people’s sob stories, freaky fantasies and soap-opera existence.

Another very familiar theme in lesbian perception and stereotyping, is that of violence. And it’s clearly seen in the points stated above. For some reason, the fags and hetties think our favourite activity seems to be barfights! Again, another stigma I can’t escape, seeing as I was in a barfight, ON MY WEDDING DAY nogal! Surely defending myself against a bulldyke three times my size and high as a kite, (and successfully handing her ass to her, I might add) can’t force me to wear the Mike Tyson label, right? Right, then I gave it some thought. Even though I do feel that I am linguistically gifted and can insult jeanpant off just about anyone, if I feel the people I care about are being harassed in any way, my first words are always: “I’ll MOER them!” Uh oh…

So there you have it! We’re car-fixing, tyre-changing, sneaker-wearing, barfight-winning, powertool -wielding, couture-clueless drama queens! Touché Mr Le Roux, thank you for the eye-opener! I doubt it will change any time in the next century though so I might as well slip out of the comfort of denial and embrace my ways…maybe without the drama…and barfights…and flannel shirts…

Lilly Lampshaded

Santa's Baby

2011-12-12T16:30:00.000+02:00

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

FCK Bullies: Where do kids learn to hate?

2011-12-09T11:28:00.000+02:00

Another F-bomb filled video by the FCKH8 campaign. This time especially for all the bullies out there

If you'd like to support this worthy cause visit their website by clicking HERE.

The Cock I Refused to Eat

2011-12-06T17:20:00.000+02:00

Sometimes we put things in our mouths that we really shouldn’t. Come on, you know what I am talking about. We have all done it, whether you were 5 years old at the time or in your thirties. Sometimes the curiosity of something not normally considered palatable overrides reason and the allure of human curiosity takes over and before you know it you have snacked on something that, in retrospect, leaves you disgusted.

I must admit that I am not the most adventurous person when it comes to experimenting with bizarre foods especially food with which I have an emotional connection. This is one of the only aspects in my life that I do consider myself to be somewhat, dare I say it, full of shit.

Yet, when I was 5 years old I once snacked on a dog pellet and by the age of 10 I chewed on a dog vitamin. Thirteen was a good year for “insect dares” and during that year I ate both an earthworm and a moth and recently, I am dreading to admit, tasted one of my cats’ vitamin snacks. Why did I do it? No I was flying in KooKoo Ville I was just curious, that’s why. But sometimes we find ourselves in culinary situations that challenge our personal biases.

When I was a child my sister and I use to have many pets. The one I most vividly remember was a rooster we called Andre. Andre was one bad tempered, domineering and spiteful cock who hated humans and especially despised children. Every time my sister and I would be within 10 meters of him, he would get this psychotic look in his beady little eyes and storm us forcing us to flee screaming to the safety of the house while being kicked, pecked and bitch slapped by our poultry nemesis.

One day when my sister and I returned home from our after-school activities, we were surprised when we entered our backyard. It was ominously quiet – no psychotic cock insight. It wasn’t until I sat down for dinner that I realized why our rooster from hell didn’t, yet gain, surprise us with another unprovoked violent ambush.

As my mom presented the roast chicken to the dinner table it was soon clear something was amiss. The chicken on the plate looked different to what I was accustomed to, yet there was something perplexingly familiar. You see the chicken had the same build as our beloved Andre. Could this be? I pondered worryingly. Not being one shy away from difficult issues, even at that age, I braved the question. “Is this our pet cock... is this Andre... did you... kill him?”

Our parents profusely denied this, so naturally my sister and I carefully and curiously made our way the chicken coop and lo and behold, Andre was missing! Returning to the dinner table we confronted our parents to which they reluctantly admitted that the perfectly roasted chicken was indeed our malevolent and now deceased and well basted pet rooster Andre. Now shocked and slightly devastated we were faced with our dead pet for dinner and neither my sister nor I had the stomach to devour our former friend, nemesis and tormentor.

Our parents tried their utmost to persuade us to at least try a piece, after all we eat chickens from the store, so why was this any different. “Free range chicken is healthier for you anyway” they said. “Remember Kentucky Fried Chicken pieces also once were somebody’s Andre and you still like KFC don’t you?” they said. “Andre tormented you, hurt you and it was time to get rid of that damn rooster so we may as well eat him” they said.

In retrospect my parents can be damn lucky that I didn’t turn vegetarian there and then! I mean honestly who looks at their pets I thinks about eating them? The difference was that I didn’t personally know the other chickens before they became chicken mcnuggets, I didn’t name them and I didn’t consider them my pets. Needless to say both my sister and I had hot dogs for dinner that night, chicken wasn’t served in our house for well over a month and all of our other chickens (Betsy, Hen and Leila) died of old age.

The demise of Andre didn’t really teach me the lesson I suppose my parents intended at that time; at the age of 7 I was not really ready to face the hard facts of where our food really comes from. In my mind I refused to make the connection between the steak on my dinner plate and the cow crazing carelessly in the field, the chicken patty on my burger and the other Andre’s of the world. If I didn’t personally know the cow my piece of steak came from it was fine eating it, after all we didn’t fight our way to the top of the food chain to starve, now did we?!

As I matured I have come to appreciate the cycle of life with much gratefulness that I never grew up on a farm. Now I pay more thought to what I put in my mouth, where what I am eating comes from and whether the animals were treated with care and dignity.

My experience with Andre also provided me with a deeper understanding and respect for where vegans and vegetarians are coming from (maybe they too had an Andre in their lives). The delicious smell of Andre’s perfectly roasted body and the image of his elongated drumsticks still haunt me to this day, but not enough to have completely put me off cock. Rest in peace our little cock Andre.

Till next time.

Queer Duck - "I'm Coming Out!"

The Gay Plague

2011-12-01T06:00:00.005+02:00

1981 saw the emergence of a disease that would change the gay community and later the world’s attitude towards our sexual behavior, lifestyle and prejudices. It was 1st described as the Gay Plague; a disease that only affected gay men and was 1st called GRID (Gay Related Immune Deficiency). During the 80’s the word GRID was replaced with AIDS and this filled people with a horrendous fear as images of dying emaciated gay men were plastered in the media.

During this time it was uncertain how the disease was transmitted and it was viewed as a death sentence and was highly stigmatized. Having the Gay Plague was shameful and society alienated those infected due to fear and ignorance. Now, 30 years later, I wonder how much have changed?

My 1st encounter with HIV and AIDS was with a friend of mine in 1996. He was diagnosed with HIV 8 years prior and during the winter of 1996 he fell ill and died of AIDS related complications. All his friends knew of his HIV status that’s why we found it shocking that his family at his funeral told people he had died of Cancer. Even after his death his illness was denied. The shame of having a gay son was soon superseded by having a gay son with HIV that died of the disease.

His family never approved of his lifestyle and had always blamed his homosexuality for his death when, as a matter of fact, he contracted the illness through a blood transfusion after a car accident. His family have still not forgiven the gay community for what we evidently had done to their son; his death instead of enlightening his family to the plight of people with HIV has made them homophobic and left them angry. Whether their prejudice and anger has dissipated since is uncertain.

One of my best friends of 12 years was diagnosed with HIV 8 years ago. I remember the day he told me. He had just learned of his diagnoses the week before and was still reeling from shock. I remember him finding it difficult to muster the courage to utter the words. In his eyes I could see his fear, sadness and helplessness as he faced an uncertain future. All he longed for from me was an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on and someone to provide him with encouragement and support and not to be judgmental.

Isn’t that what we all would want? He admitted that he contracted HIV due to having unprotected sex. I remember thinking to myself that he should have known better, and now due to one stupid incident he’s going to live with a sword hanging over his head for the rest of his life. Naturally, I kept my thoughts to myself; after all it happened and he’s HIV+ now and there is no use crying over spilled milk.

The 1st year following his diagnoses he found it incredibly difficult to accept. Due to denial and anger he spent the year engaging in self-destructive behavior – abusing alcohol and drugs. I recall having a conversation with him trying to convince him to get his life back on track but he refused as he was of the attitude that he’s going to die anyway so why prolong the process. He also mentioned that he intended to commit suicide once he got full blown AIDS as he wouldn’t want his friends and family to watch him suffer. He was not scared of dying but feared the process of dying! At the time his threat of suicide was no idle one.

His family did not make things easier. In fact, due to ignorance, they made things worse. They would have separate cutlery for him in the house and his laundry was kept separate from theirs - he was truly being treated like he had the plague. I am sure his family didn’t do this because they didn’t love him; they were scared as they didn’t quite know how to deal with and support their child and brother with HIV.

Gradually, as time passed, his family became more educated and their attitude and ignorant behavior changed. Family life almost returned to normal: 2 years after being diagnosed he was still alive and no family member got infected by sharing a glass with him or having their laundry done with his. However, his self-destructive behavior continued until he fell seriously ill.

For the 1st time he faced the real possibility of death. The experience changed him and the realization came that if he does not accept and deal with the fact that he’s HIV+ and take responsibility for his own live and health he would not live past the age of 30. He had a fundamental paradigm shift as only a near death encounter can achieve. For the last 5 years he has lived a normal, healthy and productive life. He has even had a couple of relationships, which is notoriously difficult as very few healthy gay men would be willing to date someone with HIV. However, he did find someone and they were together for almost 2 years. Like most things in life it has not been smooth sailing and a few health scares has rocked the boat. What I have learned from him is that your attitude, shear will and optimism plays an important part of living with HIV – it’s no longer is a death sentence as was first thought 30 years ago.

Being only 4 years old when the Gay Plague surfaced I literally grew up with it. Now, 34 I have seen how society and their attitudes have changed. HIV is no longer an exclusively gay disease and all spheres of society from all corners of the world are affected. There are very few people whose lives have not been touched by the disease as most of us know someone or know off someone who has HIV.

As we have learned more about the disease, how it’s transmitted and newer and more effective treatments are developed HIV+ people are living longer and their quality of life have also improved. However, in many communities HIV is still stigmatized and ignorance about the disease is still rampant. With all we know and have learned about HIV there are still people that engage in unprotected sex and people who refuse to get tested out of fear. After 30 years much have improved but many problems still remain that only our generation can change if we want to leave the world better place for the next generation.

One way to support this cause is to get involved. I recently discovered a very inspiring website called Positive Heroes . There are similar groups and websites across the globe; they say it only take one person to make a difference – let that 1 person be you! Know your status and get tested today.

Till next time.

Waking Up Screaming!

2011-11-29T17:25:00.003+02:00

If you like horror movies and you are a smoker who wants to quit smoking, then the pill I am on may be just the thing for you. You see, one of the side effects of taking Champix is vivid nightmares. Not the kind of nightmares where you wake up the next morning thinking “Oh dear, that dream was a tad weird”. No, it is the kind of nightmares where your body is covered with goosebumps, you’re out of breath and your voice is horse from screaming! It is messed up. It is frightening. And it is consistent. Yes, on Champix, every night is horror movie night, and every night you are the star of your very own fright night.

Since I was a child spirits have been around me. Growing up with two grandmothers who were psychic, to various degrees, the concept of spirits and the afterlife have always been part of my reality. I have never feared the dead and up until this night I never had a reason to either. It was a normal evening, by any account. The house was quiet and us, the living occupants, ominously serene and docile. Outside the howling wind was gently swaying trees into a curiously choreographed ballet with the gentle rumbling of thunder announcing the imminence of a summer evening storm.

For no specific reason or purpose hubby suggest I make contact with the afterlife. His suggestion seemed perfectly normal and I felt compelled to comply. In a trance like state I placed my right hand on the table and started moving it around in a circle. With each completed rotation hubby and all things familiar around the table started to disappear like mist being evaporated by the sun. The lighting dimmed and as hubby disappeared the house went silent, I closed my eyes and alone I waited. Then it happened.

In mid rotation my hand was crabbed, pushed down on the table and rather ungraciously dragged across it. In shock I opened my eyes and with shallow fast breaths I could see the distinct impression of five finger marks pressing on my skin as the grip on my hand tightened. Frightened, I tried to pull my hand free from its supernatural grip. My action agitated whatever it was that held on to my hand, it tightened its grip and I could sense it was not going to let me go. I let out a ghastly scream, I was terrified! Seconds felt like hours and all I could hear was the sound of my heart racing in my ears. Minutes passes and just as I thought it was over, it got worse.

One hand grabbing me became two, two became four, four became six. They were pulling on my hand, then grabbing my wrist and then my arm. I could not jerk free. I had no more breath left to scream. I was being pulled across the table, they were hurting me. Then abruptly, everything went black and quiet. The pressure of the hands on my arm was released. I was lying on a cold cement floor; I could hear water dripping, hear whispers and the air was permeated with the smell of death. Slowly I pulled myself off the floor and as I was standing up there they were.

A group of emaciated gay young men, with sunken eyes and nothing but skeletons covered in skin they stared at me. Their eyes filled with fear, desperation and anger. Simultaneously, and as if with one voice they demanded “You must help us... YOU MUST HELP US!” Then they let out a deafening scream the sound of which pushed me onto my knees causing me to cover my ears in pain. As I looked down I could see blood dripping on the floor. It was my blood.

Blood was streaming from my eyes, nose and ears. Still disorientated and feeling weak I felt a pressure under my arms as they pulled me off the floor. They placed their hands on my head and said “We will show you. You will see”. I opened my eyes and there I was in Nazi Germany, naked and in a concentration camp facility. I was freezing cold and in front of me stood a couple of imposing officers and around me a bunch of scared yet defiant young men. “You are going to kill us now” a voice next to me said “You have tortured us, now you’re going to kill us”.

The officers looked at us, careful to avoid eye contact. Like sheep we were ushered down narrow corridors into a facility underground. We reached an empty room and were instructed to go inside. We all knew this was where we were going to die. We were going to be gassed. “Just tell us where the gas is going to come out!” one screamed as the heavy metal door closed. “JUST TELL US!!!” The door slammed shut and as the sound of the guards securing the bolts and locks faded, all eyes turned to the roof of the room. Minutes passed and the room was filled with deathly silence. Then it came.

The silence broke when, without warning, strange looking pellets fell down the air vents at the side of the room. Those standing closest to the vents were affected first. There was allot of screaming, harrowing screams as people panicked as they watched those around them die. Seconds passed before it reached me. My eyes started to water as my nose, mouth and throat started to burn.

I could taste blood in my mouth as the burning sensation spread down my throat to my lungs. “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” I recalled thinking. As I weakened, I started to sink to the floor, in a futile attempt to fight to stay alive I grabbed on to man standing next to me. He was foaming blood at the mouth, his ears bleeding, his skin an oddly looking pink color and as he turned to me he said “No one can save us now”. Then everything turned black.

“Do you see now” a voice whispered softly into my ear and I could feel the warmth of a breath as I heard those words. Then “DO YOU SEE NOW!!!” it screamed. And with that I woke up, terrified, traumatized. Hubby asked me later that morning whether I had a nightmare. I did recall that I did, but at that stage I could not for the life of me recall what it was about. Hubby said that I woke him up with my moans and that my whole body was covered in goosebumps and sweat. It wasn’t until the nightmare repeated itself two days later that I remembered being gassed by the Nazis. I have 17 nights worth of nightmares still to go, who will kill me next, only Champix will know?

Till next time.

It's Time. End Marriage Discrimination.

2011-11-26T09:25:00.000+02:00

GetUp! in Australia released a commercial on Thursday from the perspective of one half of a gay couple in love. It builds to the big moment that they want legalized — a proposal to get married. Check out the commercial below. It's possibly one the most beautiful commercials I have seen in a while.

Lips That Touch Liquor Shall Not Touch Ours

2011-11-25T11:30:00.000+02:00

If you had been around in 1919 and came upon this poster I mean, seriously ... wouldn't you just keep drinking? OR turn you gay?

Screw You Tobacco Companies; I Am Your Bitch No More!

2011-11-24T17:43:00.000+02:00

Dude, kick me in the balls and call me Betty. It’s been over a week since I quit smoking! *Insert boisterous applause and jubilant cheering here* Kicking an addiction is not for the faint-hearted, and no matter what people tell you - nicotine withdrawals is a motherfucking bitch! Luckily for me I have made it this far and I only briefly fell off the proverbial wagon twice. Twice as in I only smoked two cigarettes in eleven days, that’s 138 cigarettes less than what use to be my norm. But, before I get ahead of myself let me tell how this past eleven days went down.

During the last eleven days I have not been my usual ray of sunshine and my days were not filled with rainbows and butterflies. The thing about quitting smoking is that it is more than just an addiction it is a stubborn habit as well. Now, if you know me well you would be aware that I am a creature of habit. I like things happening in a relatively predictable manner and if that is fucked with the computer that is in my head will say NO!

So when I smoked my last cigarette last week Monday, large parts of my routine were altered pushing me, quite a few times, to break down crying like an emotionally disturbed child on the inside, while outwardly having a glazed over “I am dead inside and if you don’t leave me the fuck alone you will be too” expression.

It is strange how small things managed to push me right to the edge of sanity while the nicotine was slowly being deplete from my system. A lady paying in small change for a packet of cigarettes at the corner store, the pickle jar’s lid being stuck, my computer hanging, my inability to untangle myself from my car’s safety belt, reading a clothing account bill incorrectly, burning my toast and my cats staring at me while I was lying in the fetus position on the couch. Yes, all these things had me momentarily lose my firm grip on rational thinking and pushed me right up to the edge of sanity and then gently nudged me over it.

By Wednesday, to add insult to injury, I contracted another eye infection. So not only was I feeling like shit, I managed to look the part too! To make things worse I had to attend a two day seminar the following day and I took public transport to get there. I despise public transport! I hate it because there will always be that one person who don’t respect your personal space. That one person who can’t shut the fuck up and feel the urge to engage all those around them in some mindless discourse about mind numbingly boring dribble. That person will then always end up sitting next to me! I am like a magnet for Chatty Kathy’s and Stinky Steven’s and my two return train trips didn’t disprove this theory.

