I Saw Dead People. Literally!

A couple of weeks ago hubby, I and some friends went to the Body Worlds exhibition.  If you have never heard of it before it’s an exhibition of dead people.  And no, I am not fucking with you.  It’s an exhibition where people who donated their bodies are put in weird poses, no longer have their skin and you can see their muscles, veins, organs and dangly bits.  Also, they are not called corpses they are called plastinates.  It is the brainchild of a very weird guy called Gunter von Hagens who is an anatomist.  I am not sure how exactly he got the macabre idea for this.  Maybe he was standing next to a cadaver while eating a sandwich and was all like “Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if we skinned this guy and a horse and pose them together like the guy is riding the horse?”  Who knows?  But having been to the exhibition I have some opinions about it that I would like to share with you today.

When I first heard of this exhibition I was really concerned about the people we were going to be gawking at.  I mean how could I be sure they weren’t some homeless people who got tricked into donating their bodies with a Big Mac and a milkshake.  I was also thinking about their families.  What if you go to watch one of these exhibitions and you stumble across your grandpa’s head that is sawed in half.  How do you explain that to your kids?  “Hey kids look at grandpa.  His head is doing so much for science.  Aren’t you proud of how nice grandpa’s brain looks?”  I wondered what the families of these plastinates did at their funerals and whether they got told what happened to the bodies.  You know, so that they don’t go to an exhibition not knowing it’s their grandma in the sex pose with a twenty one year old.

Speaking of sex.  I found the sex pose rather disturbing.  Not because it was a man and a woman but more about how the set was constructed.  Both plastinates were skinned but both had wigs on.  Wigs that looked like a raccoon had slept in them.  The woman had earrings in her ears that clashed with the ugly boots she was wearing.  There was also some liquid on the floor that could have been semen and it didn’t look like either of them was enjoying it.  Maybe the guy suffered from premature ejaculation and she was pissed because she knew that she would not get an orgasm.  There was also an x-ray of a man and woman having sex with him penetrating her.  When I saw that I first wanted to know who the hell would pose for an x-ray like that.  Followed by thinking how awkward that must have been for the person taking the x-ray.  All-in-all, the sex pose left me underwhelmed and pretty glad that I was gay.

Another thing I found strange was how perky all the women’s boobs were.  Taking into consideration that most of the plastinates are old people, I was expecting to see a more realistic exhibition.  You know with sagging tits, but no.  All the women had C to D cup perfectly perky boobs and it kind of freaked me out.  As for the guys, it is really difficult to judge how big their penises were without their skin and if you didn’t know this yet, the male sex organ as a whole is rather complex and I will never look at balls the same ever again.  I must also admit that while we were there I felt a bit self-conscious about looking at all the genitals.  You don’t want to look like a pervert and outright stare at them.  So you try to do it as casually as you can.  And by casually I mean pretending that you are a biology major inspecting a specimen for scientific purposes and totally not looking confused while looking at a vagina.

Something that I noticed while walking through the exhibition is how damaged some of the items were that were on exhibit.  Some of the veins started to break off, some bones were cracked and you could tell that some of the plastinates were quite old already.  You cannot really expect them to stay pristine forever, especially when they are moved around quite a lot.  I also wondered how long a plastinate is kept and what they do with them when they are no longer in a condition to be on exhibit.  Do they give them back to the families to bury?  Do they get rid of it themselves?  I really would like to know and this lead me to wonder who on earth would donate their bodies to become a plastinate.

