Through Thick and Thin

Not everyone likes going to the gym, some people avoid it at all cost as did I. I have heard the gym described as the Gay Church and as the Temple of Torture. Unfortunately there comes a time in one’s life when weight and health issues force you to make a decision. Am I going to let myself go or am I going to get into shape? This happened to me less than three years ago.

One fateful evening in 2006 after getting out of the shower I happened to catch a glimpse of my naked self in the full length bedroom mirror. I paused for a moment, took a second look and froze in horror. Denial could no longer shield me from the toll all the pies, chocolates, crisps and other junk food had taken on my body. There I was on full display and on a closer inspection found a pot belly, love handles, cellulite, a double chin and a face that looked like an over inflated balloon. I was fat! How did this sneak up on me?

In retrospect it didn’t sneak up on me, there were many hints on my lard paved path to podginess. The first hint should have been that my pants no longer fit (I wanted to believe they shrunk). My cats could no longer comfortably lie next to me on the couch as my pot belly was in their way. My face grew rounder and it wasn’t water retention. My weight gain was a gradual process; I didn’t just wake up one morning looking like that. The lack of exercise and the overindulgence on calories gently ushered me into the world of flabbiness.

The very next day my husband and I went on a diet and joined the gym - I didn’t want to suffer alone. After all he did vow to stick with me through thick and thin. I noticed that the gym was divided into three distinct groups: The body builders, the fitness fanatics and the brave fat people (the latter I presume had an epiphany not much unlike mine). My first day at the gym made me feel incredibly insecure: There were so many beautiful bodies in skimpy outfits and there I was in baggy clothes trying to hide my unwelcome additions. I choose to train in the fat sections of the gym, where all our beached whales were desperately trying to return to the ocean. It felt as if everyone was staring at me as I battled and profusely perspired, but in reality nobody actually paid any attention or cared.

The first few months were hell. I despised the Treadmill, Spinning Bike, Rowing Machine and Stairmaster; I pretty much hated everything and every instrument of torment designed for a cardio workout. The first few months I bargained and fought with myself during the middle of each session. Just do 10 more minutes… You know you can do it! Well if you don’t you’ll stay fat! Is that what you want? Well then finish the session fatso!!!

As time passed and the pounds melted away, we became brave enough to participate in the group classes. We were always at the back of the class as neither my husband nor I wanted to embarrass ourselves if we fainted due to over exertion. The first group class was gruelling. I was not as fit as the rest of the regulars and there were a few times I almost passed out, but I proudly persevered. The next day I realized my body underwent an ordeal as every muscle in my body was tender and throbbing, even some muscles I didn’t know I had. Simple tasks like climbing stairs, picking things up and washing my hair were excruciating. Even though it was painful I returned for more like a typical masochist. They say exercise is addictive due to the endorphin fix you get, but I in my case this wasn’t and isn’t true. It was a laborious task that I dreaded but stuck too.

After almost 3 years I lost the weight equivalent of a 4 year old child and I am back to my normal and healthy weight. It has been hard work and exercise has become part of my weekly routine. My husband and I now have joined a new instructor’s class fondly referred to as The Hitler! He works us twice weekly like cheap red light district whores; he has no sympathy and the stamina of a sadistic beast. The fact that he’s damn attractive makes the torture worthwhile and the fact that I transformed my body from marshmallow man to toned and slim makes it even a bigger bonus. That harrowing night in 2006 was a turning point for me. No longer having the metabolism I had in my twenties I now have to pay more attention to what I eat and exercise has become essential in maintaining a healthy body. Luckily this beached whale made it to the ocean with the help of the Temple of Torture, Hitler and lots of sweat, internal battles and tears.

Till next time.

Soccer Practice by Gay Pimp

Virtual Coma

Technology has made our lives much easier, but at the same time it can also be a pain in the derriere. Mobile phones allow us to be accessible 24 hours a day every day. GPS gives us direction without having to ask strangers. The internet has made the world smaller and obtuse people brighter. I believe we have unconsciously become so dependent on technology that many of us will not be able to live our lives without it. So when technology fails us it can be more of an ordeal than just a plain inconvenience.