Rule number one, when I’m suffering from nicotine withdrawals, have an eye infection, am tired and I ignore you, do not persist in flirting with me on a train. Rule number two, if I sit looking out of the window, not answer your questions and pretend like you are not there, stop talking. And the most important rule for public transport, rule number three, if you are not wearing any shoes and I ignored you on the train, do not ask me for a cigarette, because I will be tempted to kill you, you dirty barefooted tree hugging GOP 17 protesting asshole!

During the past few days I often wondered if there were any anonymous support groups like the AA for smokers. Groups where I would be required to stand up in front of strangers and say “Hi, my name is Pierre and I am a recovering nicotine addict”, to which they would acceptingly respond and be followed by some sad personal stories about how smoking destroyed our marriages, lives and careers. Wondered if there were 12 step programs, “sobriety badges” or sponsors you could phone when the urge hits you to light up a fag?

Fortunately I found none, and it’s probably best as I hate attending meetings anyway, hate having to listen to people tell sad stories and feeling sorry for themselves. Besides, if I had to attend stupid Nicotine Addicts Anonymous meetings it would have seriously impacted on my Facebook, Blogging and Twitter time. But had there been meetings like that I am sure hubby would have delicately urged me to attend them. He’s been such a trooper through all of this. Knowing just when to ignore my tantrums, when to avoid me and how to decode my grunts into meaningful sentences.

Just the other day, while I was cooking dinner hubby turned to me and said “Honey, I know you’re not feeling well, but please don’t throw things around in the kitchen”. To which I rudely responded “I. Am NOT. Throwing. THINGS!!!” Lo and behold, five minutes later I caught myself out indeed manhandling and throwing around utensils, pots and spices. It must have taken real guts for hubby to utter those words to me with several sharp butcher knives just inches away from me at the time.

The worst thing during this last eleven days since I quit smoking is the dreams. I dream that I am smoking and it’s absolutely terrifying! I dream that I am smoking and I know that I shouldn’t, I want to put the cigarette down but I can’t. This usually happens between 2:25am and 4:45am in the morning, and it usually causes me to wake up in a panic and a cold sweat. Even in my dreams cigarettes haunts me! It’s not fun but luckily the dreams are growing fewer and further in between.

Quitting smoking is not easy. On a daily basis I have to resist the urge to have Naomi Campbell moments and throw people with stuff, assault people with my phone or ram my car into taxis that cut me off. But, every day it’s also getting better. Every day the cravings are become less intense, fewer and my mood is slowly returning to normal. I managed to quit smoking just over a week ago and I am damn proud of myself because of it! Screw you tobacco companies; I am your bitch no more!

Till next time.

Queer Myths Explained (Part II)

2011-11-19T09:47:00.000+02:00

-Part II-

We queer folk are an interesting bunch and this must be the reason our community’s flag is that of the rainbow. Queers comes in all shapes and sizes usually packaged in well thought out designer outfits and gorgeous accessories, sequence and feathers or draped in flannel or strapped into leather. No wonder heterosexuals sometimes are so easily confused when it comes to the gay community. This is the second installment of my dispelling and explaining some common myths about homosexuals.
Is homosexuality just a phase? Seriously people, one confused and semi crazy actress called Anne Heche does not represent the gay community. Apart from thinking she was gay while with Ellen DeGeneres she also believed a spaceship would come and take her away. Homosexuality is as much a phase as the earth is flat. Many parents of gay children may want to cling to this myth hoping that their kids will one day wake up and be “cured”.

Homosexuality cannot be outgrown like childhood allergies and no amount of therapy and/or prayer will magically cure a queer. You may confuse the average homosexual for a short period of time with threats of "Hell" and psychotherapy by an unethical therapist, but this will only lead to a brief phase of pseudo heterosexuality, which is the breeding ground for many Brokeback Marriages.
Lesbians and gay men are homosexual because they have been hurt by the opposite sex. Even though some research has suggested that some women who experienced sexual abuse may be attracted to other women, it should also be noted that the same research suggested that these woman also would have a tendency to be overweight.

If being hurt by the opposite sex is the root cause of homosexuality there would have been a whole lot more queer folk out there, don't you think? I know of at least five of my straight friends who suffered great hardship caused by their former lovers and none of them turned gay.
Why do butch lesbians never wear dresses? They never wear dresses because if they do they would look like drag queens. Some hardcore feminist lesbians also do not shave their legs and arm pits and don’t wear bras. Coincidentally, I know of at least one such feminist lesbian and she only wears dresses. Maybe she prefer dresses because her natural body hair keeps her warm and cosy and if she had to wear pants without natural ventilation she’d over heat.

Secondly, butch lesbians may find it harder to win in a bar fight if they were restricted by a dress and high heels. The only homosexual that will convincingly be the victor in such a bar fight will be a drag queen who have been specially trained for brawls in her sequenced dress and 9 inch stilettos.
All homosexuals will try to get into your pants. Queer folk have better things to do than to try and deflower unsuspecting straight folk. We are far too busy to plot and scheme what the new fashion trends will be for the coming season, planning and attending pride parades, fighting for our rights and not to mention trying to find time to have sex amongst ourselves.

For all the straight guys out there, have a good look at some of the gay boys. Most of us are well groomed, go to the gym, use face products and actually tend to our unwanted man hair down there. None of us have a fervent desire to go on an expedition through your Amazon to locate your “anaconda” or your “chocolate tunnel”.

Unless you are the Marlboro Man and actually knows what to do when faced with another penis you are safe. The professional homosexual will not have the time or patience to break in a straight person and to teach them the elaborate and flamboyant ways of our people.
Homosexual wants to recruit you. I have dealt with this myth before in my article “The Sodomites Wants to Recruit You”. No, we are not on a major recruitment drive. Our numbers are not dwindling instead, through natural selection, our numbers are actually increasing. If we wanted to recruit the unsuspecting heterosexual some major effort would have to go into the vetting of such a person.

He must have an innate sense of style, be able to name at least 6 variation of the colour pink, be able to dance and know all the words of the songs of at least one musical and three Cher albums.

She would have to know what a spark plug is and what it is used for, be able to change a tire, be able to name and be able to use at least five power tools, know the names and words of speeches of three famous feminists and be able to brake a mirror with her fist without cutting herself.

So any straight people who fit any of these criteria please contact your nearest PFLAG centre and ask for the recruitment office.
So there you have it in a nutshell, some of the myths and questions I have been asked most frequently. Yes, we queer folk are an interesting bunch of people and anyone who has ever been to any of our pride parades will most certainly agree. No other community but us would be able to have more fun when it rains on our parades especially if it’s raining men.

All my straight readers I hope you can sleep peacefully tonight knowing that there is no fairy hiding outside your window that will rape you in your sleep. I also do hope that you don’t get any nightmares with the knowledge that the crazy Anne Heche never really played for our team but instead played for yours.

Till next time.

Jackie Beat -Don't Tell Me You're Gay!

Queer Myths Explained

2011-11-19T09:19:00.001+02:00

- Part I -

There are still many myths abound regarding homosexuals and homosexuality. Many of these misperceptions surface when well meaning heterosexuals friends, colleagues and/or acquaintances finally muster up the courage to ask some of the questions they have always been burning to ask but were too shy to do so. Some had me bursting out laughing, to the point of almost loosing bladder control, and other question had me surprised and made me think. Here are just a few of such myths about us queer folk.
All gay people across the globe know each other and we have a secret line of communication. If I had a penny for every time someone have asked me whether I knew their gay cousin and/or friend in a different city and/or country just because I am gay I could have retired early.

The gay community is small and it is true that we may know many of our own community members in our own cities, but there is no secret gay database stashed away somewhere that is updated every time a new fairy falls out of the closet. We are not required to study such a database and take an exam after.
Does it hurt when we have sex? Well this will depend on whom you ask. For some, they may just respond in the affirmative and add “that’s if you are doing it right”. This response will normally come from the group that’s into the fetish S&M sex scene. For those of us who are into “normal” sex (or as we gay folk call it Vanilla) the answer will be it depends. You see when it comes to anal sex you normally have a pitcher and a catcher.

Some gay guys have a preference for one or the other. If you are a bottom you will be the catcher and the experienced bottom normally will not experience any pain or major discomfort and that’s why we use KY. If you are a top you will be the pitcher and there will be no pain.

Then you get some gay guys who are versatile and they like pitching and receiving. Depending on what these guys do more frequently, when receiving he may experience some discomfort or pain which normally will dissipate some time during the “game”. Some gay men also prefer to take poppers (amyl nitrite) as it relaxes the sphincter muscle making initial penetration less painful.
How do lesbians have sex? Well, to be honest, I am not sure as I have never been a lesbian. I would imagine there are many ways two women can have sex. Oral sex springs to mind and the slang term “carpet munchers” or “muff divers” are pretty much self explanatory.

On the same topic, I have also been asked whether lesbians do not miss being penetrated and I had to respond by saying “why would they miss a penis if they didn’t like it to start with”. But should they wish to be penetrated there are always thing like strap-on’s, vibrators and dildo’s. My advice for my straight friends wanting to know how lesbians have sex is to ask an actual lesbian!
Who is the man and who is the woman in the relationship? The answer is simple, if he has a penis he is the man and if she has a vagina she is the woman. The myth that there are a man and a woman role in gay relationships is somewhat of a predicament. In the gay community we do have homosexuals that are butch (have more manly attributes) and some who are femme (are more effeminate).

When a butch and a femme pairs up it may easily be assumed that the one would take on the traditional male role and the other that of the female role. In reality this can be quite deceptive as in many gay relationships, regardless of the perceived gender roles, most of the responsibilities of being the traditional caregiver and breadwinner are shared amongst the two.

In most gay relationship there are two breadwinners which also place us queer folk in a better economic situation than our heterosexual counterparts. We also don’t have the added expenses of having children (in the majority of instances) and we have a larger disposable income. Who earns the greater salary will also not have a major impact on determining the role of a partner in a gay relationship.
Do gay guys want to be women and lesbians want to be men? The simple answer is No. There are gay guys who dress up as women and they are called Drag Queens and lesbian who dress up as men and they are called Drag Kings. Neither actually wants to undergo a sex change operations and just enjoy imitating the other gender – some even do it as a profession. There even are straight men that dress up like woman and they are called Transvestites and they do not have gay or bi-sexual tendencies.

When a person feels they were born with the wrong gender and opt to undergo a sex change they are called Transgender or Transsexuals. The issue of sexual orientation versus sexual gender identity is quite a complicated subject matter and would warrant a completely separate article. Gay men are also not disgusted by woman, we love them but not in the carnal sense of the word and the same goes for lesbians when it comes to men.
Why do gay people choose to be gay? My response usually would be “Why did you choose your eyes to be blue? “ Many gay people will tell you that they were born gay. I, for one, can attest to this. When I was born, and my mom gave natural birth, I knew there and then that I would not be revisiting that area of the female anatomy ever again.

Being gay is more than just about sex, it also about the emotional attraction and bond homosexuals develop towards people of the same gender. It’s a natural attraction that may have been programmed into our genes. Why would anyone choose a lifestyle that will cause them to be discriminated against, in some countries persecuted and in some communities ostracized? We didn’t choose to be gay, we were born gay but are absolutely fabulous by choice.

There are countless more myths about homosexuality that I could address, but these are the most common ones I have been plagued with in recent years. I will never discourage any straight person from asking me anything about my sexual orientation, no matter how bizarre the question may be and trust that none of my gay readers will shy away from candidly answering questions they are posed.

The gay community sometimes are vastly misunderstood, whether it’s due to plain ignorance or due to us not always being prepared to be open and honest I am not sure. However, I wish that more people across the globe could be educated about GLBT people, maybe if they get the correct information we would be better understood and discrimination and homophobia will one day be a thing of the past.

Till next time.

Hedda Lettuce - Lady GaGa Telephone Parody

The Abomination of Humanity

2011-11-14T15:06:00.008+02:00

Since I started this blog I have addressed some contentious issues. Some topics caused quite a stir especially amongst a few fanatical Christians. Dealing with Homophobia, Discrimination, AIDS, Racism and even how we as a gay community discriminate amongst ourselves, the backlash was expected but the resulting hate mails ,at first, caught me off guard.

Later, as I wrote about topics that I knew could be controversial I anticipated receiving the nasty onslaught of hate in my inbox, and they never disappointed. But, it's not only the controversial themes that have sparked hate mail, some light-hearted articles surprisingly did too. Some of which left me utterly flabbergasted. Haters managed to take seemingly “innocent” articles and mutilate them with their narrow minded ignorance and turn them into something hateful and ugly? Leaving me to wonder, are there really people out there that can find hate in anything if they applied their twisted minds?

In the past three years since my blog’s conception I have posted numerous articles the majority of which, I must admit, have been humorous. Even when dealing with serious matters I attempted not to lose sight of the lighter side of life. However, some of these articles outraged a few people, outraged them so much that they decided to send me their thoughts in harshly worded e-mails. In total I have received well over 200 hate mails to date, 200 hate mails and counting...

In these hate mails I have been called everything from a Faggot, God Hating Queer, Turd Miner, Infidel, Satanist, Asshole, Mother Fucker, Vulgar Animal, Anti-Christ, and worse. They have also accused me of filling people’s minds with my filth, being a terrorist, spreading AIDS, trying to destroy religion, being a molester of bodies and minds and the best yet “The Abomination of Humanity” (note the use of the wording “THE Abomination” instead of “An Abomination”).

So yes, I have received quite my fair share of hate mails and have been called my fair share of bad names. The common denominator amongst my hate mail is the fact that they mostly come from religious folks. This special category of hate mails are easily identifiable due to the quotations from the Bible, Koran, Torah and Tanakh; all quotations taken out of context to imply that I am going to hell and taking all my readers to hell with me. (So please take note my gentle readers pack light for the afterlife - it’s going to be warm!)The hate mail I received after one particular article about Halloween (Horror, Weirdoes & Fagalicious Homos) “condemned me to hell”. I kid you not! The hate mail further accused me of promoting “hideous, dirty and vulgar sinful acts” but fail to name or list these acts so it was left to my very vivid imagination to do so myself.

In the same e-mail I was also singled out as The Abomination of Humanity. Well, to be honest over the last three years I have been condemned to hell by so many people, from so many religions, in so many hate mails that when I do get to Hell one day I am expecting one big mother fucking welcoming party. After all, according to my haters I have recruited most of its occupants and don't The Abomination of Humanity deserve an epic welcome? If not, don't I at the very least deserve some medal for all my evil achievements?

I still find it hard to believe that there are people in this world with such a narrow minded attitude to life that innocent articles can prompt such ferocious attacks. Having now become quite use to receiving hate mails, I read them with the same regard as I do flyers left on my car’s windscreen. It is just amazing how these individuals rather opt to send me personalized e-mails than posting their disgust on my blog’s wall.

One would think being so disgruntled, offended and taking such personal umbrage to what I write, they would want to share it with the world. After all my dear hate mail senders, do my readers not deserve to be informed that they are also condemned to the same fate as I, or be warned about how I am molesting their minds and corrupting their souls?

Over 200 hate mails and counting. No matter how perturbing they may be, a few hundred hate mails definitely will not stop this faggot from writing about any issue, event, holiday, topic, belief or highlighting the human rights abuses of the gay community whenever and wherever it occurs. A few hundred hate e-mails won’t shut this Queer up!

As for my haters, one thing I have learned since starting my blog is that if people want to find hate, they never have to look very far as they can manipulate, twist and spin anything to suit their hate fueled agendas. Some even actively seek out hate, how else does one explain why my haters keep on returning to my blog? To all those hatemonger fanatics, I dare you to express your views openly and publicly. Come on now, if you are that upset and if it is that important to you, why be shy?

Till next time

Lilly Allen - Fuck you very much!

The Gift of Death

2011-11-12T12:40:00.003+02:00

With the celebration of World Aids Day on 1 December around the corner and with this year's theme being “Getting to Zero” I decided to engage some people on this topic. During one such discussion the bizarre phenomenon of deliberate HIV infection was brought to my attention. I vaguely recall hearing of this a few years ago (in 2003), but thought it was an isolated incident; with further exploration I discovered to my horror it is still being practiced. This phenomenon is called Bug Chasing.

Bug Chasing is described as a subculture of homosexual men who actively pursue sex with HIV infected people in order to get infected themselves. However, in recent times, this practice has now also spilled over to the heterosexual community. This peculiar practice has also given rise to its own terminology:

Bug Chaser: Person who deliberately attempts to contract HIV by having unprotected sex with a person or a group of people who are known or suspected to have the virus.

Gift Giver: A HIV+ person who deliberately transmits the virus to those willing to contract it.

Bug/Conversion Parties: Sex parties where unsafe sex is encouraged and where bug chasers can potentially be infected by a gift giver. At these parties there are usual only a few HIV+ participants and only the host of these parties knows of these individuals positive status.

HIV has become a manageable disease and many infected individuals live normal and healthy lives with an increased life expectancy. It no longer is the death sentence it was thought to be nearly 30 years ago. This put aside, we are all aware that there still is no cure or vaccine for this disease and many people still perish due to AIDS; with the majority of AIDS related fatalities occurring in poverty stricken countries where access to modern medicine is limited. So why would any person in their right mind want to be infected with HIV?

A variety of studies have been done on the psychological and sociological reasons for this type of behaviour. The findings on the Bug Chasers range from people with anxiety disorders that wanted to get contaminated to relieve their fear of getting infected; people doing it to get free medical care; people who felt isolated and viewed being HIV+ as a means through which they would gain acceptance and sympathy; sex addicts; and people who demonstrates sexual risk taking behaviour seeking a new thrill or sexual high.