On their website there is a section that deals with donating your body.  This is something that I personally will never do.  I am not sure if you can specify what they can and cannot do with your body after you die, but the mere thought of it makes me cringe.  I also watched a couple of episodes of this Gunter von Hagens box set called “Autopsy” in which he performs live autopsies on cadavers in front of an audience.  I should also mention that the audience consisted out of people who are donating their bodies and these people’s family members.  How do you sit and watch how that man saws a frozen body in half, skin a cadaver and removes a woman’s pelvis knowing that he is also going to do that to you one day?  Look, I have a strong stomach and I have been to autopsies before where the bodies were not embalmed and where there was lots of blood, but this was just creepy.  Gunter von Hagens and his creepy black hat and German accent reminded me too much of Nazis which scared my inner Jew.  I could only watch two episodes and since then I have been completely off eating chicken.  If you watched it you’d understand why.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am not trashing the Body Worlds exhibition or the work von Hagens is doing as it was interesting to go and look at the human body in a different way.  It also forces you to think about your own mortality and impresses upon you how extraordinary the human body really is.  I also saw diseased lungs that momentarily made me want to quit smoking again and I saw more vaginas than I care to admit to.  What I did find disturbing was not so much the exhibition itself but, like I said earlier, the people who made this happen:  The folks who donated their bodies and the people who are now making money off of them.  It is a very macabre way to be immortalized, if that is what they think are doing.  But even a plastinate can’t live forever.  In the end we all return to dust.

Till next time.

My Dirty Little Secret

We all have secrets.  You know the kind of things you don’t want the world to know.  The kind of things you do your best to hide from people.  We all have secrets and I am no different.  My secret is something that only those close to me know about and it is something we rarely talk about.  Because if we talk about that thing of which we dare not speak its name, it will awaken and it likes to torture me.  That thing is major depression.  For the most part of my life I have battled with it.  I know most people cannot tell because I use humor to disguise it.  And when it’s really bad I withdraw from society and often times also from those closest to me.  Even though depression is always lingering in the shadows of my mind there have been four times in my life that I had serious relapses and they were really bad.  I decided to share my story with you today in the hope that if there are any of you out there who share my battle, I want you to know that you are not alone.  It will get better.

According to the World Health Organization about 121 million people in the world suffers from some form of depression and only 25% of those people have access to effective treatment.  This is a scary thought.  Depression for me is like a toxic cloud that draws over your life sucking all the joy out of every fiber of your existence.  It leaves you immobilized, unmotivated and wilted.  You go through your days just going through the motions, much like a robot, and even breathing feels like an effort.  You lose perspective on your long term goals and become shortsighted with an inability to feel anything.  Some people believe that you can just simply snap out of it, but you can’t.  You desperately want to but it is near impossible.

Depression is not just feeling blue and it’s not just feeling sad.  When you are depressed you don’t feel and that is the problem.  Your emotions become one monotonous string of nothingness.  It’s an experience alien to those who have never experienced it before.  It’s somewhat similar to having to eat the same bland meal everyday for the rest of your life.  It’s difficult to connect with people who have feelings because when you are depressed those people seem strange to you.  It’s a bit like watching a movie about your own life without actually participating in it.

Many times you will pretend to have emotions.  You will fake a smile, fake a concerned look or fake surprise.  Often times when I do this I worry whether I correctly matched the correct facial expression to the correct socially acceptable emotion.  Sometimes I don’t because you know with Botox these things can become confusing.  When you are depressed you learn a lot about serotonin and dopamine and just recently I had it explained to me again by a doctor like I was a six year old.  It’s not like I studied this shit before and know exactly how depression presents in your brain chemicals, but I was depressed and probably behaved like a six year old emotionally disturbed child so the doctor felt the need to refresh my memory.

Depression is also a sneaky fucker.  It’s not like you wake up one morning and realize you are depressed.  It’s a process that happens unnoticed and it is a gradual downward slide.  When you have reached the bottom it is very hard to get out and you are sometimes incapable of reaching out to call for help.  In my case I have learned to see the warning signs.  These signs are different for different people.  In my case I have learned that once I no longer look forward to activities I once enjoyed, when it starts getting physically difficult for me to get out of bed and when I actively start avoiding social contact then I am sliding towards the precipice of depression and it’s best to get help before I fall.  This is also when I become less of a diva and more of a muttering hot mess.