Last week my home computer fell ill. She kept on rebooting herself. This has been strike 3 in spate of near catastrophic technical failures in my life the last few months (first was our DVD player that’s now departed and disposed off, and then it was the clutch of my car which is now repaired). With my expertise in social sciences and not in IT, my first thought was that my computer has been struck down by a virus. In my mind when ever something ominous happens to my computer it must be a virus. Luckily I have a number of friends in the IT industry and a couple of phone calls and a house call later the diagnoses was made - her power-supply was broken. In the mean time I was effectively isolated from the rest of the world: I had no E-mail, Facebook, MySpace, YouTube, Msn, Skype nothing. All my friends that live inside my computer was trapped there, I could not reach them and they could not reach me. A part of my existence was in a virtual coma.
Even though my real live went on as normal, being disconnected from a part of my virtual daily routine was disconcerting. Even more unsettling was the fact that I planned on fixing my computer myself, because I am stubborn and impatient. I have never attempted anything like this, and it was either going to be a success or I was going to cause irreparable damage. At work I did some basic research with the help of Google and mentally prepared myself for what I was about to attempt. I bought the power-supply and now I was ready to reconnect myself with the virtual world.

Opening up my computer can be equated to cracking someone’s chest for open heart surgery. Seeing all the exposed wires and the nerves of my pc was a frightening sight. With great care I started to remove the power supply. After I disconnected all the wires and the supply was completely detached from my pc, the awful reality of my basic error was sitting on the floor in front of me: I disconnected all the wires but did not pay attention to what I plugged and pulled out where. I panicked, if I plug in the wrong thing at the wrong place I suspected that Guy Fawkes would come early this year. So I made another call to my friend, who I was sure at this stage was getting annoyed with me. He said the cables and instillation of the power-supply was “idiot proof” and straight forward (it may be idiot proof but was it “Pierre proof”?). He asked me to explain what wires I see in front of me and with great effort and by making up a number of new words I described what I saw. His step-by-step guidance was appreciated and helpful.

Twenty minutes later I was confident that everything was plugged in correctly and I was now ready to revive my pc. With everything screwed back, plugged in and hooked up the moment of truth was imminent. I switched on my pc and with bated breath waited, listened and watched. With all my senses fixed on my pc box and monitor I am anticipating an apocalypse inside my computer. Three seconds and no flames or smoke is billowing out; eight seconds no explosion; thirty seconds and the once irksome trade mark jingle of windows confirmed that my pc was alive again. My computer was brought back from her hibernating coma and survived open heart surgery by an untrained and inexperienced technician. I was relieved, and swore to never do this again, not to myself or to my pc.

Being awakened from my virtual coma, after 4 days, my appreciation for technology has been renewed. We never know how much we rely on it and how much time we spent using it until some hardware malfunction reminds us. Without technology we would be back in the dark ages. So even though people sometimes call me when I’m in the loo, my GPS sometimes gets confused and lies to me, I frequently have to reboot my satellite television decoder and my pc sometimes break down, I am thank full to have it in my life and for the ability to accessorise my life with it.

Till next time.

Dustin Black's powerful speech after he won an Academy Award for writing "Milk."

Fabulous Fairies and Ghastly Goblins

" The Queens and Kings of yesterday Vol. II"

My initial post (The Queens and Kings of yesterday) regarding ageism in the gay community proofed to be a thorny one. Some comments and discussions that followed made me wonder

Is gay and grey so unacceptable that it makes gay men run flapping and screaming to their plastic surgeon? Or does the sight of an old single gay man rouse a deeper fear?

Research done on ageism in the USA showed that some older gay men feel undervalued and ignored by the gay community. Some also experience hurtful situations at the hands of youngsters (gay men under 30). To a large degree I agree with these findings. We do undervalue the elderly in our community and we do sometimes ignore them. In my opinion, older gay men fall into one of 2 categories – Fabulous Fairies or Ghastly Goblins. It's comparable to a vintage wine apposed to mouldy food forgotten in your fridge. Fabulous Fairies are the ones that have accepted their age, have fun with it and set a good example of a healthy and happy lifestyle; Ghastly Goblins are the ones that scare me! They are in denial about their age, try to pick up twinks and have a less than desirable fashion sense: the old out of shape guy in a tank top and leather pants whose vocabulary does not include the word “no”; the one that’s over weight, dodgy looking, flaunts his wealth and/or is sure to pop a roofie in your drink; and the one that surrounds himself with post pubescent boys – the typical sugar daddy. None of us really wants to end up like that, do we? Predatory…Lonely….Desperate…Vulgar….