Whatever the motivation for any person wanting to get infected I find it outrages, irresponsible and borderline criminal! How long before these individuals realize the so-called “Gift” they received have far reaching consequences and in all probability could lead to their untimely departure from this planet. It’s nothing less than suicide! The Gift Givers, in my opinion, are criminals. In many countries around the world the deliberate infection of people with HIV has been criminalized and charges of attempted murder can be filed against them. I find it unfathomable how any person could knowingly infect another person even if the recipient is a willing participant.

Having a few friends who are HIV+ and having had one friend who passed away from AIDS, I distinctly recall their reactions upon receiving their diagnoses. Not a single one of them were filled with joy upon receiving the news. Their diagnoses were followed with depression, anger and fear. One described being HIV+ as living with a time bomb inside you, never knowing when or where it will ignite. Most of my HIV+ friends have come to terms with their HIV status and live with it quite comfortably but remains aware of its potential lethal end game.

I find it quite ironic that such a practice as Bug Chasing exists in light of this years World AIDS day’s theme - Getting to Zero. Are both the Bug Chasers and Gift Givers in denial? Do they even know how many people are infected world wide and don’t have access to potentially life saving medication, how many people die of AIDS and have they ever seen the devastation of this disease during its final deadly grip? Being infected with HIV will not make them part of a special or elite brotherhood, most definitely will not help cure AIDS and not free them from the eventuality that we all face at the end of our existence.

Many people across the world are denied the basic human right to receive access to essential HIV medication and dies as a result. Therefore, it is quite disturbing that in developed countries such a flagrant disregard exists amongst people regarding their health. The fact that they deliberately infect themselves and spread a virus whilst having access to all the treatments that will keep them alive longer is not only selfish but is also destructive. There are people across the world who didn’t ask for this virus, who do not want to die, yet they will die unless granted the same opportunities and access to essential medications.

I hope participants in Bug Chasing come to realize that this “Gift” they refer to is the Gift of Death, and engaging in it is profoundly immoral, in my opinion, and only perpetuates the spread of the disease, worsening the situation and putting unnecessary strain on healthcare and pharmaceuticals making treatment inaccessible to those who are truly in dire need. Hopefully we will get to Zero one day. Perharps that one day will be the day the Bug Chasers are dead.

Till next time.

The Gift

Quitting Fags. For real this time.

2011-11-08T17:39:00.000+02:00

I have been a smoker for 17 years and I am really good at it. Sure I have tried to breakup up with my favorite fags on several occasions, but every time I tried I ended up going back to them. Whether it is the nicotine, the habit or the combination of both, I have never managed to make a clean break of it. So imagine my surprise when colleagues at work started quitting in droves. One by one they gave up cigarettes seemingly without effort and/or the associated melodrama. Naturally, I was intrigued and discovered that they were all on this new but very controversial prescription drug called "Champix". So I had to try it.

Now, everyone that has ever tried to quit smoking will tell you. It. Is. Hell. I have done the patches, mouth spray, chewing gum, Zyban and the electric cigarette. None of which worked. I have also once tried going cold turkey and let’s just say it was no fucking fun fair and I almost ended up committing a triple homicide. So when this new drug crossed my path and appeared to help folks quit without any psychotic cravings, you know the “you need nicotine so bad you’re considering licking a dirty ashtray” kind of cravings, I was curious. Would this new drug work for me? So I did some research.

As many of you know, I am Google’s bitch and Facebook’s slut. So it was only normal for me to utilize them both to learn more about this pill called Champix. What I discovered freaked me out. The pill has a list of side effects longer than the New Testament which includes, but is not limited to, death and/or suicide! Did I really want to take something that could give me migraines, blood in my poo, flatulence, gingivitis, rashes, nightmares, mood swings and/or muscle pains, just to mention but a few? After weighing up getting cancer versus farting blood, I called my doctor fully expecting him to be thrilled that I wanted to stop smoking. However, his reaction was rather shocking.

“Look I am glad that you want to give up smoking and it is about time that you did, but I am not prescribing that pill for you!” and Yes, “No I won’t” was his final answer! Apparently he spoke to a number of specialists who all agreed that giving Champix to patients was too great a risk. So, I just went to another doctor who would prescribe it for me, because I am responsible adult like that. I started taking the drug and by week two the side effects started. At first they were mild but soon they grew more prominent and less easy to ignore. But the worst was yet to come. As I entered week four I peaked on several items as listed on the medication insert pamphlet, which I now decided to read with comprehension, and it wasn’t fun anymore. NOT. Fun. At. All!

Normally I am a moody person but on Champix I am an irrational borderline psychotic bitch! What makes it worse is the fact that when I am being an irrational bitch I am fully self-aware, know I am being irrational and a bitch and still I just can’t stop myself. Combine this with being bloated and looking like I am four months pregnant, throw in a headache and mix well with nausea and you have a Champix recipe for what can only be described as a clusterfuck of side effects that actually saw me taking one day’s sick leave from work. However, side effects aside, by week four I managed to cut my smoking down by half. But I still was smoking. Smoking but not enjoying it. Smoking out of stubbornness. Smoking out of habit.

They say that when you are on this pill you should set a deadline for yourself for when you plan to quit - quit smoking that is NOT the pill! This was something I wanted to and chose to ignore. Setting a deadline to quit made me sad, miserable and for some bizarre reason I wanted to believe that the pill will help me give up smoking naturally. So one morning after I dreamed that I had to drive through the Gaza Strip and Hamas and some Somali pirates wanted to kidnap me for ransom, I had an epiphany. I came to the realization that if I really wanted to quit smoking I would need to put some effort into it myself as well. And then I wondered what Somali pirates were doing in Israel, why they were working with Hamas and why the hell they were after me!

At week five I started to think that maybe I am in the percentile of people for which this new “miracle pill” doesn’t work. Look, I don’t mind being a statistic as long as I am at the right side of it, and being competitive by nature falling into the “failure” percentile pissed me off and was going to have none of it. I will quit smoking and this Goddamn pill will help me even if it kills me! So I have set a deadline to stop. I have bought my last carton of cigarettes last week (yes I do smoke that much) and it should be finished within the next few days. May God have mercy on all the souls who cross my path. When I smoke my last Peter Stuyvesant it will be a sad day. Saying goodbye to a friend of 17 years who have always been there for me will not be easy. Not easy at all…

Yes, my love affair with Peter Stuyvesant, Marlboro and Camel have almost come to an end. They have been there for me when I was stressed, sad, happy, bored and in need for some after action satisfaction. For 17 years their odor have permeated the air in my house, my car, clung to my hair, clothes and hands. After 17 years it is time to bid them adieu. I must admit, I am a little scared as I am not sure what to expect when I put out that last cigarette, but one thing I am certain off is that in 10 years from now I’d be happy I did.

Till next time.

Rather Be Black than Gay

2011-11-04T18:12:00.000+02:00

One of my friends recently said “I’d rather be black than gay, at least then I don’t have to tell my mother!” We were talking about coming out of the closet and how difficult it can be. Since I started my blog, I have received numerous e-mails from gay people around the world going through this metamorphosis from effectively living a lie to being their authentic selves. Most usually find themselves in the midst of a crisis. They are scared. They fear being rejected, being hurt and most of all hurting those they love. So why put yourself through this?

Most gay people knew that they were different from a young age. I, for one, knew from my kindergarten days as playing "Cowboys and Crooks" was not as appealing to me then, and I preferred the company of what would later become my "Fag Hags". These days I do not mind smoldering cowboys and the meaning of that game has changed quite significantly. As one grows older the sense that you are different grows stronger and when puberty finally kicks in you start to realize exactly what it is that makes you different.

A couple friends I have spoken to have expressed the sense of isolation they experienced, the fear of having their secret exposed and the difficulty inhibiting their natural sexual urges. Let’s face it being a gay teenager with hormones raging and sex on the brain makes for a fairly precarious predicament! Many challenge their sexual preference but at the end of the day most ended up in some kind of situation with another confused kid of the same gender experimenting with sex. This was done with great caution as being exposed as gay in school could have dire consequences.

Many gay teenagers feel lonely, misunderstood and like they are the only ones in the world. I sure did, and when I did come out in high school my burning flame of fagotary’s light was not well received and High School was not one of my favorite times in my life, but I wear my battle scars with pride. Luckily, today young gay teens no longer have to feel isolated as there are many organizations at their disposal which can assist them and give advice and guidance. Their flames can shine bright instead of being prematurely extinguished!

There are gay people walking around with a sense of guilt about their homosexuality. One such person wrote to me saying that he decided to pursue heterosexual relationships because it would not be fair to his family if he came out: His family would be shamed and he would be ostracized because the community in which he lives were very conservative. Every time he had sex with his girlfriend he would fantasize about guys and he was terrified that she would become aware of this. God forbid he shouted out the name “Jeff” at the peak of passion!

He did eventually come out of the closet. As one would expect his family did not take the news well and neither did his girlfriend. The town folk did not try to chase him out of town with an angry mob carrying garden forks and burning torches, but some did make homophobic remarks and he lost a number of friends. Even though his family did find it difficult to come to terms with having a gay son and hurtful things was said and done, at least he no longer have to live a lie, no longer have to fantasize about men and deceive his girlfriend. He now can be himself. He started a new life, a new beginning, made new friends and become part of a new elaborate rainbow family. It was not easy and his family still has issues, but time heals all wounds and they too will come to realized that he still is the same person he was before he came out and they will love him just the same.

Unfortunately, coming out of the closet could be lethal for some of our gay brothers and sisters. Homosexuality is still illegal in 79 countries in the world and in 8 countries the punishment is death by hanging or even stoning. Countries like Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia and Nigeria are still known to execute homosexuals. In Africa, Uganda now also wants to pass new legislation that too would provide for the execution of homosexuals. Being gay in anyone of these countries is dangerous. I cannot even begin to imagine the utter fear one must live with should your secret be exposed and to what extent they must go to hide who they truly are. The problems and consequences we face when coming out seems insignificant compared to theirs. That’s why we must fight for not only our own rights but also for theirs. This cannot be done from inside the closet!

There are many reasons gay people have for struggling to break free from the confines of the proverbial closest. Some e-mails I received dealt specifically with religion and the great difficulty they experience reconciling their sexual orientation with their religious beliefs and Church. Some gay people even find themselves in Brokeback marriages, or are confused about their sexuality not knowing how to tell their partners they’re bi-sexual or feel they were born into the wrong gender. The conclusion I have drawn from all these people’s messages is that we are all different with our own unique challenges. However, they are never insurmountable and all can be overcome.

Being gay is not a disability, illness or a curse. We should not be stuck in the closet due to shame, fear or guilt – open that door and step into the light. Coming out is never easy and you can expect some turbulence on your flight to freedom - No journey worthwhile is without its challenges. The good news is that you will reach your destination a stronger person and happier we are not called “Gay” for nothing. So kick down that door! Be proud!

Till next time.

The Day I Shit Myself

2011-11-03T19:09:00.000+02:00

My entry for the Adcock Ingram's Digesticare Police Timepieces competition.

A while ago something really traumatizing happened to me. It was a Friday that started off like most of my Fridays do. There were no signs to suggest that my day would have a horrifying start. No sign that this particular morning would be the start of a particularly bad day. Such a bad day that it henceforth will be hailed as the “Black Friday”. It has taken me months to muster up the courage to write about it here on my silly little blog. I just hope you, my adoring readers, do not think any less of me or unfairly judge me after you read this blog post. But, before my courage wanes let me tell you about my “Black Friday”.

Fridays are my favourite day of the week. Mostly because I only have to endure 8 more hours of work before it’s officially weekend. Fridays are also the only day of the week that I can honestly say I am almost a morning person, with the emphasis on “almost”. On this particular Friday I followed my usual routine, woke up at 6:15 and proceeded to get my early morning caffeine and nicotine fix. I then sat down in front of my computer to update my social media and scan the intrawebs for gay news worthy of sharing with my Facebook fans and Twitter followers. It was a normal Friday morning by any means and there was nothing out of the ordinary, but that would soon change.

You see my bowel movements are predictable and they are regular and that is just the way I like them. I usually have them in between the time I spend updating my social media and the time I get dressed for work. On this fateful morning it was not to be any different. As I was finishing updating my social media presence I could feel a slight rumbling in my stomach. This is normal for that time of the morning and it usually is my body’s way of notifying me of having to make an imminent deposit in the loo. Not concerned that the rumbling heeded a sense of urgency, I decided to hold off going to the loo and instead went to the studio to select my outfit for the day. That would proof to be a dreadful mistake.

As I unlocked the studio door the rumbling in my stomach went from a mild loo notification to a more prominent warning groan. But, I know my body, and thought I still had a good 6 minutes before my loo call. As I was taking my outfit off the clothing rail, the groan in my stomach took on a more ominous tone. It wasn’t long before I realized that the 6 minutes I thought I had would expire earlier than what I had anticipated. So, I took the clothes and, this time with a sense of urgency, I attempted to lock the studio door. Then it happened, suddenly and catching me totally off guard I found myself at the wrong end of a potty count down.

My bowels were about to move and I wasn’t ready for it. All I could do was to clench my ass as tight as I possibly could and pray. It was crunch time! Out of absolute desperation I abandoned the key in the door all the while clenching my ass so tightly I could have made a diamond in there. Rather frantic I rushed into the house and as I entered I realized that only clenching my rectum was insufficient. I needed a backup defence system in case my rectum fails me so I proceed to also clench my ass muscles as tight as humanly possible.

“Holy Mary, Jesus & Joseph” I thought “this CANNOT be happening to ME!” In my final desperate moments I dropped my clothes on the floor and were about to leap into a sprint. But one thing no one ever told me is that if you are clenching every muscle in your ass and rectum to prevent yourself from soiling your pants, sprinting will nullify all those efforts. So I guess what happened next should not come as a surprise.

To my horror in mid sprint halfway to the loo the unthinkable happened. I began to shit myself... At first only a little and then the flood gate opened only 9 feet away from the toilet. I was so close! So damn close!! There’s a strange sensation that overcomes you when you shit yourself. Apart from your pants becoming heavy, you also experience an euphoria of guilt, disgust combined with relief.

As the sensation of my own excrement was weighing me down I went to the only place in my mind that would make my situation remotely acceptable. I went to my favourite place - denial. “Nooo, I didn’t just shit myself. No... not me.” “This didn’t just happen, it must be a bad dream, come on now, on the count of 3 wake up!” But it wasn’t a bad dream. I did shit myself! I shit myself right in our dining room. I shit myself and the proof was in my pants and whether I liked it or not I now had to accept it and now I had to do something about it.

So I held my head high, breathed in deeply a couple of times and with my chest out and shoulders back I uneasily walked the remaining nine steps to the toilet, took off my pants and pretended to finish my business in a dignified manner. The last time I shitted my pants was during the time my parents potty trained me and I really was not expecting to do it again until much later on in my life, like let’s say in my mid to late 90’s. But, what can I say, it is what it is.

After I removed the evidence of my hugely embarrassing bowel failure, had a shower and got dressed the trauma of my experience hung over my head and I had to share it with someone. So I phoned my husband “Honey, something awful just happened to me. I bet you will never guess what happened!” and I was right, he didn’t. The rest of that day pretty much went downhill from there. It was not my finest hour, proudest moment or fondest memory. May this never happen to you! Shitting your pants really has a way of ruining your whole day! And Black Friday was indeed really a shit day!

Till next time.

Heterosexuality - A Queer Perspective

2011-11-01T11:59:00.001+02:00

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 years. 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 experiencing heterosexual intercourse could easily make a 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

Vote for Me!

2011-10-31T20:41:00.003+02:00

It’s award’s season again in the Blogosphere and I would love it if you voted for me.

Remember my Susan Lucci curse. You know which one I am talking about – always being a nominee and never a winner. Well maybe this year we can break that curse.

I am participating in the 2011 SA Blog Awards and I need your vote. Voting is easy, all you need to do is this:

1.) Click on the “Vote badge”

2.) Enter your E-mail Address and the Security Code

3.) Submit

4.) Remember to Confirm Your Vote.

One vote per person and voting closes at midnight 9 November.

Thank you for voting!

Till next time.

Farmville is Evil

2011-10-27T13:17:00.000+02:00

A repost especially for a friend who just today decided to quite Farmville.

There are few things in live that irritate me more than application requests on Facebook. But a few weeks ago, whilst in recovery from my cosmetic “procedure”, I made a fatal blunder – I allowed the combination of utter boredom and curiosity to have the better of me and I accepted one. And so I was drawn into the murky and addictive cyber world of an evil place called Farmville. Now seven weeks later I find myself trapped by cyber psychological blackmail and guilt leaving me with one question - is Farmville evil?

Farmville is an application on Facebook where you can start your own cyber farm. The animals are cute, the buildings are quaint and the possibilities are endless. You can plant and harvest crops, make cyber money, expand your farm, build buildings and accumulate allot of stuff you don’t really need. The first few weeks, having had oodles of time on my hands, farming on my computer was entertaining. My farm quickly grew into one big flourishing oasis of animals, ponds, plantations and orchards. I flew my way up the levels and all seemed well in Farmville land. However the fun would not last, as with all good things this too would come to an end.

You see Farmville is time consuming. You are forced to go back and play every day, sometimes more than once a day and if you don’t, shit will die! For a while I got tired of the whole thing and stopped playing. As days passed my neighbours noticed disapprovingly how crops died and animals ran away. It wasn’t long before a few neighbours started sending messages telling me not to “neglect” my farm. Apparently this makes me look like a bad person and cyber animal hater (Hmm... I wonder how PETA feels about Farmville).

After a while if you don’t actually farm (i.e. plant and harvest crap) the Farmville community will shame you into submission and you will become a slave to a game that should have been fun but no longer is. And this is what happened to me. What was a game started to feel like a job, a job that many people take far too very seriously! But I was losing interest and wanted out.