Luckily I have a husband that understands and can see the warning signs.  Not that I always listen to him because I am a stubborn bitch like that, but he is persistent and can be very convincing in a Tim Gunn kind of way.  So when I have slipped into the firm grip of depression I usually see my therapist and start with some meds.  We are fortunate to live in a time where great medical advances have been made in treating depression.  No longer do you need to have the shit shocked out of your grey matter, now you can just drink a pill.  And there are some great antidepressants on the market right now.  But unfortunately none of them are a quick fix or overnight cure.  They take time to work and most of them have side effects.

Some of my least favorite side effects are headaches, dry mouth, tremors and diarrhea.  Fortunately they rarely last longer than a couple of weeks.  I remember the other evening when I came home from work waiting for my 6 o’clock headache to take hold.  I was sitting on the couch having a pity party of one thinking to myself “For fuck sakes, I am depressed and now I have to deal with fucking migraines to get rid of the fucking depression.  Maybe I should just stop taking the pills and see what happens.”  I did that once before and it did not end well.  But even in my depressed “I feel sorry for myself and the world hates me” state I knew better than to be that stupid.  So I drank two headache tablets instead.

Many people become suicidal when they go through a depressive episode.  I have been there too.  I totally understand how people can get to the point where they think that suicide is the only choice left for them to make.  I don’t judge those people.  I also stood on that doorstep twice before but I chose to live.  I wouldn’t lie and say that I haven’t regretted choosing life because quite frankly the world does suck sometimes, but when my mind goes to those dark places I remind myself that I have a future, I have people that love me and care for me and that it is just the depression talking, it’s not me.  Depression fucks with your mind, clouds your thoughts and makes you believe things that simply aren’t true.  It is important not to give in to those negative thoughts and to fight even though it is hard as fuck to do so.

There are people who believe that if a person suffers from depression that they are weak and that it is something to be ashamed of.  But I am here to tell you that simply isn’t true.  Some of the strongest and most creative people I know battle with depression.  It’s nothing to be ashamed of.  I never before today thought it was important to tell people about my depression because I felt it was a very personal thing.  Something I wanted to keep to myself.  But then I realized if I could blog about the day I shit myself, why shy away from this.  After all depression is a bit like shitting yourself but mentally and it doesn’t require a wardrobe change.  So there you have it my dirty little secret is out for the world to read.  Hi my name is Pierre and I suffer from Depression.  I am having an episode right now.

Till next time.

How many are too many?

My husband is understandably anxious.  You see my obsession with getting a alpacas and/or a gay donkey must by now be haunting his dreams.  Waking up in a cold sweat after dreaming that our property was transformed into a fully fledged zoo, us drowning in animal dung and being in violation of almost all municipal bylaws relating to animals would stress out most people.  But not me.  I get super excited by the mere thought of it.

Look I know I may have a problem.  Even my therapist told me last week that he does not feel he is equipped to treat me.  Not many are, but what is wrong with loving and collecting animals, especially when you take better care of them than most people do their own biological children.  It’s not like I am harming anyone, apart from my brother-in-law who no longer comes to our house because he is allergic to the bunnies.  But there are pills for that and I have a stockpile seeing as I am the one who is allergic to planet earth and sometimes people.  After having had some time to reflect on my ever expanding menagerie while cleaning the bunny mansion I did ask myself the question – how many animals are too many?

At first when I started writing this blog post I decided to coherently interrogate this issue in order to come to an objective and logical conclusion.  Then I got bored.  So I decided fuck it!  Objectiveness and logic are for pussies.  So I decided to deal with this blog post by way of example.  You see it is very difficult for some people to see the world through my eyes because I sometimes have a more, how shall I put it, unconventional way of looking at things.  For example, where some people think the crooked teeth of a alpacas are ugly, I find it an enduring quality.  Some people are disturbed by the amount of poop bunnies can generate, I see it as a business opportunity.  Bunny poop really is a great fertilizer after all.  If you don’t believe me I will send you some in the mail or you can just buy yourself a bunny.  But I digress…

As you my dear readers know by now hubby and I have five cats, two bunnies, a tortoise and we may still or may not have a fish.  It is difficult to tell with the fish as we rarely see him because he lives in a constant state of fear and is always watching out for Killer Pussy who wants to eat him.  I won’t lie; having so many animals is a lot of work.  The bunnies alone have three litter boxes.  The cats also have three litter boxes and the garden and sometimes the bathroom sink.  Our oldest cat has also recently developed urinary incontinence and has peed on the floor a couple of times.  Don’t judge her, she is old.  So many Saturdays we are knee deep on bunny poop, pee and cat shit.  But I don’t mind because I love them.

