Monday, November 16, 2015

When things start to sag

Growing older sucks.  And not in a good way.  Throw in early onset male menopause and you have the odds stacked so against you that I now totally get why Meryl Streep drank that potion in Death Becomes Her.  Only in real life there are no magic potions only hormones, exercise and diets.  All of which I loathe because hormones require needles, exercise make you sweat and diets are just a “socially acceptable” way of starving yourself.  You know, because anorexia and bulimia are “mental disorders”.

Having gained 7kg (15.4 pounds) in just over three months I can honestly say being fat isn’t fun.  I know that I have been joking that our pregnancy is the reason I have put on a few, as I am "with child" so to speak, but in all honesty most women I know do not gain that much weight during pregnancy.  So why did I gain all this weight in such a short period of time?  Well, according to my doctor (not the one that lives in the Internet who communicates with me through WebMD) it is male menopause and being in my thirties.  I almost killed him, but I didn’t because even though I am chubby I’m still too pretty for jail.  Do you even know what they will do to a pretty boy like me in there?

The final straw that broke the camel’s back happened last week Thursday.  Picture it.  It’s 6:30am at our gay petting zoo, the animals have been fed, I have brushed my teeth, shaved, applied my plethora of age defying creams, done my hair and got ready to get dressed.  I took out an outfit that I wanted to wear, put on my shirt and then tried to put on the pair of pants.  But it didn’t fit.  Then I pick another pair of pants.  That one was also too small.  I made a third attempt, this time I tried to suck everything in and almost popped a vein in my head in the process, but to no avail.  Then I started to panic.

You see, the larger size pants that I recently bought was in the washing and I only had two more pairs of pants left as options for work.  If these two didn’t fit I would be totally screwed!  I have never prayed when I was dressing myself but this day I did.  But my prayers went unanswered.  After I tried on all five pairs of pants I found myself sitting in the middle of a pile of rejection, in the form of pants, sobbing like an emotionally disturbed child.  I looked at my fat and screamed “Why do you hate me?” as if my fat would be able to answer me back.  Anyone who has ever been in that kind of situation will tell you that at that moment you cannot think rationally.  I also almost called in fat for work that day.  But I don’t think that is actually a thing, but it totally should be.   Needless to say I didn’t try it.

Luckily hubby saved the day.  I had forgotten that I bought another pair of pants that I have never worn because hubby hadn’t gotten around to hemming it yet.  So he promptly did and I was able to go to work, albeit it emotionally bruised and feeling rather defeated.  Later that day I spoke to hubby on the phone and he suggested that I go and see my doctor.  Which I did.  While in his consulting room I told him about my unexplained weight gain, that I did not eat more than usual and that he needed to help me.  Then he asked me when last I got a testosterone shot and I then remembered that it was more than seven months ago.  And apparently that was the problem.

Also, apparently those little tropical holidays I have been experiencing again the last three months were hot flashes.  The injection I had seven months ago only works for four months and the last three months my hormone levels took a nose dive again.  Now I am on a testosterone injection once every two weeks until my levels stabilize.  The doctor said that due to the lower testosterone levels I was gaining weight and once the levels are back to normal I will find it easy to lose the extra weight.  But being thirty something I should also remember that my body’s metabolism slows down and that is part of ageing and there is no pill or injection OR magic potion for that.

Look, I do know that we all are going to grow older and that our bodies will change as we do but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.  The fact that I have also noticed that certain parts of my body are on the verge of sagging freaks me out and I will definitely have a few things lifted, nipped and tucked down the line.  I started with Botox when I turned 30 and luckily due to this I have no frown lines, wrinkles or crow’s feet.  However, from the neck down that is a totally different story that I like to refer to as “Ground Zero”.  It’s like a natural disaster but only it involves fat and cellulite; the kind of fat and cellulite that you will eventually have to get sucked out of your body because they are stubborn motherfuckers.

Growing older isn’t any fun.  There comes I time that you have to accept that the twenty something body you once had is gone forever.  The days that you could do fifty sit-ups and have a six pack has passed.  The days that you could lose weight just by fucking breathing is now a distant memory.  Many people I know embrace the process of ageing; they don’t mind gravity sucking their boobs and asses to the ground, the odd wrinkles, grey hair and the cellulite.  They accept it as the natural order of things.  But I don’t.  If we were meant to age gracefully there wouldn’t be things like facelifts, body lifts, tummy tucks, liposuction and Botox to mention but a few.  I’m not saying that I will do all these things or advocating that you do.  All I am saying is that I will try and defy the process of ageing for as long as I can afford it.  And as for my early onset male menopause, I have only one thing to say about and to it is and that is fuck you!