Being the kind of person who likes to finish what I start and considering myself to be dedicated to all my ventures I found myself in a conundrum. Am I going to abandon my farm and suffer the wrath of the community or am I going to continue on with it? So for a couple of weeks, against my better judgement, I decided to press on. I figured out a way to time my harvests, developed a set routine and soon found that I was scheduling my life around a farm that doesn’t really exist.

My farm grew and flourished at the expense of my free time and my life in the real world. It soon became unhealthy, inconvenient and just a plain ridiculous pain in the ass and not the good kind! It apparently can get so bad that there are even people (CEO’s in fact) who gives their spouses, family members and/or friends their Facebook profile passwords to ensure that their farms are tended to while they are in meetings, on business trips and/or on holiday. It’s an illness I tell you and I didn’t want to end up being one of those people.

So last week I decided that I had enough I wanted to quit. My little fagilicious avatar will be deleted as will my farm. However, there was just one teeny tinny problem with that decision - you can’t freaking delete your farm! You can block the applications but your farm, it’s animals, trees, buildings and your cyber farmer himself will still be there waiting for you. Haunting you!

Eventually your guilt and pressure from the Farmville community will force you to go back and unblock the application. Not liking loose strings in my live this became a source of consternation. I wanted my farm gone and obliterated into the oblivion of the Internet Matrix, but the evil developers of Farmville would not allow this to happen, so I was compelled to write them a letter.

Politely and diplomatically I told them that even though I enjoyed my time on Farmville it was time for me to bid them adieu. I also didn’t want to travel to my 2nd farm in the “English Countryside” as one farm was more than enough for me to handle and it was ruining my social life, spare time and most importantly it’s fucking with my blogging!

I wanted my farm to be deleted, auctioned off and/or destroyed! In the absence of the option of deletion I requested them to create a devastating natural disaster to annihilate my farm and everything on it. I ended my relatively desperate sounding e-mail with “I’m tired, my real garden and pets are neglected and I already have two jobs and farming just isn’t my thing”. To date the demons/developers at Farmville HQ are yet to respond to my request and my two damn farms (they have forced me to have a Farm in “England” now too!) are still standing and are barely flourishing.

Farmville is evil! If you haven’t played it don’t try it. The game will get you hooked like crack and make your work like a cheap red light district transvestite whore for Farmville cash. It will feed on your time, your bandwidth, make you get up at 5 o’clock in the morning and have you rush back home in a panic about missing a harvesting deadline. I am now stuck with two farms which I am incapable of deleting and have no interest of farming. Two farms with adorable little animals, buildings and decorations that I feel too sorry for to delete individually. It’s not normal for a virtual world to exert so much influence over a person’s life, maybe I shouldn’t check out Mafia Wars then! Be warned Farmville will engulf you given half a chance.

Till next time.

Facebook Manners & You

2011-10-27T10:39:00.001+02:00

Did you not know there were rules for Facebook etiquette? Well there are. Here are the 10 rules of Facebook Etiquette. Remember having good Facebook manners and the “Electric Friendship Generator” will be more fun for everyone.

Barbie: Slut or just Misunderstood?

2011-10-24T17:37:00.000+02:00

Oh. My. God. Barbie has gone from wholesome busty career chick, to slutty tattooed pseudo stripper who’s totally trying to rock the Japanese Lolita fashion fad. To add insult to injury she also changed her name to Tokidoki. I kid you not! Did Barbie finally accept her once true love Ken was gay? Is Barbie going through yet another midlife crisis? Has Barbie, uhm I mean Tokidoki, watched one too many episode of Jersey Shores? Well, in an effort to figure out what the hell was going on, I sat down with Tokidoki (aka Barbie) to find out if there were more behind those closet doors in her Dream House than her ever-expanding wardrobe.

At the age of 52 I think we can all admit Barbie looks good for her age. Considering that Barbie has had over 120 different careers, thus far, and do not have a single wrinkle or frown-line to prove it is also a feat in itself. As for her personal life, we all know that things have not fared that well. Barbie first met Ken on the set of a television show back in 1961.

Despite being together for 43 years and, up until their very public breakup in 2004 two days shy of Valentine’s Day, Ken never once popped the question. This left Barbie to obsessively buy wedding dresses she would never wear. After the Ken debacle Barbie sought comfort in the arms of an Australian surfer dude called Blaine, but again Barbie never quite made it down the aisle. With Barbie’s newest look, I wanted to know what prompted this radical transformation and whether the men and her past had anything to do with it.

Barbie arrived for our interview one hour and twenty minutes late smelling of cheap whisky and cigarettes. Looking slightly disheveled and still a tad drunk she fell into her chair, whipped away a strand of wayward pink locks from her cheek and said “Let’s get this thing started”. Not being quite sure what I could call her, Barbie or Tokidoki, I asked which she’d prefer to which she responded with a naughty grin “Honey, you can call me anything you like as long as we get this done in under an hour”. And with that the interview started.

Not being used to seeing Barbie all tattooed and whored up I could not help but ask her what was up with this new look. Barbie explained that she was tired of being this goody two shoed pillar of good behavior and being a “role model”. Tired of having to glam things up and exhausted from fashion fads and relationships that went nowhere. So, she decided to stop, have a good long look at her life and take some inspiration from her friends.

Barbie has always admired Angelina Jolie “That bitch have been married twice, have six children and she managed to bag the ultimate Ken in Brad. Brad is straight, wants to marry her and I wanted to be like her! I want to have that bitch’s life” Barbie rather abrasively explained.

“Things have not been easy for me you know” Barbie mumbled. “My life have not been perfect” and with those words I could tell that Barbie was about to open up. Whether it was the whisky or the reminiscence of the cocaine she had snorted an hour before, Barbie was about to spill the whole shebang.

“Forty three years I was together with that man. Forty three fucking years! And not once did he find an opportune time to tell me he was a flaming faggot? No! Like Liza I pretended not to know. I caught him with the pool boy, then the gardener and then with Blaine. Bisexual they said they were. And I believed them! To be honest, I didn’t mind him fucking other guys but the least that bastard could have done is marry me. MARRY ME!!! I wanted a wedding! A bloody Wedding! Was that too much to ask for?!” Barbie sobbed and asked for another whisky, a Marlboro and a tissue.

As Barbie dried her tears smearing her mascara, gulped down her drink and puffed on her cigarette she sighed and said “But this is not about them. This is about me. I made a choice to move on with my life”. Barbie explained that shortly following her last fallout with Blaine having received his and Ken’s wedding invitation, she decided to go lesbian.

“I’ve always surrounded myself with beautiful women and I have always secretly wondered what it would be like, so I tried it and I liked it”. Barbie went on a carpet and dairy dispensing munching diet for 8 straight months. “I scissored, muffed and fingered my way to clarity” Barbie said with glint in her eye that showed no regret.

“I am a strong woman but I can also be hurt. But with all pain comes healing and with healing comes change.” Barbie explained that a mere wardrobe change would not suffice and she wanted a drastic change. So she went under the needle and got tattooed, dyed her hair pink and sluttified her wardrobe.

“This is how I feel today - liberated, branded and vibrant!” Barbie said with a bit of a tiger’s growl and rejuvenation in her voice. When asked if she had been told about the controversy amongst parents with regards to her new look she responded “Sure they’re pissed off. Sure they don’t like it. But isn’t it time they actually start parenting their own kids? For God sakes, parents these days are so damn lazy! I swear if there were an APP they could download to raise their kids for them they would. It’s not my job to do that, I am not their nanny!” she said as she snuffed out her cigarette.

“Doll, I am late and got to fly. I have a hot date tonight and I might just get lucky!” Barbie said as she ended our brief interview. Curious as I am, I could not let her go without asking “Man or woman?” to which she provocatively bit her pinky and responded “Android!” And with that Barbie blew out of the room as she had entered, and with the smell of whisky and Marlboro’s still hanging thick in the air I was left with as many questions as answers about the enigma that is Barbie. Or should I rather say Tokidoki.

Till next time.

Halloween. Did you know?

2011-10-21T11:16:00.000+02:00

With just over a week until Halloween I thought it appropriate to share some little known facts with you about Hallows’ Eve.

1.) “Halloween” is short for “Hallows’ Eve” or “Hallows’ Evening,” which was the evening before All Hallows’ (sanctified or holy) Day or Hallowmas on November 1. In an effort to convert pagans, the Christian church decided that Hallowmas or All Saints’ Day (1 November) and All Souls’ Day (2 November) should assimilate sacred pagan holidays that fell on or around 31October.

2.) Halloween originated in Ireland over 2,000 years ago. Ireland is typically believed to be the birthplace of Halloween.

3.) The first Jack O’Lanterns were actually made from turnips.

4.) Halloween is the second highest grossing Commercial Holiday after Christmas.

5.) The word “Witch” comes from the Old English wicce, meaning “wise woman.” In fact, wiccan were highly respected people at one time. According to popular belief, witches held one of their two main meetings, or sabbats, on Halloween night.

6.) Samhainophobia is the fear of Halloween.

7.) The Owl is a popular Halloween image. In Medieval Europe, owls were thought to be witches, and to hear an owl's call meant someone was about to die.

8.) Trick-or-Treating evolved from the ancient Celtic tradition of putting out treats and food to placate spirits who roamed the streets at Samhain, a sacred festival that marked the end of the Celtic calendar year.

9.) Black and Orange are typically associated with Halloween. Orange is a symbol of strength and endurance and, along with brown and gold, stands for the harvest and autumn. Black is typically a symbol of death and darkness and acts as a reminder that Halloween once was a festival that marked the boundaries between life and death.

10.) Dressing Up as ghouls and other spooks originated from the ancient Celtic tradition of townspeople disguising themselves as demons and spirits. The Celts believed that disguising themselves this way would allow them to escape the notice of the real spirits wandering the streets during Samhain.

11.) Mexico celebrates the Days of the Dead (Días de los Muertos) on the Christian holidays All Saints’ Day (1 November) and All Souls’ Day (2 November) instead of Halloween. The townspeople dress up like ghouls and parade down the street.

12.) Teng Chieh or the Lantern Festival is one Halloween festival in China. Lanterns shaped like dragons and other animals are hung around houses and streets to help guide the spirits back to their earthly homes. To honour their deceased loved ones, family members leave food and water by the portraits of their ancestors.

13.) Halloween celebrations in Hong Kong are known as Yue Lan or the “Festival of the Hungry Ghosts” during which fires are lit and food and gifts are offered to placate potentially angry ghosts who might be looking for revenge.

14.) In the United States of America both Salem, Massachusetts, and Anoka, Minnesota, are the self-proclaimed Halloween Capitals of the world.

15.) In many countries, such as France and Australia, Halloween is seen as an Unwanted and overly commercial American influence.

Till next time.

Spirit Day

2011-10-19T13:21:00.000+02:00

Millions of people wear purple on Spirit Day as a sign of support for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender (GLBT) youth and to speak out against bullying. Spirit Day was started in 2010 by teenager Brittany McMillan as a response to the young people who had taken their own lives. Observed annually on 20 October, individuals, schools, organizations, corporations, media professionals and celebrities wear purple, which symbolizes spirit on the rainbow flag. Getting involved is easy - participants are asked to simply "go purple" on 20 October as we work to create a world in which LGBT teens are celebrated and accepted for who they are. Learn more & go purple at www.glaad.org/spiritday.

For an app to make your profile picture purple click HERE.

Adam & Steve: The True Story as told by God

2011-10-18T16:59:00.003+02:00

We all knew this day would come. The day God would lose his temper due to all the bad public relations nonsense some fundamentalist Christian out there so readily spew. The day God would realize that he is his own best publicist and screw all those pompous freaks sauntering around in clerical gowns with ridiculously queer Biretta or Zucchetto head dresses. Yes, God finally had enough and decided to tell it all in his new book “The Last Testament”. In this, what can only be described as an explosive exposé, God decided to clarify a few thing some campus preachers may find rather shocking. In “The Last Testament” as written by God the true story of Adam and Steve is finally told.

God writes that on the fifth day of the creation he pretty much had the place set up already. He looked around at his creation and saw it was good. But then, in his infinite wisdom, realized it would make for good administrative sense to establish a new middle-managerial position. So as a final act and to fulfill the vacancy he created Adam. God envisaged Adam to be not only the planetary caretaker but also an attractive and likeable spokesperson in the event something goes grievously wrong. With Adam up and about God decided to take the seventh day off, lounge around and let Adam run the show to test his competency in his new post.

Adam passed the test. He had a good rapport with all God’s creatures, a fabulous eye for landscaping and God was pleased. However, Adam was lonely and turned to incessant masturbation to overcome his solitude bespattering the whole of paradise. So one night God slipped Adam a roofie and while he was in a deep slumber he created Steve. Steve was a hunk, not very smart, ripped, cut, hung and the best of all – a power bottom.

When Adam awoke and fist laid his eyes on Steve he wept with joy. They were naked, unashamed and found each other’s loins to be a wonderland to be explored every chance they got. But, the innocence of carnal love was being observed by a rather jealous and closeted malevolent being. The snake watched Adam and Steve and decided to break them up. One day the snake slithered up to Steve, knowing he’s no intellectual Olympian, and told him that the fruit of Tree of Knowledge That Your Lifestyle Is Sinful would intensify his orgasm, when in fact it would only prolong it with forty-five minutes. Steve believed the lie.

Steve ate the fruit and seduced Adam to do the same and the knowledge that their lifestyle was sinful shamed them but also aroused them. They entwined themselves unceasingly until dawn. Came morning they grew embarrassed and shopped for their fall collection of fig leaves and proceeded to hide from God in the garden. When God arrived he search high and low and finally found them. “Father, there’s something we need to tell thee: we are gay” Adam and Steve hesitatingly confessed. God visibly surprised was taken aback after all how would they know this?

Steve explained “Lord it is true, the snake convinced me to eat the fruit from the forbidden tree and I gave a fruit to Adam too. We now know we are not only here, but queer.” God was enraged with the snake for ruining everything. “I created Steve of the same gender as Adam so they could not breed and would be free to focus on their gardening careers”. But the damage was done. After thoroughly chastising the snake God turned his full attention to Adam and Steve.

“Damn it! I knew I should have made you lesbians! Then you would have tended the garden with more diligence and would have been more outdoorsy in general. But you have been disobedient and for that I must now inflict upon you the harshest punishment possible – Transforming you from carefree young lovers living in the heart of everything, to a married couple with kids stuck in the suburbs.”

With that God changed poor hunky Steve into a woman so that he may bear young. God did however give him the choice of his own female name with one condition– it must rhyme with 'Steve’. The condition being so that in 6000 years from then the righteous can use it to create the most insane slogan of all time “God Created Adam and Eve and NOT Adam and Steve”. Quite ironic don't you think?

Till next time.

This was my interpretation of Chapter 4 and 5, you can Purchase "The Last Testament: A Memoir by God" as written by God and David Javerbaum HERE

The BlackBerry Apocalypse

2011-10-13T16:34:00.005+02:00

Slap me in the face and call me Sally. I have to admit that I have the Techno-addiction. My BlackBerry have become like an additional limb and an electronic enhancement to my frontal lobe. I use it extensively and I never quite realized to what extend it has become an integral part of my life. After all, a wide variety of personal electronic devices and cyber platforms are all conveniently integrated and instead of having to carry around several different gadgets you only have one. And when that one device fails you, as I found out this week, you are screwed, screwed without foreplay, an explanation, consideration, KY or the option of a happy ending.

What makes this worse is the fact that when are at the precipice of such a electronic fail fuckfest you don’t even realize it and once you do there is nothing to prepare you for what is to come. My BlackBerry has not been working for the last three days and RIM (Research in Motion and NOT that thing you do to your boyfriend’s ass) ignored us. In the wake of the worst outage and Public Relations disaster by BlackBerry and RIM, and looking at my lifeless BlackBerry not being as smart a phone as it was four days earlier, I could not help but wonder – is this the beginning of the end for BlackBerry?

On Monday I was preparing for a business trip which I was leaving for on Tuesday. This time I was planning on driving instead of flying (carbon emissions & reducing my carbon footprint and all) and as such I needed to load the relevant addresses and coordinates onto my Garmin GPS on my BlackBerry. I managed to load two addresses successfully before the first inkling of the impending crisis arose.

As I was searching for the third address I got a “server connection error”. I tried several more times and got the same error. Thinking it was only a temporary glitch with Garmin, I decided to take a break to check my Twitter account. The last Twitter feed was recorded at 12:04pm. Oblivious to the fact that the BlackBerry apocalypse had started, I tried to refresh my Twitter feed and nothing happened. I checked my Facebook and that was dead too. So I hard rebooted my phone and at 13:12 it became clear - my phone was busted!

Firmly believing it was a problem with my phone; I logged onto Twitter via my laptop and asked whether anyone of my followers knew of any problem(s) with BlackBerry. Then the floodgates opened and #BlackBerry was being flooded with angry messages. BlackBerry was down in Africa. “What the fuck? How is that possible?” I thought.

Then Twitter messages streamed in from Asia and Europe, BlackBerry was down there too! Naturally thinking that BlackBerry would be aware that millions of people’s services were down, I checked out @BlackBerryHelp on Twitter. @BlackBerryHelp was tweeting everything except about the outage. If I didn’t know any better I would have thought BlackBerry didn’t know something was wrong. Naturally, my next step was to check out RIM’s website hoping to find a press release or at least some information about what was going on. What I found was astounding.

For two days RIM did not respond with a concise explanation. Only yesterday did they decide to release a vague explanation about this international crisis. Apparently some “switch” failed and the backup “switch” failed also, resulting in an epic fail for BlackBerry affecting Europe, Asia, Africa, Canada, North America and South America. Curiously, RIM also added that they have not been hacked and that the integrity of their systems has not been compromised. In the meantime all the pompous IPhone users were laughing their asses off at all the distraught BlackBerry users, but the biggest giggles I think must have come from Steve Jobs. As for me I was still being screwed and it was no laughing matter.