However, our animals do sometimes do things that annoy me.  Every so often I come home from work to find a massacre has occurred in our bedroom.  One or possibly two of our cats like to catch birds and kill and then eat them on our bed.  It usually looks like a scene out of a horror movie but instead of human bodies it is birds.  The whole of the bed would be covered in feathers, blood and the odd organ or body part.

One time, not so long ago, I came home to find three birds murdered in this way at the same time.  What made that worse, apart from the fact that there was more than one, was the fact that whoever killed them then went and strategically hid body parts around the house.  It took me two days to find them all.  There were body parts in my study, all the bathrooms, my slippers, work shoes, on the couch and the kitchen to mention but a few places.  It took me about half an hour to vacuum all the feathers up which clogged up the vacuum cleaner which I had to clean multiple times.  I gagged a few times while the cats watched me and judged me.  Probably thinking “What the fuck is his problem?  We come bearing gifts and he says thank you by screaming at us and throwing up.  Ungrateful asshole! ”But it not just the cats, the bunnies are a whole different story.

Bunnies are adorable and their personalities are really comical, but this is just a ruse.  You see bunnies are super intelligent animals and super destructive and this combination can cause you some real headaches around the house.  They hide behind their adorableness whenever they are in trouble and they know when they are being naughty or doing something wrong.  They know but they don’t care and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.  When you tell at them “NO” they will ignore you.  If you shove them away from chewing the carpet they will jump onto the couch and chew on the scatter cushions.

Bunnies are stubborn.  So you learn to compromise by providing them with acceptable alternatives to their destructive behavior.  Instead of chewing on the carpet they are allowed to chew on those Ethiad Airways blankets we stole.  Instead of chewing on the scatter cushions they are allowed to chew on toilet paper rolls, scrunched up papers and a variety of other toys.  At any given moment our house looks like we have a toddler living with us as there are acceptable chewing toys scattered throughout the house.  It beats having to rewire the surround sound system, replacing iPhone chargers, buying new remote controls and a new carpet.  However, it is not just their destructive behavior that makes them high maintenance pets; their potty training also posed a challenge.

It took us a couple of months and getting peed on a few times to potty train our bunnies.  They are now exclusively using their litter boxes to pee and decided that hubby’s chaise is their new communal latrine used for pooping.  It’s not a perfect arrangement but it beats them shitting on the couch.  Unfortunately the odd accident still happens.  Like last week when one bunny was playing on a scatter cushion next to me and all of a sudden he stood still as if he had seen a ghost.  Then I saw that he was peeing and he had this “What the fuck did I just do?” expression on his face.  Clearly it was not an intentional pee but it was an uncomfortable situation for the both of us and the scatter cushion.

And then there is the tortoise.  She is stoic, opinionated and a Diva.  Of all our animals she is the least work.  She goes about her business, don’t particularly pay attention to anyone and pretty much ignores us unless it is dinner time.  She has her routine which she made clear from the start is not to be fucked with.   The only issue we have is when she needs to take her vitamins.  Then her Diva shows.  Most times she refuses to take them even if they are hidden in her food.  She would eat around them and if one should end up in a mouth full she would spit it out.  So I had to resort to force feeding her.  It really isn’t very pleasant for either of us, but it is good for her and she knows it but she doesn’t need to like it.  At least it only happens once every two weeks and when it happens we both feel a little dirty and ashamed afterwards.