Clubs, bars and other sexualized venues cater for the young, making these venues not always accessible to older gay men. There is no formula to determine when old is too old, but once uneasiness surrounds you at a venue, you may have reached that age. In many cases it is more about your own attitude, appearance and behaviour than your biological age. However this should not mean that once you are over 40 you’re are dead or should retire socially. The fairy will not turn into a goblin at the stroke of midnight. Gay men are not dairy products that will curdle a week after the expiry date.

Ageism exists in all social groups, gay and straight. In my opinion it is emphasized in the gay community because ageing scares us. It makes us ask questions we’d rather avoid, therefore we prefer not to think about it. Being confronted with aging secretly makes us ask

When I am old, single and sick who’s going to take care of me? Will I meet someone and have a relationship at that age? Am I going to die alone?

Not all gay people have children to fall back on. Not all gay people financially prepare for old age as they should. Not all gay people have a close nit social network. None of us want to die alone and only be discovered weeks later after your starving cat has feasted on your corps.

Being in my 30’s I must admit that I do make use of the “oils of delay” – the eye creams, night creams, day creams etc. I have even considered Botox, but for now, I still like the ability to express my emotions on my face. In a few years I too will be 40. Being in a long-term and stable relationship makes me less worried about growing old. I have a life partner that is ageing with me. Gravity will be cruel to both of us; we will have matching sagging bums and man boobs not to mention the liver spots, but as our looks fade we still will have each other – if we’re lucky! I will take pride in my appearance; take care of my body and skin keeping the twilight at bay for as long as I can.

There are many older gay men and women who live happy lives well into their twilight years. There are also many gay couples that have been together for more years than I am old, which gives me hope for my own marriage. They have a tremendous contribution to make to our community. They are the survivors of the HIV epidemic and the veterans of the gay rights movement. We are indebted to them for so much we have today. Ageism in the gay community, in my opinion, is the embodiment of the central fear that plague our community - our fear of growing old and the consequences thereof. Some older members of our community set bad examples that make us fear growing old even more, but there are countless others who we do not readily see that dispel the myth about what happens to fairies after they “retire”.

Till next time.

Flu and the peeing Buddha

I love the rain, but delight turned into dread as we have been drenched for the last few weeks. The fluctuation in temperature combined with me forgetting the one golden rule my mother taught me (make sure you are dressed warm) caused me to catch the flu. I absolutely hate being sick! The last time I had the flu was 5 years ago. Between coughing, sneezing, general body aches and fever I was in denial until a simple maneuver with my car ended up with me scratching my bumper against a pole. Staring at the white paint of the pole on the black paint of my car and calculating in my head how much the repair will cost, it finally sunk in – I am sick and must see the Dr!

It was confirmed, I indeed had flu. He prescribed the usual treatment and 2 days of bed rest. Clearly the Dr forgot I am a Type A personality and asking me to stay in bed is like asking the pope to go to a rave club. I can not lie in bed for 2 whole days, I’d go insane. They say men become like babies when they are sick. In my case that holds very true. When ill I have a very short fuse, need to be loved, pampered, cuddled and have things carried after me and done for me, or else I sulk or display menopausal mood swings. Flashes of fever makes me feel like I am taking mini tropical holidays to hell and the coughing resemble the sounds of crazed demons you’d expect to find there.

Having 2 days of “bed rest” I became very creative in passing the time. Besides trying to sleep (I am a chronic insomniac), surfing the net and watching TV (which takes very little physical exertion) I also ventured into the strange world of Chinese teas. A friend of ours recently returned from China and brought my husband I a goody bag, which included amongst other things, a peeing Buddha and Chinese flowering tea. There is a whole ritual to preparing the perfect cup of tea; a ritual that took me just over 3 hours to master and an utter loathing for a small ceramic little fat man.