Being away from an Internet connection I was completely cut off from the outside world. No Facebook, no Twitter, no News RSS feeds and no damn GPS. I was out of town, at a place I don’t know from shit, completely isolated and I had to go places blind. Do you know when last I actually used a real map? Back in 2004, that’s when! I had no BBM, had no clue what was going on and I was reduced to using text messages. TEXT MESSAGES!

My 48 hour business trip could have easily gone awry had it not been for my natural instincts and a vague memory of how things were done back in the mid 90’s. I made it to all my appointments and manage to find my way back home. The 600 bucks speeding fine I got (which is a whole different blog post altogether) I also blame on the BlackBerry blackout! When I got home I went onto the Internet to try to learn more about the outage. I discovered that more sinister than RIM’s lame ass excuse for the blackout is the conspiracy theories that were surfacing. Maybe you have heard some of them.

Isn’t it odd that BlackBerry experienced the worst week ever just as Apple is about to release their new IPhone and applications that will rival and exceed that of BlackBerry? Isn’t it peculiar that BlackBerry had the worst recorded outage in recent history barely a week after the passing of Steve Jobs amidst fears that Apple’s stock price would plummet, but now BlackBerry’s stock price did instead? Why did RIM insist on saying they were not hacked or compromised, maybe they were. If they had been all affected BlackBerry users may have been unknowingly pick pocketed and your e-mail-, social media- and even bank accounts could have been compromised, your passwords stolen and not to mention all that “personal information” stored on their servers possibly now not being so “personal” or “private” anymore. Is all of this just one big coincident, I’ll let you decide for yourself?

With what must have been the worst week for BlackBerry since they started back in 1999, I cannot help but wonder if they will ever fully recover. I am sure that their Public Relations crisis management or the lack thereof will be studied in business schools for years to come. As for consumer confidence, I am not sure it will ever be fully restored. After all, this is not the first time this has happened, but unfortunately for them this time it happened on a much larger scale. The fact that there was no communication from them in this regard also did not help matters or boost confidence either.

With RIM already struggling with delays in getting new phones out, a tablet that's been a dud, shares that are approaching a five-year low and sales noticeably down, could this be the beginning of the end for them? I guess only time will tell. As for me, I am due for an upgrade in 2012 and whether I will choose BlackBerry again is largely undecided. I do love my IPod, maybe it is time to get a matching IPone?

Till next time.

Lady Killer

2011-10-11T07:24:00.003+02:00

By Portia Leigh

Los Angeles rock band Life Down Here opened the 2011 Lady Killer tour's West Hollywood show at the Roxy on September 3rd. "It was my first time opening on a gay & lesbian tour, but it definitely won't be my last," said Life Down Here singer, 19-year old Michelle Blanchard. "Sharing a stage with Vanity Theft, Hunter Valentine and Sick of Sarah was an absolute honor and I hope to play with them again."

Playing a short, fun set that definitely got the crowd pumped, the pop-punk quartet brought the kind of energy audiences beg for from an opening act. “For me it's cool because I'm a guitar player and a singer so everyone gets to see me taking the leads rather than just listening to the album on its own," said Blanchard.

Delivering a combination of fierce vocals and ripping guitar riffs Blanchard is a multi-talented musician who writes all of the band's lyrics. "All of my songs are written about my life - anything from relationships and just being who you are, to mental institutions and suicide."

As an openly gay artist, Blanchard's unapologetic attitude in terms of her sexual preference is empowering, especially for those passing through adolescence. "As it is for any other kid, growing up isn't easy, you get picked on for your hair, the way you talk, the way you dress-- now imagine getting made fun of for all of that and then being gay on top of it," said Blanchard. "I was lucky to have a lot of accepting friends, but it's pretty interesting being one of a handful of lesbians in your school."

Inspired by the door-opening work of Melissa Etheridge, Blanchard admires Etheridge's ability to blur the lines of demarcation on sexuality and in turn create something listeners from all walks of life can connect with. "Melissa Etheridge is definitely one of my idols. The music she writes is usually about a failed relationship or a new interest- but whether you're straight or gay she does it in a way that is relatable for everyone; and, that's what I love most about her," said Blanchard. "Being gay is something to be proud of if you are, it doesn't mean that you are different than anyone else."

Creating the feel-good vibes one expects from punk predecessors like the Bouncing Souls, Life Down Here’s lyrical content is intertwined with a myriad of intensity. One song in particular, "Calling Out," came to life after several devastating suicide cases occurred within Blanchard's group of friends while attending high school in Las Vegas. "I chose to write about it because everyone goes through a rough time and it's not an alien thing to have suicidal feelings-- the "what if I commit suicide, would people care?" said Blanchard. “And yes we care, we care deeply! So that song to me, is directed toward anyone who's having a rough time-- I want to let listeners know it’s okay to feel pain, it's okay to feel sadness it's natural, but everything's going to be fine and you'll make it through in the end."

The turnout was large for such an early show, and it became clear as the catchy chorus-lines seemed to flow freely from the crowd's lips in sync with the band, that the group was in part responsible. For a young artist, Life Down Here’s recent participation on the Lady Killer tour has helped Blanchard develop a better idea of what she wants in terms of her future in music. "I strive to be as good of performers as they are" said Blanchard humbly. "Opening for them made me realize that I should definitely start opening for other gay rock acts because that's exactly the scene I want and need to be in."

Follow Life Down Here on Facebook, Twitter and Youtube

Steve Jobs

2011-10-06T11:56:00.000+02:00

“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true." - Steve Jobs (Stanford commencement speech, June 2005)

Crazy Lady vs. Telemarketer

2011-10-05T16:14:00.002+02:00

Now I don’t have much love for telemarketers and I have in the past thrown a few fits and insults their way. However, I don’t think anyone can beat this old lady’s 8 minutes and 51 second tantrum. I am not completely convinced that she is in touch with reality, but it is quite hilarious to listen too regardless. The fact that the telemarketer speaks to her in his “phone sex line” voice probably also didn’t help the situation much!

Born this Gay

2011-10-03T17:19:00.004+02:00

Gay Pride is one of the few events in life that will get my lazy ass out of bed for at 6:30am on a Saturday morning; quite a feat as you most of you know I am not much of a morning person. This year hubby and I decided to attend Johburg Pride with the Queen and the theme was quite appropriately “Born this Gay”. Johburg Pride is the longest running and biggest Gay Pride event that’s hosted on the African continent, and this year marked my 4th attendance. It was a long and fun filled day, and with Pride now done and dusted and the streets of Johannesburg strewn with pink feathers and glitter, I thought it appropriate to reflect here on some of the highlights and low lights of this year’s Pride.

Pride morning started with a phone call at 6:10am from the Queen “Are you bitches up yet? You are still picking me up, right? We have to leave the mansion at 9am sharp!” Being royal subjects by default of age, we obliged, fluffed our feathers and shot through to Johannesburg. We picked up the Queen and made our way to the park where Pride was being hosted. With a slight breeze with a bit of a chill in the air we casually strolled through Zoo Lake on route to the main event area.

During our relaxed stroll the Queen whimsically pointed out all the spots the guys use to cruise each other back in the day when it was still save to do so. With a rather naughty and bashful tone he told us of all the beautiful guys he used to hook-up with while in his prime; he told us of the one time on Christmas eve back in the early 80’s when the police busted him and another guy but eventually let them go in the spirit of the holidays “Those were the days, the good old days” he satisfyingly said with a twinkle in his eye. The Queen also recalled that he used to see his now life partner of well over 20 years also cruising at the same spots, and never in his wildest dreams did he ever thought they would hook-up and stay together for so many years.

A short while later we arrive at the Pride venue. We were about an hour early and there were already loads of people streaming in. We made our way to the queue where we had to exchange our cash for “pink money”, the only currency that would be accepted at the venue that day, or so they said. Coincidentally, “pink money” also ended up being the only currency that day that we would not be able to convert back into cash later, something they conveniently forgot to tell us.

After getting our purple tokens we eagerly stalked the venue before the parade would start on the lookout to buy some gay stuff. You know, some pride memorabilia, T-shirts, key chains, stickers, that kinda gay stuff. We search the approximate 20 stalls high and low and could not find anything worth buying. The closest thing I could find and bought was a rather dishevelled looking pink feather boa. Another queer observation was that not only did the stalls utterly underwhelm and was a downright waste of space the “pink money” was not accepted there – they only took cash. The stalls and exhibitions gave the distinct impression of being an afterthought and as such were highly forgettable and regrettable.

Closer to the starting time of the parade people arrived in droves and there were an estimated 20 000 people that pitched up at the end. The venue was fast filling up and there were loads to gawk at, laugh at and be amazed by. From the overly flamboyant drag queens, leather daddies, guys on stilts, dykes on bikes and dogs in tutus the queers came out in full dress and came clad to impress.

As the parade started hubby, I and the Queen decided to choose a good vantage point from which to check out the floats. After all, what is a Gay Parade without floats? But, I am sad to say that this year’s floats were rather disappointing and noticeably some nightclubs that normally have floats at Pride were visibly absent. Were there some gay politics to blame? Who knows? Not a single float this year stood out as being exceptional and the bad ones were aplenty.

After the Parade we decided to get some food, which leads me to another low light of this year’s Pride. There was only one food stall, the selection was pitiful and the service was atrocious. We were famished and had to wait for an hour to get our food and once we got our order it was disappointing and the antithesis of tasty. These Queens were neither impressed nor happy. But mediocre and overpriced food and drinks didn’t dampen our mood and we basked in the gayness of Pride for a few hours longer.

The nice thing about Pride is that it’s not only a time to celebrate our community but also brings us together, and if you get 20 000 queers in one place you are bound to bump into people you know, and as such we did. Hubby and I saw friends we have not seen in years, I finally got to meet my blogging chum GeeGee Curtailed and even bumped into an estranged friend who were so tweaked out on something I think he barely remember seeing us, again reminding me why we’re no longer friends. But having forgotten to put on my sun block and having slow roasted to a medium rare in the sun the whole day, by late afternoon we decided to go back to the mansion and have a quick rest before getting ready for the Fireman’s Ball. A ball that had been hyped up to be thé Gay Pride After Party of the year for which we just happened to have VIP tickets.

By early evening we had a quick supper and we started getting ready for the much anticipated Fireman’s ball. The Queen had a little freak out after he discovered that the temporary tattoo he got at Pride which was plastered on the back of his shaved head wasn’t that temporary after all. Horrified that he would have to live with a big black dragon at the back of his head for the next four weeks, he finally calmed down once we reached the ball. Like the parade, again we were early – I blame the Queen!

A roughly 9:00pm the doors were to open, and there was a queue that formed well before then. It was raining and it was cold and we were standing shivering our little gay fannies off VIP tickets in hand. We stood in the cold well past 9pm hoping that in the end the party would be worth it. But it wasn’t. As it turned out the 200 bucks a piece we paid for our VIP tickets was as wasteful and productive as pissing into wind. Having a guy with a perverted expression on his face stick his hand in front of my face asking me to smell it is not my idea of fun and neither is waiting 20 minutes to get served a drink.

The fact that they also didn’t have my particular drink in stock further compounded my displeasure with the ball. Then there were the VVIP’s who had cordoned off seating next to the main dance floor, the section “guarded” by a very unfriendly looking bouncer. The VVIP’s looked as bumptious as to be expected but also looked as if they were having as much fun a rotisserie chickens under a grill. The Queens at some point retreated to their mansion without saying goodbye and hubby and I left just after 12:30am and arrived home very tired and very sober. Not quite the usual ending to a Pride celebration we are accustomed to.

All things considered Pride was not as it was before. I got the distinct impression that Gay Pride has gone from an actual celebration to an event that is run like a badly organized machine, chasing profits and instead of celebrating our community we are actually being exploited for our cash. When and how this had happened I am not quite sure.

This year’s Pride was supposed to bring corrective rape of lesbians to the attention of the world and I did not see that happening. One lonely cross in the parade with homemade A4 printed pages stuck to it hardly brought the issue to the fore or home. I think we need to seriously re-evaluate Gay Pride and its values, as this year I think we have lost the plot and it saddens me. After all I was born this gay and not born just to pay the way.

Till next time.

Irritable Male Syndrome

2011-09-29T17:27:00.001+02:00

Punch me in the gut and call me Gucci! I have got the male PMS and it just isn’t funny. Now, I know what many of you will say. Male PMS? Come on you must be kidding me? Well, I kid you not, it’s true and it does exist. Recent research discovered that many men do suffer from a condition similar to PMS which they have dubbed Irritable Male Syndrome (IMS) and it is linked to the drop in the male hormone testosterone. The same as women, men have hormone cycles too. But unlike women who once a month have a crime scene in their pants, men’s IMS can manifest at any time and without any warning. Just falling short of being on my period (which I am sure I will have if it lasts any longer) I have been suffering from IMS for the past three hellish days. If you have not had it before, here is what you can expect when you do.

Now, normally I am a tad of a bitch. I just can’t help, it is programmed into be genes. But roughly around mid morning on Monday I noticed a distinct change in my normally sunny but with scattered thundershowers disposition. For no apparent reason I found myself in a foul mood: I was irritable, hypersensitive and slightly anxious. At first I thought it was due to the fact that I only got to bed at 1am that morning as we were out celebrating the victory of our friends who had just won an international competition. But, not really having drunk all that much the night before I could not blame my dismal mood on a hangover which could easily have been fixed with a Bloody Mary. I was feeling like crap, slightly bloated and as emotional as a nun who just lost her virginity. What made it worse is that I didn’t know why.

A few emotional outbursts and going from happy to crazy in 6.5 seconds, the rest of Monday was pretty much a total waste. The whole of Monday night and the early hours of Tuesday morning I was tossing and turning and only got about 2 hours worth of solid sleep. Needless to say when I eventually got out of bed to go to work, I absolutely hated everything. I hated all the clothes in my wardrobe and was ready to take a pair of scissors and/or canister of gasoline and torch the lot. Or at least that’s what crossed my mind and what I pictured in my head. But I managed to stop the crazy train just long enough to get dressed in something cheerful in the hope that the calming and happy pastel colours of my outfit would magically and positively transform my state of mind. But it didn’t.

Some people get road rage, but when suffering from IMS I get road emotional. Ordinary I will be the first to admit that I am an aggressive driver. After all in South Africa you have to be. Not only do you have to be vigilant for bad drivers you also have to avoid getting hijacked or smash-and-grabbed, dodge pedestrians and taxis on the fucking highway and tolerate being harassed by beggars at traffic lights. Under normal circumstances I am really good at doing all of that, but not on Tuesday. Tuesday I found myself to be one of those annoying people with a social conscious. I actually felt genuinely sorry for all those people who I never pay any attention to begging next to the road. Consequently my drive to work was like a bad Hallmark movie as narrated by Oprah Winfrey – a real tear jerker. It was then that I realized something was terribly wrong with me. I mean honestly, I never cry, I don’t even think I have working tear ducts left anymore. But the best was yet to come.

The whole day on Tuesday I felt lethargic, depressed and still reeling from the morning’s unexpected emotional trauma. I pushed through the day and with great effort I tried my utmost not to bite anybody’s head off. Later that evening while hubby was in the shower a KFC add came on to television depicting an old couple who relive their years together just by smelling fried chicken. I balled my eyes out and after that was done I was freaking starving. Starving for fried fucking chicken and a happy fairytale ending - not quite the thought pattern and/or behavioural process I normally have. So came Wednesday I knew I must be suffering from something like PMS. Either that or I was pregnant!

So I did what I usually do, I consulted Google and lo and behold I discovered I was suffering from IMS. “Fucking great!” I thought “Just what I need right now in my life! But at least it’s not menopause, I am way too young for a midlife crisis. Too young and in no way rich enough!” So I knew what was causing my mood swings and also learned that it would only last a few days. I just had to ride it out for a little while longer with as few casualties as humanly possible.

The biggest breakdown I had was on Wednesday during the apex of my IMS and it was with an unsuspecting telemarketer. I answered my phone and once I realized it was a telemarketer I said in my version of a straight accent and in my outside voice “If you are selling something I am not interested!” to which the guy insistently responded “But Mr Pierrie le Rocks, you don’t even know what I am offering you”. I loathe it when people pronounce my name and surname wrong and that guy unwittingly double crossed the line. I completely lost it! The profanities that left my mouth even surprised me and half way through screaming at him in a high pitched voice like a psychotic raving bitch, I realized that the guy had hung up on me. As I stood there staring at my phone in my hand, realizing what I had just done, I was praying for my IMS to just go away. So I went to the fridge, grabbed a large jar of pickles, got some peanut butter, sat flat on the kitchen floor and felt sorry for myself for a good hour.

I have IMS and it sucks worse than a geriatric blow job. Having gone through the last couple of days being all hormonal and shit I have a new found respect for all the women out there. I do not know how you gals do this each and every bloody month and after all this, I now know that I just would not have coped. Looking back at the last week I realized that my unexpected rendezvous with IMS may have been brought on due to a lack of sleep, the change in my diet and/or underlying stress. I guess my testosterone cycle is as a pedantic bitch as I am; a bitch’s whose routine is best kept and not messed with.

Till next time.

Top 5 Reasons People Choose To Be Gay

2011-09-28T07:43:00.001+02:00

Born this way, baby! With 60% of Americans thinking that people choose to be gay the FCK8 campaign made this snarky video to set the record "STR8".

If you want to support the cause click HERE

Too Disgusted by Gays. Really Bitch?

2011-09-23T17:05:00.001+02:00

Apparently there is a Catholic woman from Massachusetts (USA) who is so utterly “disgusted” by gay people that she refuses to leave the house. The poor woman’s name is Stacy Trasancos and she has a Blog called “Accepting Abundance” (quite ironic blog title don’t you think?). This mother of seven (did I mention she’s Catholic) who clearly should be intelligent as she use to work as a research chemist, noticeably is in need of a big fat gay reality check. A reality check that I am more than willing to provide. So Mrs Disgusted, pay attention this will change your life!