As you can see I love my animals.  I must admit that when I had my initial epiphany on extreme menageries I was high on white vinegar fumes and possibly wasn’t thinking clearly.  After all bunny pee is potent shit and the pee-vinegar combo can have an intoxicating effect.  My conclusion is that you only have too many animals once you can no longer afford them and no longer have room in your heart to love them.  Hubby can also relax because I will never do anything that is not in an animal’s best interest.  When I do get my alpacas and gay donkey we will have a property with the space to accommodate then.  My Zoo will happen one day and it will be the gayest zoo in the world!  Admit it; you are going to be so jealous.  Now go back to work and stop looking at kittens and porn on the internet.  Or better yet, go feed your cat.

Till next time.

Am I a Stepford Fag?

With my thirty something birthday coming up (a queer never reveals his true age after 30) in just over a month I took some time to sit back and reflect on my life. After all I am now closer to forty than I am to twenty.  And isn't it strange how different we view life while you are in your twenties than how you view life when you are in your thirties? As I measured how my life has changed since I was 20 and how different it is now than what I expected, I came to ask myself a shocking question – Have I become a Stepford Fag?

Stepford Fags are described in the urban dictionary as “a gay couple who are nice, sexless and nonthreatening. Typically they live in the suburbs, have an immaculate house and yard and don't scare the neighbors while they are in fact just as much a slave to heterosexual establishment as everyone else.”

While in my twenties I could have been described as a social butterfly. Most nights I partied the night away and knew all the regulars at all the night clubs by name. As my long suffering husband and I started dating (shortly before my 21st birthday) all the club celebs came to know us as a couple rather than individuals. It was bound to happens that way as my husband and I share the same name.  We became friends with the elite gay socialites, at the time, and became regular fixtures at all the popular LGBT events.  In between my busy social schedule I managed to finish my studies and started working. However, during this time my social life gained priority and my studies and worked was seen only as a time filler until the next party.

I went to class and later to work with very little sleep, sometimes a hangover and the odd glittery souvenir of the previous night’s party stuck in my hair. On one occasion I showed up for work minus one eyebrow because at the previous night’s strip show at the club the flame throwing stripper scorched it off. My husband and I also thought it funny to wear matching outfits to clubs, which in retrospect was silly not only because it’s such a cliché thing to do but I mean really wasn’t it bad enough that we share the same name? As the years passed our regular feature on the nightclub circuit became less frequent as work demands and responsibility increased and we reduced our social excursions to weekends.

Being young, wild, attractive and popular I didn’t give much thought to the future – being that age I thought I would stay young, pretty and thin forever. Never once did I consider getting married as I was of the firm belief that it was something straight people did to make it more difficult for them to split up. Being in a happy and committed relationship and having moved in together I was quite content with the way things were. We didn’t need a contract so ensure our relationship would last! Apart from marriage the house with the white picket fence, dogs, cats and children was as frightening to me as a cheesecake to an anorexic. I was happy, thin, in a relationship with the man I loved and surrounded with glitter balls, strobe lights, music, drag queens and hot young guys. What more does a young gay man want?

During my late twenties my metabolism decided it would skip a few years ahead and slowed down. As the pounds started packing on and my infamous leather pants and tight, skimpy shirts started to take strain to the point of me no longer being able to squeeze into them, it was time for them to be retired. The late nights at clubs over the weekends also showed signs of taking its toll and became less frequent. Before I knew it my social butterfly days were numbered as my priorities had shifted just like my weight.