The ritual seems straightforward. First, you have to soak your ceramic Buddha in water; after the little man is soaked you boil your tea water and then poor the boiled water over the Buddha. If he pees the water is perfect, if not the water is either burnt or too cold. Who knew you could burn water? Seems simple enough, however my Buddha didn’t want to pee! The little ceramic instrument of mental torture made me boil water 12 times before releasing a gentle stream of approval from beneath his fat belly. With the perfect boiled water I was ready for my flowering Chinese tea. Watching tea infuse has never quite been so exciting, watching the odd looking ball bloom into a beautiful flower was the pay off I was hoping for. Tea that’s pretty and aromatic is good for the soul, but taking 3 hours to make it is just obscure.

Being sick is not fun for anyone. Being sick and bored is worse. Luckily it’s not a permanent situation and soon I will be up and about again. My husband has been a very good nurse, just a pity he doen’t have a matching outfit. He has been patient, showed the appropriate amount of concern and affection and been firm when I displayed childish behavior. Getting sick, I believe, is your body’s way of forcing you to take a break, slow down and get some much needed rest. If you are anything like me, absolute boredom will also usher you into exploring strange and sometimes silly things to amuse yourself while your body heals. I would love to hear what you get up to when forced to “bed rest”.

Till next time.

Persimmon Diet - Margaret Cho

It will never happen to me!

Many of us live our lives largely unaffected by news events or by the turmoil of others. We are bombarded with atrocious events in the print and news media and think to ourselves “It will never happen to me”. We have empathy for those affected by war, disease, violence and poverty, but it rarely extent past our comfort zone. This week I was forced out of my comfort zone. Media reports had a direct impact on my live and the plight of someone conjured up painful memories.

Last week news broke that the final death blow was delivered to the organization I work for. Legislation fashioned in an undemocratic manner was adopted and signed thereby blighting the future careers of all of us who are affected. A sombre mood followed. Having to face the challenge of integrating with another organization, not having a clear sense of direction and being confused by the process that is to follow is daunting to say the least.

For the first time decisions made by government will have a direct impact on my life. It’s easy to slip into depression and become muted or even passive aggressive due to a sense of powerlessness. Reading the news articles I wonder how many other people read about their fate in the news and whether the feeling of obscurity I had is the same. As the initial impact passed and the shockwaves grew slighter, I realized how resilient one must be to survive. I adopted an attitude of liability towards my own future; no matter what will be thrown at me I will be prepared to face the challenge. It may be easier said than done, but being negative and anticipating that which I don’t know will only hinder the successful negotiation of my future. This holds true for most trials in life.

During the same week a colleague was diagnosed with cancer and a famous actress, I admired, died from the disease. My colleague is a young vibrant woman who has always been in great health and good spirit. The news of her illness visibly destroyed her. Having an oncologist tell you to make sure your affairs are in order is the worst words anyone can hear. The same words fell on my mother’s ears just over 4 years ago. She learned that she had terminal cancer and had less than 18 months to live. We all know that we are going to die, how ominious it must be to know your specific deadline.

I saw my mother go through all the phases from denial, anger, bargaining and depression. Acceptance was tough for all of us but most arduous for my mother. I saw the strong woman that raised me wither away as the disease ravaged her body and at times stripped her of her dignity. The morning she died I felt relieved that her suffering was over. It took a long time to eliminate the visual memory of my dying mother and surrogate it with a memory of her at her prime - therapy helped. We were fortunate, we had time to prepare and had time to say good bye. I am not sure I understand how difficult it must have been for her during the last 9 months of her life, but she remained strong willed until sheer will and faith was not enough.

Cancer is an inhumane and indiscriminate disease. Saying good bye to my colleague as she sets off on the battle of her life, the memory of my mother prevented me from saying phrases like “Stay strong”, “You can beat this” and “Everything is going to be ok” - those words are futile. She will not stay strong, she may die and things are not going to be ok: She will be sick from treatments; her body will be scarred from surgery; emotionally she will go to the darkest places she has ever been and if she survives the memory of her illness will haunt her every time she falls ill, discovers a lump or see her scars. The only words of encouragement I could muster was “Laugh every opportunity you get, cry when you must, take it a day at a time and never loose your will to live”.