Till next time.

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Saturday, November 14, 2015

Paris Attacks

You are in our thoughts and prayers. May the victims R.I.P.


Friday, November 13, 2015

It's Friday the 13th so don't be an asshole.


It's Friday the 13th and for all those superstitious folk out there, take a Xanax and stay in bed.

I have never believed that there is anything sinister about these "unlucky" Fridays. How can I? I have three black cats who continuously cross my path on a daily basis. Sure my cats are assholes but they have never caused a ladder to fall on me, break a mirror, spill salt or made me forget to touch wood to avoid bad luck. Sure they have tripped me, scratched me (for no reason) and sometimes sit and stare at the wall making weird noises but all of this is just to enforce their authority in the house. They also do this to make us aware that we are the inferior species. Cats like to remind us that they were once worshiped as Gods until some son of a bitch ruined everything for them. So they are just resentful and not evil. Mostly.

Furthermore, touching wood has never helped me to get a parking bay closer to the shop, made me win the lottery or caused me to get a 90% discount on my Botox. In other words  - I do not believe in any of this shit.  And we should stop being assholes to these Fridays. We will give them an inferiority complex or worse - make them resentful towards us.  We don't want them to be pissed off because they are being teased by the other Fridays and make them send Jason after us, now do we.  So don't be a dick and enjoy your weekend.



Wednesday, November 11, 2015

I am so offended! I don't have a STD!

Apparently having a urinary track infection (UTI) is quite normal especially if you are a women. Or so I have been told. I have no way of verifying this with clinical research. Also, if you are gay and have a UTI it is perfectly normal for a nurse to make the assumption that you have slept around while drinking excessively and that your UTI is in all probability is a STD. This  is what happened to me this week.
On Tuesday I woke up blissfully unaware that I had a UTI. That was until I had to pee. When I did I was in considerable pain causing me to negotiate with myself for how long I could hold my pee in before I would die. Apparently not long (holding it in, not the dying part). What made it worse was that I was also passing a kidney stone which is right up there on the "I want to die" pain scale.

As the day progressed and I noticed that there was blood in my urine and I grew increasingly concerned. I did not want to die of blood loss through my penis because that would not make for a good story at my funeral. "How did he die? Well, uhm he bled to death? How? Through his penis?

Naturally when you suspect that you have a UTI you see your doctor. Unfortunately mine was indisposed and could only see me in two days time. Which, when you have a UTI and about to pass a rock through your penis, is a fucking long time to wait.

I did not want to go to the emergency room for my UTI and kidney stone. You see, the problem was that the last time I was there I thought I was having a heart attack which turned out to only be severe heartburn. As such I can never show my face there again. So I opted to go to there pharmacy. It seemed like the lesser of two evils. Also, they did not know about my heartburn incident and would not judge me me.

When I got to the pharmacy and explained my symptoms they seemed quite accommodating at giving me something to make everything better. Well, that was until they heard that there was blood in my urine and then they treated me like a zombie asking for drugs. Feeling less confident to assist me (because they did not want to kill me) I was referred to the nurse. And this is where things went south rather quickly.

I got into the nurse's consulting room and explained what was going on. I just wanted to pass my kidney stone in peace and have my UTI sorted out. So she made me pee in a cup. This would have been fine had I not been experiencing pain at the time. Knowing that I really did not have a choice I reluctantly I complied.

She took the cup with my penis blood and urine and stuck a stick into it and looked at it and then looked at me and said "Hmm there seems to be a lot going on here" To which I thought "No shit lady. Why do you think I am here?" But I didn't say that because I am a gentleman. She said that I definitely had a UTI and then proceeded to ask me if I had been drinking over the weekend to which I responded in the affirmative. This however pissed me off as she made it sound as if I had gone on a drinking binge which was so not the case. And then the part came which really offended me.

"Is your partner also experiencing the same kind of symptoms?" she asked. "Because if he is he would also need to come see me". This made it sound as if my UTI was a STD and that I got it from my husband. I rather rudely responded to her that he wasn't having similar symptoms and that we are not sleeping around. Why I felt the need to explain that to a total stranger holding me pee in her hand is beyond me. But I did it anyway.

Apparently, in her experience, people only come to see her with such symptoms when they are too ashamed to go to their regular doctor because they do have a STD and know it. I found the stereotype I was being boxed into offensive and I was even more upset because it was painful when I peed. It seems that if I am in pain and I don't get drugs to make it go away that I too become rather judgmental: I thought that she was being a bitch which in all probability was not really the case.
After being treated like an alcoholic serial orgy inclined homosexual I got my antibiotics and left. It still hurts when I pee but at least it is not as bad as it was. But at least it no longer feels like I am giving birth to satan through my dick.