The process was so gradual one and it happened without any distinct detection. What seemed important and satisfactory to me a few years ago no longer had the same appeal. More time was spent focusing on my career. Night clubs was replaced with dinner parties and movies with friends and quiet evenings at home. However, we still go clubbing when we have the time. My relationship had evolved to a more mature level and friendships deepened beyond superficiality and hedonistic interests.When gay marriage was legalized my husband and I didn’t give it a second thought and tied the knot literally a few weeks later. My twenty something view of marriage was replaced: I now had a more mature view and understood that marriage was more than just a contract that would cost you half of everything you owned if you want to get out of it. The house with the white picket fence now also drew my attention and became a reality. The twenty year old finally grew up. I transformed from a club hopping shooter downing socialite to a career driven married man. Does this now mean I become a Stepford Fag? As per the definition I would have to say Yes and No. Yes, we are a nice couple, live in the suburbs, have an immaculate home and yard and we don’t scare the neighbors (on purpose that is). However, we most certainly aren’t sexless (of that we have quite enough) and are not slaves to heterosexual establishment nor do we want to imitate it. We are who we are; some people might still find this threatening and not approve but I say the hell with them. So if I am considered a Stepford Fag, I am very proud to be one and highly recommend it. All fairies have to grow up some time!

Till next time.

Sam Jensen – Here Is The New There

Rarely does a DJ write and compose his or her own music.  So taking this into consideration DJ Sam Jensen is a rare find.  His first album ‘Daydreams Last Forever’ was a hard act to follow and he nails it with his second album ‘Here Is The New There’ as well.  From the first track ‘Music Makes Me’ that rouses you to move whether you want to or not, right through to the whimsical silliness of the bonus track ‘The Brandy Song’ his sound is unique and fresh.  ‘Lakeside Zoneout’ is designed to take you away and it definitely does just that.  His lyrics come across personal, whether they are tongue in cheek or deep and cerebral making for a very satisfying album.  This is a must buy album and this young an upcoming artist needs to be watched closely as he most definitely is going places.  Sam occasionally releases some of his tracks for free download so check out his Facebook Page DJ Sam where you can order copies of his albums too.

Review by GeeGee Curtained from The Modern L fame.

15 Years: And they said it would not last.

Today is our fifteen years anniversary.  Good Lord, has it really been that long?  It feels like yesterday that I first met my husband.  I still vividly remember that day I sent my friend over to go and tell hubby I thought he was cute.  I also remember the agonizing two months that I had to wait for him to become available.  I also clearly recall that auspicious Sunday evening when we finally officially became a couple, at a Drag Show nonetheless.  For a long time we lied and told people we met at an art exhibition.  You know because that just sounded more sophisticated than telling people we met at a Bar called “Bulls Eye”.  But now fifteen years on, what is the point of lying about where we met and I say fuck sophistication, we met at a Bar and at least it wasn’t a steam room.

For a long time there has been this myth that gay people are incapable of sustaining long term relationships, that we’re drug taking promiscuous misfits who cannot settle down and build a happy life for ourselves; that we are destined to grow old in nightclubs forever chasing after our long lost youth.  But that is just it - it’s a myth.  There are countless couples that I know of out there who have been in relationships for much longer than we have been.  Perhaps they are not active in the gay scene anymore and aren’t as visible, but we are out there.  Look, I won’t lie.  The last fifteen years were not all rainbows and butterflies.  Relationships take work.  But when you find someone who is worth it you won’t mind putting in the effort.  So let me share with you some of our highlights and lowlights of the past fifteen years.

All relationships have ups and downs.  Some couples are strong enough to make it through those down times and others are not.  As for hubby and I the majority of our down times were because of my profession.  Having had a rather interesting career thus far, which for the most part I am legally obligated to keep secret and not talk about or God forbid write about, I will share with you only the things that won’t land my ass in jail.  During my career I have been required to be away from home a lot.  Sometimes not being allowed to tell my husband where I was going or what I was doing.  He accepted this and I admired him for it as it does take courage for a spouse not to ask questions when you in fact have many.

The worst time in our relationship was when I worked undercover.  I was away from home for a long time and I know my husband was sick with worry knowing that what I was doing was dangerous.  I did however, during that time, check in with him once a day with phone calls telling him that I was still alive and finding out how things were going at home.  This I always did to put his mind at ease and for me to hear a familiar voice.  It was a routine we had for every time I went away and I never missed a phone call.  Well, that’s not true, there was that one time.