The past week helped me get perspective. As I said before, there are no certainties in life and that which is unexpected in all probability could happen to you. I realized that I should be grateful for what I have in my life and embrace adversities as it can only devastate me if I allow it to. The challenges that I face seem insignificant compared to that of others, and I will always remember that all people’s experiences are inherently egoistic. Your own problems, at the end of the day, are more important to you than those of others.

I challenge everyone who read this to take a “tea break” from your own life and have a good look around you and savour the moment.

Don’t let an opportunity go by to laugh. Don’t be afraid to cry. Life is too short.

Till next time.

HERE COMES THE SUN as sung by Nina Simone

The breakup

Some who read my blog may think that I am obsessed with my appearance. Taking pride in the way I present myself to the world should not be misconstrued with obsession. I am no oil painting and achieving a presentable appearance is not an easy feat; this is achieved by having a good hair stylist, cosmetologist and my husband’s fashion advice. Not being a morning person, small children and some domesticated animals may take fright if they are misfortunate enough to have a glimpse of me at sunrise.

Recently, my hairstylist of 5 years told me she was moving to London. The news shocked me. I was among many of her loyal clients who had an adverse reaction to this unwelcome news. It felt like I was being broken up with, my stomach turned and I was flustered having to face an uncertain future regarding my hair. I knew my stylist since she was an appetence at the salon (I have been a loyal customer there for the past 8 years). I saw her develop into an exceptional hairstylist who also has been rewarded accolades for her talent and devotion to her craft. The prospect of losing her and not being able to find someone that could live up to her standard was disheartening. Furthermore, I was faced with the difficult decision whether I would stay at the salon or leave. Leaving would be like cheating, eventually culminating in a divorce of sorts from a group of people who became like family to me from the shampoo girls, the stylists to the owner.

Not dealing well with breakups, I shaved my hair. Work was part of the reason why the hair had to go, but the secondary motivation was to buy time before I had to make my decision. I do not look good as a skin head, the word “convict” comes to mind. My hair could not grow back quick enough. The touch-ups I needed during the initial re-growth and the ghastliness of the barber shop was too much for me to endure: the barber’s skill is limited to one hair style; they do not brush away the previous client’s hair; and I feared getting dandruff or some hair and/or sculpt disease. I was starting to pine for the comforts of a salon, intelligent conversation, juicy gossip and a professional hair cut.

As luck would have it my husband befriended a husband and wife team of stylist, he met through work. We had dinner with them one evening at which point I decided to take the plunge and entrust my hair to them. A week later I made my first appointment. An hour before I was to arrive, feeling nervous and stressed, I almost cancelled twice. I do not like change! Anyone who cares about their hair would know going to a new stylist is as frightening as discovering your breaks have failed while driving fast down a small stretch of road heading for a sharp turn.

Walking into the salon my nerves were shot. The staff did their best to make me feel at home. The atmosphere was informal, light hearted and I was made to feel like a friend being introduced to a new social network - there were even some eye candy to gawk at. My stylist’s wife also popped by to ask whether I was nervous. My nerves soon settled after discussing with my new stylist what I wanted and he explained to me realistically what we can achieve. Diplomacy is a key skill in hairdressing.

I spent a couple of hours at the salon, having my hair coloured and cut. For the first time in 8 years I was allowed smoke breaks during treatments - a big plus! The staff appeared to enjoy their work, had a passion for what they do and the skill to match. I left the salon looking great. Finally I was blond again and have something that resembled a hairstyle. I found a new family who can look after my hair, people whose expertise I can trust and want to build a relationship with.

Driving home, I still had a sense of guilt for divorcing my salon of 8 years. I will miss the times I spent there and the people I came to know. My stylist decision to move to London to broaden her horizons and breathe new life into her career also forced and encouraged me to make some changes in my life. In life there are no certainties. We all change and sometimes the decisions of others instigate change in us. It’s not always pleasant, but without this, life would be far less interesting. I wish my stylist the best of luck with her future and career. Those who she leaves behind will miss her, but those fortunate to cross her path can look forward to a compassionate ear that will listen, a good friend that will tell you the truth and of course GREAT HAIR!

Till next time.