In one blog post titled “Can’t even go to the park” Mrs Disgusted ranted about the queers. Or as I believe she wants to call us – those darn sodomites. Apparently two men “unnaturally close to each other effeminately rubbing elbows” at a pool or two women “rubbing each other’s backs” in a park freaks her out. Clearly her religious and small minded constitution just is not build to observe affection of any kind - after all she is Catholic and loves and obeys the Pope.

I can just imagine seeing her lounging next to the pool watching the two gay guys like a hawk; patiently waiting with bated onion smelling breath for them to do something depraved. Then it happens. As their elbows touch she gasps for air with religious horror, swoops up from her Jesus Christ crucifixion towel and like a duck that lost her ducklings she franticly runs around gathering her brood, all the while reciting Hail Mary’s. Then as she leaves (in disgust I should add) she gives the queers that telling religious “you are destined for eternal damnation” evil eye. But with the lesbian missy bible basher and self professed agoraphobia suffering homophobe behaves somewhat more cautiously.

Everyone knows never to interfere with a lesbian while giving or receiving a massage. Clearly Mrs Prissy did actually get this flyer from Queer HQ on the windscreen of her station wagon with the “Jesus Loves You, but not if you are gay” sticker on it. As such shameful Stacy only observed the lesbians with revulsion. She probably thought to herself “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, those darn sodomites! Now how the fudge balls am I going to explain that to my innocent children? The debauchery!” Poor woman! Life must be terribly hard, frightening, frustrating and confusing for her.

Sad Stacy claims to be so sensitized to the strangeness in her community that she has developed an ever present jumpiness when out in public. She lives in a constant state of fear as she never knows what tarnation she will face once she leaves her front door. No wonder she’s housebound. She seems to be the only pure soul in Massachusetts and all the rest (who naturally outnumber her) are immoral sodomites headed straight for hell. Well, scared Stacy you are on the right track but let me set the record straight and lay the facts bare for you.

Stacy, I will not lie to you. You are justifiably terrified. You see, 90% of the people you come across in public and think are gay are in fact Queers! The other 10% are on our To Do List and we will still get to them! Oh, and just to let you know - you are on that list too! As for your children, I do pity them for having to grow up in your house with your moral influence. You are going to make it so very hard for us to recruit and reprogram them at our reconditioning camps.

We have found that recruits coming from strict dogmatic backgrounds, once cracked, make for fabulous flaming faggots. Converting them just takes a teeny tiny bit longer. This is mostly due to the fact that at first they resist our techniques. But our camp trainers are a tenacious bunch and once they make a breakthrough we have found that the new recruits flourish and wind up trying to make up for lost time. Usually they end up being the highly sought after superstars on our gay orgy and porn circuits, something I suspect you will excel at once we have reprogrammed you too. But this is not the only thing you need to worry about there are so much more licentiousness heading your way.

Have you ever heard of the gay agenda? Well it exists and is alive and well! It is our life mission to destroy the aberration that is heterosexuality. After all it is not natural for a man and a woman to engage in carnal knowledge. How can that be natural if their genitals aren’t even the same? State by state, country by country we are also systematically and purposefully destroying the sanctity of marriage with Gay Marriage. We rub our matrimony and children in all our neighbours’ faces and with fairy dust and feather boas we scream from our perfectly decorated porches “Look at us world! We are fabulous and we are doing this marriage thing so much better than you!” thereby shaming all our straight neighbours right into divorce court.

As if that isn’t enough we fought hard and long to get Don’t Ask Don’t Tell repealed. Now that we have succeeded, we will have a plethora of weapons, fighter jets, submarines, tanks and fighter ships to our disposal. Who knows, one day we may even have our perfectly manicured little fingers on that all important nuclear detonation button. So do not piss off the queers stinky Stacy, we have an army now!

Yes, stupid Stacy have every right to be scarred out of your tampon when you tippy toe outside the relative safety of your Catholic home. The Queers are everywhere and we are coming for you. The world will be ours and if you are not for us you are against us. But just a word of caution, be careful to turn your backs on us as we never leave the house without KY. Turning your back on us will be interpreted as an invitation by you to fuck with us and we will happily oblidge.

Coming back to slow Stacy, dear it’s best you never leave your house ever again. There’s a big bad gay world out there and we know what you look like. Also best get rid of your television set because if we can’t get you on the street, at the pool or in the park we will get you right in your home with our gay network programming. Scared Stacy, be afraid, be very afraid....

...1...2...the queers are coming for you... 3...4...you better lock the door... 5...6...grab your crucifix ...7...8...better stay up late ...9...10...never sleep again...

Till next time.

10 Sexy Sex Facts

2011-09-21T18:14:00.000+02:00

Here are some little-known sex facts that may surprise you – or at least give you ammunition for a fascinating dinner conversation!

1) The best medicine... According to the Museum of Sex, the vibrator was originally used as a medicinal treatment for female "hysteria" during the 18th century. The vibrator-induced orgasms helped doctors dissipate hysteria's anxiety-related symptoms.

2) Say cheese! Semen contains zinc and calcium, both of which are proven to prevent tooth decay.

3) Hop to it. The iconic "Rabbit" vibrator is renowned for two things: excellent orgasm results and an odd smiley face on its tip. Women's Health tells us the smiley face was actually a result of conservative Japanese customs. Apparently, Japanese consumers frown upon "the production of sex toys that too closely resemble phalluses" so the smiley face was added.

4) Does your man measure up? The average size of an erect penis is 5 inches, and the average flaccid penis measures about 3 inches.

5) The sad truth. While this sex fact is neither entertaining nor humorous, it’s shocking to note that homosexuality remained on the American Psychiatric Association's list of mental illnesses until 1973.

6) Protect our troops. Today the US government issues "Support our Troops" paraphernalia; however government-issued brochures and videos featured a slightly different slogan during the WWII era – "Don't forget – Put it on before you put it in." During the Second World War, many soldiers returned home with venereal diseases, costing the government millions of dollars in medical expenses.

7) Hate the gym? You burn about 200 calories during 30 minutes of active sex.

8) What a tease! Burlesque costumes are the epitome of sexy – think Dita Von Teese and lingerie; however, a few centuries ago, the outfits had a slightly different purpose. According to the Museum of Sex, merkins (the bottom half of burlesque costumes) were originally created as "pubic wigs" for 15th century prostitutes. The designs helped hide pubic lice and syphilis symptoms. Nasty!

9) Justice is served. In Hong Kong, adulterous husbands get more than a steep monthly alimony payment – a betrayed wife is legally allowed to kill her husband if he cheats on her – but she may only do so with her bare hands.

10) What ever happened to Southern comfort? The sale of sex toys and vibrators is banned in Alabama and Mississippi in the US. Weird isn't it?

I Am Ugly Betty

2011-09-20T17:23:00.000+02:00

This whole Ugly Betty adult braces thing is seriously cramping my style. It’s been a couple months since these god awful contraptions have been affixed to my wayward teeth and not a day goes by without me cursing them to hell. Earlier today I managed to spill a soft drink all over my cute outfit and had to spend the rest of the day walking around in my stain soaked and now not so delightful fashion statement. Then over lunch time a piece of food got stuck in my braces that I, as of yet, still have not been able to dislodge. Rather glum and reflecting back on my day I can’t help but be reminded why I hate my adult braces.

Having had my braces now for seven months, one would think that I would be quite use to them by now. Well, one would think wrong! I do not think you ever quite get use to wires and brackets in your mouth that’s systematically moving your teeth and grating away the insides of your mouth. You also never quite get use to food that’s forever lodged in between your teeth concealed by metal in impossible angels that not even the best contortionist with the most modern of orthodontic tools would be able to dislodge. You also never quite get use to the idea of speaking with a lisp that you never had before. A lisp that you now have because foreign objects in your mouth are preventing you from enunciating your words properly. You also never quite get use to having your lips caught in your wires during important meetings and then desperately trying to discreetly extricate them without causing yourself significant embarrassment. No, seven months on and I am NOT used to my braces. But the day-to-day gripe of having adult braces being as bad as it is, it is only surpassed by one thing - those damn orthodontist visits.

For some inexplicable reason I always seem to suffer some injury, ailment or embarrassment just prior to my appointments. During the last seven months I had surgery, an eye infection, had a nose injury and accidentally poisoned myself, all just days prior to my orthodontist appointments. Needless to say pitching up for my appointments with some disfiguring injury and/or ailment must have had my orthodontist and her assistants seriously wondering what I do for a living and whether my job is dangerous. But being the consummate professionals they are, they have never once asked me and I have never volunteered any explanations. Injuries and ailments aside the visits to the orthodontist are unpleasant in itself and for those of you who dislikes dentists I recommend you skip the following paragraph.

Have you ever heard of inter-dental scrapping? No? Well then let me explain. In the past several months I had the misfortune of experiencing that nasty procedure three times. Three times! It is a procedure where the orthodontist assistant takes a very small file like gadget and pushes it in between your teeth and then pulls it out again, repeating this action several times. Apparently this is done in order to help make space in between your teeth and help them to move faster. Essentially they are filing down your teeth and it is barbaric! This first time it was done to me I was caught completely off guard and was too traumatized to resist. The second time I tried to negotiate with the assistant not to do it, but she did it anyway. And the last time I almost resorted to physical violence, much like a cat not wanting a bath, but the bitch was strong and she pinned me down with her elbow, leaving me squirming in the chair like I was having an epileptic fit.

Apart from being tortured every six weeks by having inter-dental-scrapings and having my braces adjusted (which hurts like a mother fucker), nature also decided to through a spanner into the works. From the onset I decided to get porcelain braces as they are less noticeable but unfortunately much more expensive than regular braces. They are manufactured in Japan. Yes Japan, you know that place which had that bad ass earthquake. That Japan! And the earthquake completely destroyed the factory that manufactures my braces and they currently cannot be found anywhere else in world. The factory is now being rebuild but this time in the United States and in the mean time if I break anyone of my little porcelain devil brackets I am screwed. Do you know what kind of stress that causes? Every time I bite something and I feel something crack, I shit myself a little and pray it was not a porcelain bracket. Imagine, I whole top row of teeth with porcelain brackets and then on your top front tooth a regular one. Gawd! I am not biting into anything hard until I get conformation there are at least four or five spare brackets in a volt somewhere for me in case of an emergency. It can even be taken off a dead man I don’t care.

I have by my orthodontist’s calculations another ten months left of suffering adult braces. Damn you orthodontic relapse! Damn you! Seven months on I won’t lie; I have seen some major improvement towards getting that perfect smile back again. The braces are doing their thing and I guess it will all be worth the pain, embarrassment, drama and unpleasantness in the end. However, the end cannot come soon enough! So until then I will be Ugly Betty, lisping and drooling my way through life until I am free from these damn braces.

Till next time.

Things that make me feel OLD

2011-09-16T16:31:00.003+02:00

Here are somethings that make me feel old. Sure they bring back fond memories, it's just a pity our younger generation have no clue what some of these items are or what they were used for. Please tell me you do!

Cassette Tapes. Remember them and Walkmans?

Turn Dial Phones.

Typewriters. A true dinosaur from our past.

Polaroid Cameras.

The VW Beetle.

Weapons of Mass Destruction

2011-09-14T20:56:00.001+02:00

Social media have proved to be the most powerful medium of our generation to communicate, share, educate and connect. Recently we saw revolutions, riots and protest organized, mobilized and carried out via social media. With this in mind I'd like to ask all of you who have a social media presence, what are YOU using it for?

Anderson Cooper Gets Spray Tanned

2011-09-14T17:25:00.000+02:00

Those who know me well are very familiar with my little man crush on Anderson Cooper. Personally, I have never had a problem with his lack of a tan. After all his pale skin does match his hair just fine. So imagine my surprise when I stumbled across this video of my man Cooper getting a spray tan. Obviously it was orchestrated by none other than Snooki of the Jersey Shore, bless her little spray tanned heart! So here's two minutes and twenty six seconds of Anderson Cooper getting shirtless for a spray tan.

Don’t Look Like a Terrorist

2011-09-12T17:25:00.000+02:00

There’s no two ways about it, the world after 9/11 irrevocably changed. And no industry felt the effects of 9/11 more than that of the aviation industry. Gone are the days when flying was relaxing, when checking in for your flight took just ten minutes and your biggest concern when boarding a flight was being seated next to a morbidly obese dude with chronic flatulence. Nowadays, the biggest threat to flying, apart from the odd annoying volcanic ash clouds, bird strikes and/or wind shear, are terrorist and airlines have devised intrusive and humiliating measures to counter this threat. Having had my fare share of humiliating run-ins with airport security, customs officials and cabin crew, I thought I’d share some of my tips on dos and don’ts to help make your next flying experience as smooth and stress free as possible.

Do NOT look like a terrorist. Now you may ask, what does a terrorist look like? Well, I cannot tell you for sure, but suffice to say if you do look like one you will be searched and interrogated. Therefore, always make sure you are abreast of the newest fashion fad for seasoned terrorists and then avoid wearing that! Avoid reading any material containing the words Al Qaida, Osama Bin Laden, Jihad, Taliban, Hijacking and/or Bomb Making in its title, as it will land you in an interrogation room. Pre-ordering a Halaal meal while you check in online is also not a good idea, especially when your name clearly indicates that you are not Muslim. I talk from experience people. Earlier this year I mistakenly clicked Halaal as food preference and I was harassed by airline staff 4 times: once during check in, once during boarding, and twice during the flight. But, even remotely appearing like you may be a terrorist, sympathetic towards terrorists or in any way affiliated with terrorists are not the only hurdle you will face at an airport.

No matter what your mood when you arrive at any airport always be cordial. Sure you may smell and feel like shit after your eleven hour flight. Sure you may be tired because the dude next to you snored the whole flight through keeping you awake. But no matter what your situation may be, know this - security and customs officials do not give a rat’s ass about your problems. Even if you are late for your flight they will take their time and any snide remark or inkling of an attitude or noncooperation from you will, in all probability, lead to a full body and/or cavity search. Which leads me to another important rule to remember – always wear nice underwear! Because you never know when or where you may be asked to strip down to your tidy withies and we don’t want to be any more embarrassed than we need to be. And then there are those tedious security questions.

The airport has no place for a sense of humour. If you think you are a stand-up comedian please make sure you stay very far away from me when checking in at the airport or going through customs. All airport staff has their sense for humour surgically removed on their first day on the job. No matter how stupid or fantastical the questions they ask you may be, answer them as brief and concise and non-incriminating as possible. I once made the mistake of answering “Did you pack your own luggage?” with “No, my husband did”, causing a twenty minute delay as they searched my bag. I was also recently asked in Kenya whether I “ever assemble or tried to assemble a nuclear or chemical device”. Naturally after being asked this question I paused as I was trying to figure out if the natural poison concoction I developed last year to ward off pests in our garden constituted a “chemical device”. So I answered “No, not recently”. Needless to say both my luggage and I were thoroughly searched and each item carefully inspected. Speaking of luggage...

Be very mindful of what you pack in your hand luggage. A couple of weeks ago I took a national flight for a short business trip. As usual when I checked in the check-in-counter-chick was adamant in reminding me not to leave any electronics in my luggage that’s to be loaded into cargo. Being the seasoned traveller that I am, I knew not to do this and I had my laptop, BlackBerry, their respective cables, a digital recorder and its batteries and my camera and its cable in my hand luggage. (Guess you can see where this is going). I gaily made my way to the security checkpoint, got my little plastic container, took off my watch and belt, took out my laptop and BlackBerry and placed all my items in the container.

As I, my bag and other items made our way through the metal detector and X-Ray machine alarms sounded and I was immediately pulled to the side. “Please empty your bag” I was insolently instructed. Apparently all the different items in my bag looked like pieces of a homemade bomb ready for assembly. As I emptied my bag the pièce de résistance fell out – a knife (don’t ask). The one time I forgot to check my bag before I leave home and I left a big ass knife in there. It was confiscated, I was questioned and I, my “bomb” and knife delayed my flight with a good 26 minutes. And then there is your passport. Possibly the most important document any traveller owns.

Make an effort to look like your passport photo. Sure many of us don’t look our absolute best on our passport photos and there is a reason they don’t allow us Photoshop or Airbrush these mug shots – the reason being that if you don’t look like your mug shot customs won’t allow you to enter the country. Exactly this happened to hubby and I with our last trip to Madagascar. You see, a few days prior to our departure both hubby and I decided to bleach our hair. We figured that blonds have more fun and therefore being platinum blond on an island would be ten times more fun. Boy were we in for a surprise.

Once we departed from the aircraft in Antanarivo and completed our little entry form, we fell in line to have our passports checked and stamped. When we reached the top of the queue our trouble began. The custom official looked at our passports, looked at us and looked at our passports again before handing them off to a second customs official who then took us aside. With a thick French accent the bearded lady asked “Is this you? Is this you here in the passport?” pointing to our pictures. “Yes it is, it’s only the hair that’s different” we responded. “No, not you, no, no, no.” She responded clearly befuddled. A good 15 minutes of negotiation later which also addressed my weight gain and subsequent weight loss, at that time, she was finally semi convinced our passports contained our likeness and we were allowed to legally enter Madagascar.

Yes, flying after 9/11 and the subsequent stringent security measures do, at times, make our lives difficult and drive me mad, but at the end of the day it’s all done in an effort to keep us safe. After all I do prefer landing at an airport rather than the alternative – intentionally crashing into a building. It is an inconvenience that is here to stay and an inconvenience we best get use too. I do hope my dos and don’ts will contribute to making your next flight less stressful and a much more pleasant experience.

Till next time.