I have never used the word penis this often in any of the blog posts I have ever written. So if you are offended by penises I am sorry. It is just that gay guys know a lot about penises and for that I apologize too. Well, not really. But it is what it is. My UTI is being treated and is healing and I passed the kidney stone with great effort. I am still alive and not peeing blood anymore which is a win in my books. I am still offended by the nurse's assumption about me and gay guys in general but I will get over it. However, I will never see her again because I do not plan on getting a STD and if I had one I'd rather see my regular doctor. I prefer being judged by people I know.

Till next time.

100 Years of Lesbian Couples

20 Pictures of lesbian couples covering 100 years.  Yes, we have been around forever.


Friday, November 6, 2015

100 Years of Gay Couples

20 Pictures of gay couples covering 100 years.  Yes, we have been around forever.

We are so much more.

As some of you know, I stopped blogging for a couple of months. I even considered quitting for good. The main reason being that I am so much more than my social media persona. There are so many more layers of myself. Most of us project a very different image of ourselves on social media and it is rare when your social media persona is congruent with the essence of who you truly are. So why do we do this?
Over the years I found that the person people like to read about on my blog is only one tenth of who I am. In reality it is very difficult for me to be a fucking delightful person All. Of. The. Time. After a while it feels like this is all that people want from you. That this is only what people want to read about me and my life. We never project a true image of ourselves on the internet. We don't post the truth when we are really depressed. Instead why pretend everything is fine. That all is ok when it is not.

I think we do this because we are scared that if we reveal that side of ourselves that the people on our friend list will judge us. It seems that most of us seek approval and acceptance on social media which is a shame. We don't want to sound weak. We don't want people to know our true thoughts and feelings. We want to present a facade to the world. We want to appear to be the person people want to see in the cyber world. We pretend we are better than what we actually are.

Let's face it, life is not always a ray of sunshine. Sometimes things are rather shitty. We might have issues at work, in our relationship and/or with our families. Yet, on social media, it is very rare that we will reveal this. And the people who do we see as attention seeking or pathetic. They are the people who depresses us and the people we see as complainers and we judge them for sharing. Furthermore, we also judge them for "over sharing" and this is why most of us don't share our troubles and only put on that fake social media smile.

I have found that I have done this quite often on social media. I have always tried to be delightful and funny on my blog. I wanted people to laugh, I wanted people to smile and brighten their day. I wanted, and still do, people to like my blog.

The truth is that this is only a small part of who I am. I rarely blog about my struggle with depression and anxiety. Like I said before I didn't blog about this because I did not want people to judge me. I also know of quite a lot of people who will be judgemental. But the truth is we do not share this part of our lives because we are either ashamed of suffering from mental illness or we are afraid that if people knew they will see us differently. We don't want to share that part of our lives with people, especially not total strangers.

It has been said that many comedians suffer from depression. Often this is a side of themselves we do not see or would not even believe to be true. After all they are so funny and energetic on stage. We have come to accept that they will make us laugh and assume that they're always like that. We don't want to know about their issues off stage because, god forbid, that will make them seem less funny. The same goes for us - bloggers.

People don't want to read on social media about your shit depressing day. This is why we, most of the time, I never share it. The person we present ourselves to be on the internet is the person we want to be. The person we want other people to believe we are.

I have decided that I will no longer confine myself to the persona people want to believe I am on the internet and social media. I will own my life. Sure I will still not completely reveal all of myself because there is a thin line between privacy and revealing too much. Certain things should remain private. But I have decided to not always appear to be the comedian and delightful person you would like at your dinner party because that is not who I am. I am the person who would rather spend the night at home than go to a party. The person who do not like crowds because they make me anxious. The person who isn't always happy and content. I am who I am and if people do not like me, well then they can go fuck themselves.

Coming to this decision probably comes with age and maturity. It is also quite liberating when you have made this decision. I do recommend it for most of you. Be who you are. Be who you were born to be. We are more than our social media personas.

Till next time.



Monday, November 2, 2015

Adoption: Our Journey.

November is Adoption Awareness Month. This has a very special meaning for us. If it wasn't for adoption we would have never been blessed with our beautiful son. Adoption is not an easy road to travel. It has many emotional ups and downs but in the end of the day it is all worth it.
Our adoption journey is similar to many other LGBT families. Sure there might be a few small difference, here and there, but essentially we all have traveled down the same road. If you are thinking of adoption and want to see what it all entails (from when you decided to adopt until you are a parent) you can get a glimpse by reading about our adoption journey. 

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