I AM WHAT I AM live performance by Shirley Bassey

Crack and Sack

I had a particular rough week. By Wednesday my optimistic mood was shattered, and I was left feeling pissed off, dejected and particularly annoyed with all my colleagues. So I stuffed my face with carbs then attended a high impact cardio kick boxing class at the gym, to burn off the carbs. Thursday morning I decided to take a deep breath, adjusted my attitude and put all my frustrations in a bubble and blow it away. I then did what any gay man would do and attended to my personal grooming - gay therapy!

Gay grooming is a complicated affair. Depending whether you are a Bear, Bear Cup, Butch, Femme, Twink, Muscle Mary, Drag Queen etc, gay grooming have different rules for different groups. But no matter in which group you fall, one rule stands – pubic hair should never be left to grow unattended. If you have an Amazonian jungle in your jockstrap or panty you are sure to get a disgusted stare from any potential sex partner. No one wants to go down on a monkey and very few homosexuals prefer a hairy ass to a smooth bubble butt. Homosexuals prefer genitalia to be neatly kept as we want to see what we have to work with. Correct grooming can make anything look shiny, bigger and better, it’s also is more hygienic. There is no handbook explaining these rules, you learn them through trial and error and if you are really unlucky through a sex partner who will rudely point out your grooming errors. (All homosexual have a bitch gene, in some the gene is more dominant and we all know who we are!)

My waxing routine is painful but simple. All hair from the neck down is removed, apart from that which is covered by a g-string which I attend to myself. I have considered having what they call a “Crack and Sack” (the male equivalent of a “Brazilian Wax”) but the idea of it gives me nightmares. I can’t imagine having to bend over in awkward positions, having to pull my cheeks apart, having to tightly grip the skin of certain parts of my anatomy in order to assist my waxing technician to get to all those nooks and crannies. Besides being embarrassed to do so, I imagine the pain would be horrendous. It will also add an extra 15 minutes to my 45 minute appointments.

After my waxing session I leave the spa free of unwanted hair, I leave feeling happier, lighter and less frustrated. I caught up on all the gossip and realized that my problems are far less significant than those of other clients.

At home I attend to the finishing touches, which do included contorting my body into awkward positions, but at least I have a good understanding of my own anatomy and have no audience (apart from our 3 cats who find the whole routine fascinating to watch). It’s amazing what one can achieve with a pair of clippers, shaving cream and a razor. You can transform your body from that of a cave man to a porn ready super stud. Maybe it was the change that happened in the gay porn industry during the 90’s that inspired the big change in gay male genital grooming. But what ever the instigating factor was, I am grateful for it. The days of bushy pubes, hairy balls and hairy asses are over. Gay genital grooming has claimed its rightful place in the Top 5 spots of gay therapy: Hair cuts, Gym, Clubbing, Sex and Genital Grooming (Not in order of preference or importance). Till next time



You're Fabulous! (Now You Know!)
With Daily Drag Queen Affirmations, a man in a dress will make you feel good about yourself, EVERY DAY!

http://dailydragqueenaffirmations.com

Condoms, Pepper Spray and True Love

My husband and I have been together for 10 years and 10 months. That’s like 28 in straight years. In gay terms it is admittedly miraculous and we should qualify for the guineas book of records. It is not always sunshine and roses, fabulous sex and holding hands while skipping through flower beds. Relationships are hard work. Some mornings I wake up, look at my husband I think “oh my god, your face again, what the fuck have I been thinking the last ten years”. His small habits which was enduring at first are now the biggest annoyances: His tendency to let his work stuff take over our apartment, the way he leaves the stove after cooking, the fact that he gets cranky if he doesn’t snack at least 5 times a day and I can go on... But every so often I take a pause from my life, look at my husband when he’s not aware and think I am one lucky bastard!

Having many single friends I realize that I would hate to be in their shoes. Dating in our day and age is hazardous to any self respecting homosexual mental health. With internet dating (and we all know how people lie on the net) you never know what you are going to get and pepper spray is always an advisable piece of protection for a first date, not excluding condoms that is – hopefully the use of both will be never be required on the same date.

A dear friend of mine has had particular bad lack in recent months. He has dated three guys in a span of 14 months. All three relationships failed and he was broken up with twice; once over msn and once with a text message. Luckily he had the opportunity to dump one out of the three, but he had the decency to do it face-to-face over dinner. I can not imagine how I would react being broken up with via text message. I would most probably hire a hit man or develop self image issues.