Remembering 9.11.2001

2011-09-11T10:08:00.005+02:00

I, like millions of other people, watched the horror unfold on that fateful day on September 11 2001. It was late afternoon here in South Africa when I received a call from my sister telling me to turn on CNN, "a small plane crashed into the World Trade Centre" she said anxiously. When I did, I saw one of the Twin Towers burning with a gaping hole to its side. Still trying to digest what I was seeing, a second plane struck the second tower. As fire and smoke bellowed out of it from the tremendous impact from the second strike, I realized the world as we knew just changed.

The rest of the day I spent glued to my television set, watching people leaning out windows trying to escape from what must have felt like hell. I watched people jump and falling to their deaths. I remember the horror and disbelieve when both the towers came tumbling down. People running for their lives and those who escaped covered in a grey ominous ash and dust. I remember hearing the high pitch sounds of car alarms and sirens as pieces of singed paper and debris came floating down from the sky like snow. I remember hearing that another plane crashed into the Pentagon and another went down in a field. I watched a country under attack. I watched a country in shock. I remember wondering how many people had died.

Today, ten years later, much have changed. Where the towers once stood now is a memorial park, the damage to the Pentagon is repaired and the lives of those affected by this tragedy have been rebuild. But the memory lingers, like a bad dream. The "War on Terror" have since became an unfortunate familiar term and Osama Bin Laden is finally dead. As we remember the events of that fateful day, I also urge you to remember the fallen heroes, not only those who sacrificed their live on that day but also those who gave their lives in the years that followed.

The world will never forget, but will live and overcome. My thoughts are with all those who have lost loved ones on this day 10 years ago and also all those who have since lost loved ones in the fight against terror.

What would you do?

2011-09-08T16:30:00.000+02:00

What would you do if you overhear a father rebuke his gay son, saw a gay kid being bullied or see a waiter berate a gay couple in front of their children? Well, ABC News asked the very same question in a series of scenarios using actors to see how the general public will respond when confronted with homophobia. The results are quite surprising, see for yourself!

Spring & A Fat Ass Diet

2011-09-05T16:57:00.001+02:00

Spring has finally arrived in my little speck of the world. The bees are buzzing, the birds are mating and every single last flower in my garden is producing enough pollen falling just short of sending me into anaphylactic shock. I am super allergic to pollen, grass, well pretty much everything related to spring. But allergies and animals having sexy time everywhere you look is not the only thing spring brings. Spring also brings a reality check. I, like most people I know, do tend to pack on some extra pounds during the winter months. And as we start shedding our winter jackets and sweaters revealing our lily white arms and legs which must see the sun in instalments, it also brings another revelation. And unfortunately for me my revelation was the fact that I have become fat!

The greater part of my Internet activity this past weekend was spent researching diets. You see, in just a few short months I need to be able to fit into my Speedo for our island holiday. Yes, you read correctly – my Speedo! I only wear it when I am not in South Africa and at places where there are people that I am sure I in all probability will never see again. During this winter I packed on a few extra unwanted pounds and to my horror discovered that I am starting to grow a second chin, a flabby gut and some god awful cellulite on my ass. It’s all very traumatising! And seeing as I have cancelled my gym subscription the only recourse I have left to my disposal is a diet. Either I go on a damn diet or make peace with the fact that I run the risk of looking like a beached whale in Madagascar in December.

Now, it should be noted that I have never been on a diet a day in my life. I don’t know how it works and prior to this I also didn’t really care either. But as I realized that a diet may be necessary, I consulted with my good old friend Google. There are millions of diets on the Internet ranging from well organized programs you can join with weekly weigh-ins (I don’t even own a scale by the way) to eating programs you can follow, some lasting only a couple of days and others lasting months. The more I read about diets the more it dawned on me that maybe it was not for me. I am far too lazy to measure out my food, pack three small lunches to take to work or having to go stand in my underwear on a scale in front of a bunch fat people only to be told I am fat too. My fragile self-esteem would be devastated.

Sure there are no fat evaporating fairies hiding in my summer closet, but diet – bitch please. I just can’t imagine myself having to stuff my face with shit that taste like cardboard, not eat carbs and having to swop my fizzy drink for bottled water. That’s like being a contestant on Survivor but without the million dollars. Furthermore, if I don’t eat potatoes at least 5 times a week the world will end. Not to mention having to swop my red meat with fish and/or skinless chicken, having to give up my gravies, sauces and other fattening condiments that I love so much. Oh my God, a diet will kill me!

For a brief two days I must admit I did ponder on the idea of bulimia. On the one side you can eat what you want and as much of it as you want. But on the down side you have to vomit and I hate vomiting. So I shut that idea down as it requires too much commitment and too much time spent in the toilet hurling. Anorexia was eliminated from the onset as an option for obvious reasons. So with half a cheesecake taunting me in my fridge, I sat down yesterday further contemplating my dwindling options. Clearly the diet thing was not going to work for me. Diets have too many rules, gets up in your business too much and have the distinct notion of starvation and supervision that is as unappealing to me as is the cellulite on my rear end. So what am I to do?

Having had Plastic Surgery earlier this year and still having my surgeon’s number on my speed dial, just a number higher than that of my Botox dispenser, I considered bypassing the whole starve yourself thing and fast forward to liposuction. Why starve yourself and munch on a salad that does not constitute a dinner (according to me) when you can have all that fat sucked out in less than an hour. The only problem with that is I cannot afford it! Damn you economy! Damn you! As my elation turned into a gluttonous cheesecake feeding frenzy, my extra pounds were weighing down more than just my flab. Rather disconsolate I walked to the mirror and gave myself a good stare down. The edges of my mouth still covered in crumbs of the cheesecake that was delicious I must say, I looked at myself and made a decision.

I have gained a few pounds over winter and the only reason I gained the weight was because of bad eating habits. Crisps is not food and neither is a snicker bar or chocolate milkshake. I made a choice the change my eating habits. And no, it will not be a diet but rather a conscious choice to eat healthier: More fruits and vegetables, less McDonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken, less frying and more steaming and grilling. Whether my conscious decision to change my eating habits will see me shed those extra pounds, only time will tell. But one thing is for damn sure, I will not be on some fat ass diet.

Till next time.

Beer ~ The Miracle Diet Drink

A Royal Dinner & Some Perspective

2011-08-31T17:21:00.002+02:00

It’s not often that you get the opportunity to spend an evening in the company of royalty. And this past weekend I had just such an opportunity. Hubby and I were invited to sixtieth birthday dinner party at the Queens’ house and as a result of hierarchy, for a brief four hours, I was demoted to the royal status of Princess. But I didn’t mind my royal demotion as the guest list was far too impressive for me to be bothered by it. After all how many people get the chance to be in the company of a Dutch Baroness, a lesbian couple who has been together for well over 6 decades and other gay couples who have been together longer than I am old? It truly was a fabulous evening and a night that I once again got to appreciate how far we have come in terms of gay rights.

Last Friday night hubby, I and the matriarch of the family were invited to the birthday dinner of hubby’s uncle’s life partner. Like all queer event’s the guest list was well thought out, the house immaculately decorated with elaborate bouquets of freshly picked flowers from their French style garden. The large dinner table was dressed to perfection with the good China and silverware being proudly displayed in such a manner that it would have made any ambassador’s wife green with envy. Upon arrival and as the customary introductions were made I soon came to the realization that this evening was going to be very interesting one.

You see, amongst the quests was a Dutch Baroness. Dressed in a little black number which perfectly showcased her beautiful legs and with her stately shoulders draped with a shawl that accentuating a striking and expensive looking necklace, she had an air of mystique about her. She came to South Africa 25 years ago, leaving her family behind in a town called Enschede which borders with Germany. It became apparent that her relationship with her family was tense and she had rejected her royal heritage. She was curiously stingy with details and even though, on the surface, she had a bounty of tails to tell about her past, I did get the sense that she was guarding some sort of secret.

As luck would have it I was seated next to the Baroness during dinner and I was determined to learn her secret. The only problem was I could only understand about half of what she was saying. She would shift between languages with such ease I came to realize that she thought she was continuously speaking the same language, but she wasn’t. She would start a conversation in Dutch, move to English, then to French and end in German. With my Dutch and French being as rusty as a dirty old nail I struggled, but with great effort I still tried to follow and interrogate her best I could.

Never in my live had I met a woman of Nobel heritage with such a potty mouth. The breath of her curse word repertoire far exceeded my own and she even taught me a new Dutch curse word – “neuken”. Suffice to say I was immediately impressed and liked her a whole lot more! The only curse word she didn’t like and had an enormous problem if used by women of any age is “cunt”. She explained that she just can’t understand why women would speak badly of their own women parts in such a distasteful way. And I have to agree she did make an excellent point! But the Baroness wasn’t the only interesting person at the party; there was also the other queer royalty.

I cannot imagine what it must have been like to be gay in the 1930’s and 1940’s. It was a very different world back then and far less tolerant. Yet, there were gay folk who managed to find life partners and live full productive and happy lives, albeit in secret. One such couple was seated across from me, a lesbian couple in their mid to late eighties who have been together just over 60 years. They met in their early twenties, fell in love and have been together ever since. The only children they have ever had were their dogs, one of which escorted them to this dinner. Speaking to them was like going back in time.

They and another couple, who have been together 25 years, reminisced over a time where being gay was illegal, how they had to meet in secret and how getting married always seemed like a dream they thought would be forever unattainable. They spoke about how the police raided suspected gay parties, barged into houses of their gay friends and to the extend they sometimes had to go to conceal their relationships. As we spoke I noticed a glimmer of envy in their eyes, as I could tell they looked at us, the younger generation, and wonder if we realized how profoundly lucky we are. I could see in the older lady’s eyes that she wondered if we would use our freedom and opportunities wisely. After all we, the younger generation, have achieved our freedom and the civil rights we have today due to the battles they started fighting when we were only a twinkle in our parents’ eyes.

There are days that I forget how lucky I am. Lucky that I can be openly gay. Lucky that I could marry the man I love. Lucky that we can have children and lucky that my human rights are acknowledged and protected. Some days I forget that not all generations were so fortunate, and some days I forget that in other countries in the world there are gay folk who still live in fear and in secret. It is nice to sometimes just receiving a small dose of a reality check that puts your life in perspective. In this case it was fully achieved by our gay Royalty. They lived with discrimination, intolerance and ignorance and yet they survived. They have been together many decades and they are still in love.

Driving home that night I had allot to think about. I thought about the Baroness and the secret she hides and whether I will ever uncover her true past. I tried to imagine what my life would have been like had I lived in the 1940’s and whether my husband and I would have been strong enough, in that period, to sustain our relationship. I thought about how brave the two frail old ladies must have been to have been a relationship during a time it wasn’t accepted and I tried to imagine them 50 years younger. That evening I decided to never let a day go by without acknowledging and protecting all the blessing I have: my accepting family, friends, my marriage and my civil rights. Because far too often in life we take the small things for granted, and in life more times than not, it is the small things that matter!

Till next time.

Snogging to Make a Point

2011-08-28T10:54:00.000+02:00

There's nothing like a good old fashioned pool snog fest to make a point. Din [A] Tod, a German musician, recently released this music video for his song "Cold Star" and called it "an appeal for the acceptance of your own and other's sexual identity". A bit raunchy it may be, but it does bring the point home loud and clear. Watch for yourself.

A Big Fat Cow Hoof to the Homophobes

2011-08-27T10:24:00.001+02:00

- A Guest post by my favourite Fag Hag GeeGee Curtained -

When I was little there was a show on telly called ‘My Two Dads’ about a girl being raised by two gay men and I always wished I lived in that show. Ok, that and I would daydream that I was actually a princess who was swapped at birth and one day my ‘real’ parents would swoop down in a great big helicopter with two rotors and rescue me - on the despised school grounds naturally.

I also had a fabulously flamboyant gay uncle who would bring me fantastic gifts from all over the world that would send my imagination on a wild ride every time, I had my journey around the globe mapped out in an Atlas before I was 10. I LOVED spending time with him, listening to his tales from far and wide - I’m pretty sure he edited a lot of his stories to make them suitable for my young ears, especially the ones that were set in Bangkok, but still! So, clearly I was destined to be a fag hag, I didn’t stand a chance!

I’ve never really had a lesbian friend before. Well, I did in High School, but I didn’t know she was gay until I found out she was telling people I was her girlfriend, so technically that doesn’t count. Lezzie’s in the family, yes. But no actual friends.

Suddenly I found myself becoming a lettie bag and befriending one for the first time at my *cough* rather advanced age! A real lezzie. A dyke lezzie. I call Jonesey my Gentledyke. I don’t know whether she can fix cars or do plumbing but she is one of the few people who can hold her own in the Rabbit Hole almost as well as I can when it comes to alcohol consumption – that doesn’t make me a lesbian, it just means I have a cast iron liver... *ahem*

She’s quite a little lezzie but she has already leapt to my defence more than once. If my passport ever allows me to go to the kind of bar that brawls break out in on a regular basis I would happily pick her and her ‘Beast’ to have my back any day. Come to think of it, I would NEVER look for shit with them either. Beast looks fukken scary man, like she could break you in half with one hand tied behind her back! Rumour has it that she’s actually a very gentle soul but I wouldn’t try my luck.

Anyway, Jonesey and I get on so well that she has been welcomed into our jealously guarded inner circle of merry misfits BUT not so well that Himself will finally have that oh-so-clichéd fantasy fulfilled of seeing me with another woman. I just don’t see the point of lesbian sex, I mean, what do they do??

I’ve had many gay men as friends, some I’ve booted out of the closet, some are clinging to that door handle for dear life and some are Out and Proud but there are two who are especially dear to me.

One of my oldest friends is an absolutely fabulous drag queen known as Tarren with more than his fair share of gay beauty titles who is a hairdresser by day and a flamboyant queen by night. We always have a scream of a time in the Rabbit Hole – he also flirts shamelessly with my husband but fortunately Himself just takes it all in his stride. He’s actually one of the few drag queens I know who doesn’t lip-sync or wear a wig and lives his character, the only difference is that when he does a show he puts his slap on a LOT thicker. Tarr can sing anything from ABBA to Crash Test Dummies with perfect pitch and is blessed with a mane of beautifully coiffed long blonde hair, his brows are always perfectly plucked and his manicure and make-up immaculate. He can also be a total blonde... We were at Woolworths one day buying a few bottles of pink Veuve Cliquot bubbly for his birthday celebrations and as we were walking out of the store he turns to me with a look of undiluted horror on his face and says ‘Gawd ange, that’s fucken expensive for Woollies champagne!’ I was on the floor!!

He’s so camp that he’s my secret weapon to weed out the undercover homophobes in my life – and he loves playing that game with me. There are few things that amuse me more than dragging him along to a stuffy family gathering and watching people pretend to be cool with him and the whole gay thing because they know they’ll get a bitch slap from me if they don’t play nice. Hey - anything to get through those things, a secret stash of Bloody Mary fixings in my handbag doesn’t always do the trick you know.

My sister-in-law is one of those unfortunate souls who have zero social IQ as well as being a 45 year old spinster with the emotions and mannerisms of a 10 year old - I’m talking cutesy hair clips, matching plastic jewellery, the whole shebang. I have a very strong suspicion that she’s a lesbian who hasn’t cottoned on to the fact yet, but anyway, that’s a story for another day. She’s always desperately wanted to have gay friends and from the moment she laid eyes on the fabulousity that is Miss Tarren she has stuck to his side like shit to a wool blanket whenever we’re all together and I swear he can smell her desperation. He takes an almost cruel delight in saying things to her that he knows will shock her, yet the poor clueless cow keeps coming back for more. She made the grave mistake one night of telling him she does Scottish Dancing once a week and has been for years.

Now, she’s a rather uhm... big girl with the grace of a Sumo wrestler and I don’t think Tarren could resist the temptation of seeing her bouncing around the Rabbit Hole so he asked her to demonstrate. Encouraging comments like ‘Oh ange, you’re so light on your feet’ and ‘It’s just like skipping, show me again’ had the rest of us rushing outside like a herd of buffalo before we fell apart in front of her. After the demonstration he turned to me and said ‘Fuck ange, I hope those classes she’s been taking are free!’ Tarr is such a bitch (and I love it) but before you judge you need to know that Himself’s sister has given me all kinds of hell in the 25 years I’ve known her, so it was time for some light revenge. He’s also got a potty mouth that would make a sailor blush and I wouldn’t want him to be any other way...

I’ve also learnt the hard way NEVER to look when he thrusts his cell phone in my face and says ‘Oooooh Ange! Look here!’ Let’s just say that he’s really into Bears and I’ve seen more hairy asses and ball bags than any woman ever should!

That brings me to my gay husband Hawtentawt. From the moment we first laid eyes on each other something clicked and the Terrible Twins were born! We can gossip without saying a word to each other, a look is all it takes. Unfortunately sometimes those looks cause snorts and chortles and all sorts of sound effects that get us into trouble at the worst times.

Himself and Hawts get on like a house on fire and over weekends we’re the Three Musketeers - we cook, drink, talk shit, party and generally get up to no good together. Hawts doesn’t look gay at all and is very proud of that fact – girlies are checking him out constantly, if only the poor things knew he prefers cock! Himself calls him ‘a straight man’s moffie’ and they take the piss out of each other constantly – but let anyone else say anything negative about either of them and all hell breaks loose!

Unfortunately Hawts doesn’t get on that well with Tarren - he says he’s gay because he likes MEN, not FAIRIES! I don’t have the heart to tell Tarr this, although personally I think it’s because Hawts doesn’t want to share his fag hag! Lolz...