While working undercover there was a particularly nasty incident where I got hurt and I did not check in with my husband.  He sat at home waiting for my call that never came.  He was wondering if I was still alive and had no means of contacting me.  Out of fear that something might have happened to me he eventually called a colleague of mine.  He told him that he hasn’t heard from me and asked him how long he has to wait before he should start to get worried.  The colleague told him two days and hubby lost his mind.  At around 10pm that evening I finally manage to speak to him much to his relief.  Later, after I returned home and my undercover operation was concluded I found a letter that he wrote on our computer in which he wrote that he didn’t think our marriage is going to work if I continue to do undercover work.  Consequently, I never worked undercover again.

Another lowlight in our relationship was when my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer and her passing away nine months later.  It was a particularly difficult time for me.  I have a tendency to withdraw emotionally and tend to keep people at a distance when going through something serious.  I guess I do this to protect myself but unfortunately I then also push away the people who I care about the most.  Hubby did his best to support me and was patient with me which is a very difficult thing to do when he, at that time, must have felt so alone in our marriage.  After my mother’s passing he also embraced our peculiar family traditions when it comes to mourning.  He did not question why we had to cover all the mirrors in the house and why we had to keep a vigil with incense and a candle for seven days after the funeral, he just did it.  Even though I was emotionally unavailable and grief  stricken he was patient with me and gave me all the love and support that I so desperately needed.

Sure there other low lights that we had in our fifteen years together but seeing as my reader’s attention span only allows for a 1500 words I will skip them this time around.  Before I depress you more than a cold cup of coffee let’s move on and get to the highlights, shall we.  Getting legally married must be one of the highlights of the last fifteen years.  Having our union legally recognized not only legitimized our relationship but also shows the world that we are committed to each other.  Certainly it would still be true even without that piece of paper but it is comforting to know that if something would ever happen to either one of us the other will be legally the beneficiary of the other’s estate.  Also, I’d much rather have my husband make the difficult medical decisions should it ever come down to it as opposed to anyone else.  After all he knows me better than I know myself.

Our honey moon in Egypt and all our international travels have been highlights.  Both of us have a keen sense of adventure when it comes to exploring foreign countries.  Even with my OCD travel is the one thing I will never so no to.  Hubby is the best travel companion being the practical one and the voice of reason.  He is also the one that freaks out travel guides and I remember the one time in Egypt when he told our guide to stop at a market that was not on our itinerary.  The guide reluctantly obliged and hubby did not blink an eye as he started surveying the market for bargains.  We eventually split up going in different directions in the market and almost caused the guide to have a complete nervous breakdown much to my amusement.  This is exactly why I love my husband so much.

The fact that my husband also gets my sense of humor, which is dark and dry most of the time, and that he has accepted that I suffer from a severe case of foot-in-mouth disease is a big advantage.  He has many times told me that “I cannot take you anywhere” as I inadvertently always find a way to offend some people.  His journey to accepting this side of who I am is most definitely a highlight for me.  My other idiosyncrasies, of which there are in an abundance, and how they challenge him on a daily basis and his ability to accept them I find more than enduring and makes me love him more every day.

Another major highlight in the last fifteen years is our home.  When we decided to buy a house and move out of our apartment we both knew it would be stressful.  We searched for months to find the perfect home that would meet both our needs.  So when we finally found the perfect house it needed some work to tweak it to what we wanted.  We had to do some breaking down (both the house and our mental states), we had builders and painters in our house and yard and there were a couple of royal fuck ups.  But after a couple of months of renovations, a few meltdowns and me on the bathroom floor crying like an emotionally disturbed child many an evening, most of the renovations are complete and we made it through that time having a stronger marriage, stronger relationship and the almost perfect house.