One thing I noticed is that all homosexuals have standards in what they look for in a companion. Starting out the standards is quite high and lower with time. First the priority is outer beauty, age, work and income status and how you’ll look as a couple in public. Then you graduate to looking at inner beauty, age, income and whether you would want to go out in public. Finally, sitting opposite a potential suitor having had a string of failed relationships, you are left with the question “Am I prepared to stoop to this level and can I bare having sex with this person more than once?”

The gay community believes in fast love, quick sex and is obsessed with appearance. This is what makes us special. However this is also our achilles heal. When it comes to relationships we face unique challenges unlike those of heterosexuals which make finding true love rare. We have particular issues with Monogamy, Marriage, Children and Growing Old. Making relationships work is our most daunting challenge, but when ever you are ready to take the plunge, realistically determine what you want in a companion and honestly be who you are, it will happen. I believe we all have a sole mate, some of us have a few, and he\she is out there waiting for you; once both of you are ready you will meet. Whether there is a happy ever after, I don’t know, but it sure as hell is worth trying to find out.

Till next time.

"Hedwig and the Angry Inch - Origin of Love"

A bitter pill to swallow

Returning from a holiday is always a bitter sweat affair. On the one hand I languish at returning to the monotonous status quo and on the other hand I am delighted being home around all that’s familiar and comforting.

Our return home was a shitty affair! We got food poisoning on our first day back – damn pizza! My husband and I were close to death; or rather that’s how I felt. I was waiting for the white light and the short film of my life to flash before my eyes.

Between nausea and diarrhea, I learned one important thing about modern medicine: Suppository pills were invented by an evil person. The first time I got intimately acquainted with a suppository I swear I didn’t know what it was. Then someone explained to me how it worked and I was briefly traumatized. The second trauma came when I had to take it. Basic human anatomy dictates that no foreign object wants to stay lodged in the human rectum and naturally wants to get out, and I feared the damn thing was going to slip out. Then when I learned that body temperature melts the pill I was concerned about anal seepage. Hence, my first suppository experience was stressful, painful and unpleasant (not much unlike when I lost my virginity) and I was not looking forward to a repeat performance even though this time I would be better prepared.

Unfortunately the suppository pill was the only thing that helped for the nausea and at one stage I weighed up which was worse - taking the pill up my bum or surrendering to the nausea and letting nature take its course. The suppository won! I know this may sound weird, a gay guy complaining about taking anything up his bum, but I have the firm belief that medication should be taken orally and the other way round is just wrong. Luckily the food poisoning only lasted 24 hours. It was the longest and most uncomfortable 24 hours I experienced in quite some time.

I few days later I returned to work. I didn’t feel ready to go back, I didn’t want to go, I felt sorry for myself and I felt like a seven year old school child going back to school (but without the tears and tantrums). I was not the only one whose jaw could plow a corn field being so dreadfully unexcited at being back at the office. Returning back to work is always fraught with obstacles. The first few days back felt like I was navigating my way through office politics without a compass. It takes a couple of meetings and reading through my overflowing e-mail inbox before it all to comes flooding back: The overbearing colleague, the colleague with the tumultuous and violent lesbian relationship, the back stabber, the adulterer and the self pitying singles. Reestablishing me in the tribe takes some skillful diplomacy, grinding of teeth, faking smiles and reconnecting with people who for a few weeks will feel like utter strangers. The only solace at this point is the reality that nothing has really changed, the work remains the same and the people too, it’s just my mindset that needs to reset to an acceptable compliant state. I have to grind my teeth, fake a smile and push on. However, diplomacy as always will remain the most challenging.

Till next time.

"Queen Tom boy, Dance Gay music
This is a song for all Bisexual,Gay,and Lesbian around the world.
You can download hight quality video clip here
http://www.megaupload.com/?d=0OHCSBYH
thanks to His Majesty Tom boy and Webmaster Dennis Tran"

Dipping my toes into fire

This is my first blog and it is scary as hell!!!!