I’ll never forget the day Hawts met my in-laws for the first time. Nobody and I mean nobody who’s ever met them can wrap their heads around the fact that Himself is related to that lot – they’re just so... uhm... left of centre. Anyway, it was Christmas day a couple of years ago, we were all doing the handing out presents bit and Hawts was sitting sort of behind everyone with a very bemused look on his face observing the curious interactions taking place. Remember I mentioned my sister-in-laws emotional age? Well, one of the gifts we bought her was a battery operated cup that mixes your hot chocolate for you. Very cutesy. My mother-in-law took one look at the wrapped box and the batteries we put in the gift bag and said, completely deadpan, ‘I hope that’s not a Dildat’. I was in absolute pieces, I couldn’t even look at Hawts and he made a very discreet and quick exit from the room. Hawts can also be a real bitch – he found a Chrissie hat somewhere that said ‘Ho Ho Ho’ on it and gave it to my sis-in-law to wear, telling her how good it looked on her. Poor cow had us take a picture and made it her Facebook profile pic!

Shortly after we met I was diagnosed with a brain tumour and where most ‘new’ friends would’ve run screaming for the hills not daring to look back in case they turned into a pillar of salt, Hawts was there for me. I mean THERE for me. Loooooong story but it involved countless hours of hand holding, doctor’s visits, hospital visits, blood, tears, laughter, head shaving, 70 metal staples, a Bride of Frankenstein lookalike, a titanium plate, home visits, gallons and gallons of ice-cream, Will and Grace, Queer as Folk, movies, flowers, pyjamas, wigs, prescription drugs, weed and tattoo parlours. After the amount of morphine injections and Vitamin B shots he’s given me he also knows the layout of my ass far better than he should.

Since our friendship started we’ve both had more than our share of the shit pile life can sometimes be and that’s why we make a point of having as much fun as possible. We’re both Piscean so luckily we have a healthy dose of black humour – we need that as we both suffer from ‘foot in mouth disease’ too. We sit for hours discussing who is banned from our funerals and we both know where our respective hidden stash is we don’t want anyone to come across when we die, especially our mothers! We have agreed under pain of haunting each other to uphold our pinkie swear promises regarding these incredibly important issues.

Last year we talked Hawts’ ex into coming to Gay Pride 2010 in Johannesburg with us. Being a Medical Professional *said in respectfully hushed tones* who comes from a much respected and well known line of Doctors, Doc doesn’t ever really let his hair down and it was his very first Gay Pride. I found that hard to believe until I saw the way he carried on that day – we practically had to carry him to the car when we wanted to leave and he was protesting all the way. He was a great sport and in all the time I’ve known him I’ve never seen him let loose the way he did that day, like a kid in a candy store! On pain of death I had to promise not to put any pics of him without his carnival mask on in my Facebook album.

By the time we got there we were already quite well lubricated, having bubbly for breakfast gives one quite a good buzz – especially if you skip the food part. We chose drinks instead of food all day and were like energizer bunnies on speed. On the way home to the ‘after party’ where our friends and Himself were waiting for us Doc spent most of the journey hanging out of the sun roof flying the massive gay flag we’d brought with us in one hand, drink in the other and lustily singing along to ‘Alejandro’. We were all full of beans, bragging about how we were going to ‘rock the house’ when we got there. By 7 o’clock we were all passed out cold and the party went on just fine without our glitteringly entertaining company, so that didn’t exactly pan out the way we’d planned... erm...

Three weeks later an official letter was delivered to Doc’s practice and his receptionist opened it to be confronted with a pic taken by a camera on the N1 of Doc’s Range Rover happily speeding away with the Gay Flag flying proudly out of the sunroof. As I explained to him it could’ve been much worse, at least the picture isn’t of him hanging out of the sunroof too, topless with his black painted lips and nails!

Hawts is single and has been for ages but after the last 2 dates I nagged him into going on I don’t think any will be happening again for a while – the one guy apparently had a ‘bulging eyeball’ and the other one ‘funny fingers’. Gawd, he is SO full of shit!! I really wish he would get himself a partner but clearly any prospective candidate would have to be thoroughly checked out first PLUS he would have to fit in with the merry misfits – quite a tall order.

I really have the best of both worlds and feel very blessed with the gorgeous men I have in my life who wrap me in cotton wool. A Husband AND a Gusband I adore who will do anything for me. Hawts does everything with me that Himself isn’t into and Himself does the rest. How lucky am I bitches??

So, to all the fugly homophobes out there I flip a big fat cow’s hoof and say fuck you all. You don’t know what you’re missing. Either that, or you DO know and you’re terrified you come rocketing out of the closet by accident. Pierre wrote a post for my blog a few weeks back entitled ‘Beware the Sodomites Want to Recruit You’. As far as I’m concerned the Sodomites are more than welcome to take over the world, they’re much more fun than most straight people anyway. As for recruiting me – I’m not too sure about that, I love a good dick as much as any gay man and could never give it up and become a lettie! ;-)

Till next time Butterflies....

GeeGee Curtained xOx

To read more from GeeGee visit her Blog Two Fat Cows & a Bottle of Goose HERE
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It's Raining Men - This is for you Hurricane Irene!

Gays to Blame for Earthquake?

2011-08-25T17:16:00.002+02:00

“Gayness” has been blamed for the East Coast tremors in the United States of America this week. Yes, you heard me right! Apparently the influence and extraordinary power of the queers has yet again made the earth move and this time it wasn’t only limited to our bedrooms. Pat Robertson (the crazy televangelist) pinned the blame, in part, on us gays for the 5.8 magnitude earthquake that rattled the East coast. According to him it wasn’t even the gays per se (darnit) , but rather behaviour that Robertson labelled “gay-like” that pissed off the almighty and prompted him to smote Americans. As I sigh and roll my eyes, I can only ask the obvious – Really Pat Robertson, Really?

According to Robertson “All across the Eastern seaboard, there are men who get manicures, wear designer eyewear and know about thread counts and God finds this gay-like behaviour confusing, and He responded by getting mildly peeved”. Pat did God Skype or Facebook you or something, how do you know this? Surely the CEO of like the whole Universe and such has better things to worry about other than meterosexual men and their God Damn manicures (hmmm... does God really damn manicures?). Secondly, Pat are you a selfish son of a bitch who don’t want people to have nice things? How is getting a manicure, designer eyewear and good linen with a high thread count immoral behaviour? It’s called having good taste and good personal grooming something, from the looks of it, you have very little off.

Queerly, Pat went further to warn that people should not get too upset about the earthquake and said “God looks at people who get their panties in a twist after a little shaking, and He says to Himself, ‘Wow, that’s really kind of gay’”. Well, I must concur with God on this one: the twisting of one’s panties and the right kind of shaking is indeed a little gay, especially if done with the right amount of KY and with sufficient thrust. But, then again, I am not sure whether God would be into watching that kind of thing, but maybe you are Pat, you do look like a kinky kind of guy. It’s always the folks who protest too much against homosexuality who are caught paying for male hookers or found blowing guys in public restrooms.

According to Pat the gays can not only cause earthquakes we can also influence the weather. Who knew? I wish someone told me that when the last cold front rolled in. Pat said “If you keep on getting pedicures and facials, you can expect two to three inches of rain and some really hot humid days in your future”. Now let me get this straight. Manicures, sunglasses and knowledge of thread counts causes earthquakes and pedicures and facials causes rain and humidity. Isn’t it amazing how personal grooming, fashion and tasteful decor can be so frightfully immoral and dangerous? We must be teetering on the edge of a very precarious slope. I am shivering in fear hiding behind my Prada sunglasses and surely will have nightmares tonight under my Egyptian Cotton Sheets (thread count 1500 FYI).

I don’t know about you but I am getting rather tired of crazy fundamentalist religious freaks making sweeping statements in public forums. Statements that is fantastical, unfounded, bizarre and insulting to the intelligence of the people who are unfortunate enough to have to listen to them. Robertson falls into the same category as, amongst others, the folks from the God Hates Fags fraternity - the “Let’s scare the shit out of people with our Bullshit and get their money!” category. Shirley Phelps Roper, who periodically sends me tweets on Twitter that does not make any sense, and Pat Robertson could be family as they seem to be peas from the same crazy ass train pod. I am not entirely convinced that their parents didn’t actually fuck each other at some point, but if they did this is the result we are being chastised with.

Blaming natural disasters on the gays is not a new thing. Before it became fashionable to blame the queers by fundamentalist freaks, Communism was the flavour of the month. So I guess the Gays have become the new Communists. The blame game is an age old tradition and has been successfully wielded by many groups, feeding of the fears of society for their own selfish gains. The gain, most times, being to get their greedy little paws on other people’s cash. If you scare enough gullible people (and there are plenty out there) into believing a group or aspect of society is a genuine threat to their way of life and offer them a false sense of security, it is easy to get them to part with their money. And in this day and age it has become easier than ever and it’s rubbing my tits the wrong way!

So, Pat Robertson are you really as stupid as you sound? I guess that is the real question to be asked here. The men who are getting those manicures, pedicures and buying the designer eyewear and to whom thread counts matter in all probability are not stupid enough to be dissuaded by your mindless rants. Mind you, neither is the greater world population either. If I were you, I’d be more worried about what God thinks of your utterances and the words you put in His mouth. I am convinced that He is not at all amused by you making Him sound like a blabbering idiot, and He must be appalled by the state of your cuticles! I am so scheduling a facial and pedicure for next week, we can do with some rain...

Till next time.

Not the actual video (couldn't find it on YouTube), but this gives you a good idea of the freak show that is Pat Robertson.

Yoü And I

2011-08-21T17:44:00.000+02:00

Lady Gaga's new music video Yoü And I was released this week and once again it doesn't disappoint. Gaga also makes for a rather handsome guy as well, if I do say so myself, and a Mermaid if you are into that kinda thing. Check out the music video.

Web Therapy

2011-08-16T17:33:00.013+02:00

Recently I discovered a hilarious online web series called Web Therapy. It made all my funny bones tickle. So, seeing as I am a tad strapped for time in the blogging department at the moment I decided to share it with you all. The freakishly talented Meryl Streep and Lisa Kudrow had me in stitches. So enjoy!

To watch more of Web Therapy CLICK HERE

Born to Perform this Way

2011-08-14T10:55:00.000+02:00

We love Lady Gaga and some very creative folks out there love Mother Monster so much that they create the most amazing parodies of her music videos. Here is a must see parody preformed by "Weird Al" Yankovic. This is his take of Born this Way. Enjoy!

The Gay Cure

2011-08-11T17:04:00.000+02:00

Oh. My. God. Apparently there is a cure for homosexuality and it is to be found in Ghana! Who knew, nobody informed Queer HQ and I sure didn’t get the memo! The Presbyterian Church of Ghana (PCG) apparently is to establish therapy centres for homosexual “victims” to undergo counselling, rehabilitation and some good old fashioned let’s “Pray the Gay Away”. According to the PCG homosexuality is spreading there like the herpes and they have taken it upon themselves to curb the infection rate with their unique cure. How utterly noble of them, don’t you think? With my homosexuality threatened with a possible cure, and my fagalicious ass quivering with excitement at the prospect of some steamy homosexual therapy, I could not help but wonder just how exactly the PCG plans on rehabilitating the Queers of Ghana.

Firstly as an experienced professional practicing homosexual I must say I never felt like a victim of my sexual preference. Sure there was that time that I had to concede that I no longer fitted into my sexy leather pants and had to accept that my six-pack was a distant memory. And even though I did cry like an emotionally disturbed child whilst wiggling around on my bedroom floor still trying to force myself into those pretty tight pants, still I did not feel like a victim - I just felt fat! Sure, after that experience I joined the gym and for months was tortured with endless hours of cardio training, lifting weights and running like a gerbil on the treadmill, but not once did I feel like a victim of my homosexuality. So why do the PCG believe homosexuals are victims?

Well, to label people as victims of homosexuality and suffering because of it creates the impression that queers need saving. After all if there is nothing wrong with a group of people why try to fuck with their lives? The only thing that is truly causing suffering for the queers in this world is the utter ignorance and intolerance of people whose target audiences are the uneducated masses resulting in us being forced to suffer their stupidity. I mean really, do you think it is fun for us walking around in our well planned and immaculately accessorised outfit and it not be celebrated. Instead, many queers in countries like Ghana are too afraid to express themselves with their clothes and are burdened with having to tone down their appearance and go into hiding in plain sight. God forbid you look gay in Ghana! But for the queers in Ghana the PCG professes to have a cure, a cure that will miraculously alleviate the symptoms of homosexuality. So what would that cure be?

Apparently the PCG will cure homosexuality with the establishment of therapy centres. Oh my... what a well thought out plan. We all know how effective therapy is in converting homosexuals now don’t we. I am a living walking example of the fact that therapy is as likely to make a gay guy straight as it is to make a straight guy gay. Sure you get the odd porn star that is gay-for-pay, the prison inmate that indulges in a spot of prostate thumping, but being gay is so much more than just sex. Something the PCG clearly do not understand. No amount of therapy will take away a gay person’s attraction to the same sex, it will only repress it. Nor will trying to pray the gay away succeed in producing a well adjusted happy heterosexual, it will only result in a self-hating, deeply fearful and inhibited person who will end up pretending to be something he/she is not. As for rehabilitating homosexuals don’t get me started...

What will happen to the gay guys being cured of homosexuality if they fall of the proverbial straight wagon and right onto a penis? Will it be like the AA where there’s a 12 step program and meetings start with “Hallo, My Name is Pierre and I am a Homosexual. It’s been 3 months since I last sucked cock”. And if you do end up with a cock in your mouth will you lose your sobriety pin and have to phone your sponsor? Will they enforce laws further criminalizing homosexuality and threaten gay people into faking being straight? Uganda is again trying to push for the acceptance of their genocide bill, not only criminalizing homosexuality further but could even see homosexuality being punishable by death. Will Uganda also be interested in Ghana’s earth shattering, psychological breakthrough new gay cure? Well I would not hold my gay fairy assed breath. It is an idea dreamed up by an ignoramus that probably secretly yearns to get some dick up his anus. What is Africa coming to?

Sitting here on the Southernmost tip of Africa and looking up north, I am nothing less than ashamed of the continent on which I live and the way it treats its people. People are dying of famine in Somalia, there is civil unrest in Libya and I won’t even talk about Zimbabwe. HIV, poverty and violence are rampant and yet some countries choose to focus their attention on homosexuality. Like it’s the gays’ fault the economy has gone to shit, there are droughts, crime and that there are civil wars. But, like I have said so many times before, this will not stop certain organized religions and their morally corrupt benefactors to savagely exploits minority groups for their own evil gains. Unfortunately for us, the gays make for easy pickings on a continent that seems to lose more of its integrity each passing day. I am so not rushing out to buy a plane ticket to go to Ghana. I am perfectly content being gay and that’s not going away.

Till next time.

Voices from the Hereafter

2011-08-08T13:41:00.000+02:00

I never thought the words séance and I would ever end up in the same sentence on my blog, but is has. You see this past weekend hubby, I and two of our closest friends decided to make contact with the afterlife. It was not to be your typical Saturday night. Now, I am not completely new to the occult and I have attended a couple of exorcisms, hauntings and spiritual cleansings but never before did I attend a séance. So I was in for what promised to be an interesting experience. And an interesting experience it was.

For those of you who read my blog regularly will know I have shared a couple of homes with spirits who did not transition and lingered here on earth past their time. Some were friendly and others (like the guy in our current home) got up to some mischief. But never before did I attempt to make contact with them or had I any desire to communicate with them. I minded my own business and expected them to do the same. So when the subject matter of holding a séance came up, I was perplexed: On the one hand I was oddly curious but on the other hand I was strangely unsettled at the prospect of conjuring up a spirit that otherwise would have been at peace. But, at the end, curiosity won over my reservations.

Like most things in my life I rarely enter into a new experience if I haven’t Googled it, as I am not a big fan of surprises. You’d be amazed about how much literature there are on the Internet about ghosts and séances. Some websites clearly miss the plot and others do provide legitimate and credible advice. Having done my research and being satisfied that the four of us who would be preforming the séance will be safe the scene was set, and we were ready to communicate with the hereafter. Fortunately both my friends have successfully preformed séances before and their experience would come in handy.

A séance is not something you preform as a joke or as a party trick. Your faith must be strong and there is no room for cynicism. Spirits won’t tell you next week’s lotto numbers nor will they always tell you what you want to hear or what you ask. With this fresh in the back of our minds we started our séance. Sitting around a small table, candles lit and the smell of incense in the air we closed our eyes and proceeded to say the Lord’s Prayer. In a pensive and relaxed state of mind we asked to have a positive experience and that no bad spirits or spirits that harbour malevolence to come through. And with that the séance commenced.

This past week was the six year anniversary of my mother’s passing and one would think that I would have wanted to speak with her during our séance. After all I do miss her terribly and even though time does pass some wounds never heal. But I did not speak to my mom; instead we spoke to someone else who passed away more recently. It is a strange experience communicating with someone who has gone to the other side, at first making contact is strained and they appear disorientated, confused even. But their message does come through eventually. And this is what the voice from the hereafter wanted us to know.

“I’m dead... ...I’m OK... ...OK...” was the first message she gave us. She seemed at peace with her transition, but unbeknown to us she had a more poignant message for my friend. There was a letter she wrote and was adamant that my friend find it. She was not forthcoming about the content of the said letter but suffice to say the gist of the letter bare significance for her. The séance lasted about an hour, and two more spirits made an appearance. One had a sense of humour and was clearly bored and did not contribute much to our experience. The other was a man who acted a guide and should we hold a séance again, I trust that he will make another appearance. After an hour we were all pretty drained yet we felt exhilarated. There is a sense of comfort you get from knowing that once you leave this world that it is not the end.

Our séance was a success and left me feeling at peace. It is not the kind of thing I would recommend just anybody do. You are not always sure who will come through and what message they may have for you. Knowing now that I can communicate with the hereafter will I in future want to talk to my mother? Who knows, there is always that possibility. But for now I am satisfied that she is in a good place and when the time comes and I am ready, she may have a message for me that I will be eager to hear. After all the voices from the hereafter speaks only to those who are willing and prepared to listen.

Till next time.