My first thought when my husband suggested i start one was "what the fuck have you been smoking?!" No one on the net would want to read what I have to say. Then I had a couple glasses of wine and the idea didn't seem as stupid or daunting, after all alcohol does give one courage to attempt all thing against better judgment. Then when the buzz of the alcohol really kicked in the idea seemed even better, because why should I only bore him with my rantings and ravings if I can do it with so many more people out there, and also bore them into a second rate non Valium induced coma. So here goes, my first blog entry.

I just returned from a very nice and relaxing holiday, or rather the week at the beach was the nice and relaxing part - before that was xmas and family and all the drama and family stress that goes along with it (if you have ever cooked a turkey and had one unsavoury family member you wish would have been dead by now you would know what I mean).

I planned my holiday in such a way that I could get the family part out of the way first because:

1) I am married so hence there are two families to keep happy;

2) My family is dysfunctional but I love my sister and she had her second child on 15 December 2008, so I kinda knew that this part of the family would be little effort as new baby equals "low key: get the family out of my house by 10pm";

3) My father is screwed up and I knew he and my codependent psychopath stepmother would try and fuck xmas up for all of us, so I had to be prepared for that drama;

4) My in-laws, who I also love to bits, are very big on xmas and it is always a production. With production, i mean you need staff and a project manager to coordinate the "event"!!!

Xmas went of as planned. We left my sister's house at 21:40 and everything before that was very pleasant and we all had a fabulous time. As expected my stepmother did phone me two days before xmas and tried her usual demonic psychodrama on me, but due to me being hung over, from the night before, I lacked the attention span to be adequately affected. The Xmas extravaganza at the in-laws was a major success, apart from my sister-in-laws desert that bombed - i am sure she cried herself to sleep, as my turkey was fucking amazing!!!!!

My beach holiday was relaxing. Mother nature was not as kind as she should have been, but we made the most of the days of sunshine we had which we spend on the beach, sunbathing and swimming. I love the ocean. It one of the places that makes me feel safe and at peace. Watching the waves role in, hearing them brake on the shore, feeling the cool mist on my face and the smell of the sea puts my sole to rest.

It funny how you never quite put much thought into what goes on under the water. The last day we spent at the beach I had a little diving accident. I was diving underneath a wave a scraped off the top layer of skin of my noose. I didn't realize this until my husband pointed out to me that it was bleeding. Now I am standing shoulder deep in the sea, where I know there are quite a few sharks not so far off shore, and I I'm bleeding. I kicked into drama queen mode, still trying to keep my composure. In my mind I was bleeding profusely (actually it was less than one drop of blood squeezing it's way through not so baldy damaged skin). All the National Geographic shark attack programs plays through my head and the only thing I can remember is - sharks can smell a drop of blood from miles away!

I need to get out of here!!!!

I spot at least five people in close proximity and calculate my chances of getting out of the water alive at 80%, as they are all fatter than me and I am convinced a shark would go for a victim with more meat. Not trying to look as if i am freaking out I gracefully try and swim towards shore. I use the excuse to my husband that I am cold and think it's time to get out. He looks at me (I know he knows my real motive and he can see me trying to conceal my panic) but the gentle sole he is he agrees and we make it safely to sore all limbs in tact.


New years eve we decide to go to the only gay club in the town we are spending our holiday. Going to a dodgy gay club beats sitting in an apartment listening to fireworks and hearing other people get drunk and having good, don't you think?

We arrive at the club and I swear it's no bigger than our apartment at home. All the people look weird! For a few hours we weren't even sure it was a gay club. We had a few drinks and settled into this queer setup and I figured things out - all these people were bisexual (or at least that's their cover story). The biggest queens were there with their "girlfriends" who in a few years will become their fag hags and the butch guys were on the prowl for "straight girls". What a load of bullshit! Most of the butch guys there will end up being nelly bottoms eventually! The whole night my husband and I were the only gay people there who ever made any physical contact with each other. It felt like Mormon bazaar.

As we left there at 4am in the morning I had a strange sense of sadness for all the regular patrons of that dreadful establishment as I asked my myself the question "How the hell does any gay person ever get laid in a place like that?"

Having survived xmas and new years eve, I look towards 2009 with a cautious optimism. If have made it this far in 31 years and I sure as hell can make it through 2009. There will be highs and there will be lows, and I am sure to share it with all who read this blog.



Till next time.