Fifteen years is a long time to be with the same person.  But when fifteen years feels like five, you know that you have met your soul mate and that you are in this for the long haul.  Sure there will be good times and bad times, rich times and poor times and sickness and health.  But through the highs and the lows if your love is pure you will make it.  Hubby and I almost never fight and I have been asked many times what our secret is and it’s really simple - respect each other.  We have never cursed each other, screamed at each other and even when we are angry as hell and think the other one is being an asshole we still respect each other enough to resolve our differences in a respectful manner.  The myth that gay people cannot have long term relationships is bullshit.  Hubby and I are living proof that gay people can.  So if you are single and reading this, there is hope and you must never give up on love.  Your soul mate is out there.  Here is to another glorious fifteen years of marital bliss.  I love you hubby.

Till next time.

I Have Fallen and I Can’t Get Up

I am not sure what the planets are doing but Uranus must be in retrograde and Saturn is probably on her period.  The last two weeks I have been plagued with bad luck and like they say - bad things always happen in threes.  Well, if that is indeed the case then I should be happy right?  Three bad things have already happened to me, and if that is not enough I possibly will be getting some more bad news in the mail within the next week or so.  It’s always good to have a backup, because that’s how I roll.  So it goes without saying that I am rather depressed at the moment.  You know, in the glass is half empty kind of way.  But before I cause your serotonin and dopamine levels to plummet into the abyss of depression as well, let me tell you what has happened.  After all, if we can’t laugh at the misfortune of others what sort of bitches are we anyway?

It all started two weeks ago in a certain shopping centre’s parking lot which I now call the Parking Lot of Doom.  At the best of times I avoid going there because their parking is a nightmare and their parking spaces are smaller than what they should be. I have measured them! Literally!  I have also scratched my car on their pavement once before and since then I have had a mental block about that place.  So when I decided to stop there after work I was very cautious but when I finally found a parking spot right in front of the shop I wanted to go to, I couldn’t be believe my luck.  I am lazy as shit like that, I hate walking and small things like that makes me happy.  However it wasn’t my lucky day and what was already a bad day was about to get even worse.

As I was turning into the already small parking space which was made even smaller by another asshole with a 4x4 who parked like an idiot I had a boo boo : as I was pulling in trying to squeeze my car into the space I accidentally scratched the car next to me.  The sound of two cars scraping against each other is the most horrible sound one can ever hear.  But seeing as it happened and I was responsible I got out of my car to inspect the damage.

Luckily the damage wasn’t that bad and the other car also just had a few scratches.  As I was waiting for the other car’s driver to return so that we can exchange insurance details my little accident started drawing a swarm of people.  One would have sworn I drove over someone’s puppy as the people came to inspect the damage, whisper among themselves and judge my parking skills.  When the lady eventually returned we had a cordial exchange and told each other how we wished we could have met under better circumstance and went our separate ways.

I have not been back to that shopping centre and their parking lot of doom since.  My car will go in to have the scratches fixed next week and in the mean time I am pretending that it never happened.  Bad luck number two is Facebook related.  I think social media sometimes brings out the worst in people.  I have seen firsthand how people will do and say things on social media that they would never dare do or say in real life.  Since I have been on Facebook I have made some enemies, from homophobic freaks, religious assholes to even some gay people.  Normally it doesn’t really bother me much and I mostly ignore them.  Mostly.  But every so often one of these idiots will do something that annoys the shit out of me and exactly this happened last week.

My Facebook Fan page for my blog has grown steadily and presently it has just over 10 000 likes.  But like I mentioned there are quite a few people who hates me and hates my blog.  Seeing as they cannot destroy my blog and/or kill me they go for option number two – maliciously reporting me to Facebook.  Last week some asshole reported a photo I posted on my Fan Page of a naked man which you could only see from the waist up as offensive.  Then some pimpled face Facebook employee who probably is a Mormon then also felt deeply offended by the fine specimen of the male species and then imposed a 30 day block on my profile.

So for the next 30 days I can only access Facebook but I am not allowed to post.   My Facebook Pages are still being updated, albeit not by me.  I was once also confused by Facebook for being a pornographer because I posted I picture of nuns painting a naked man of which you could only see his ass.  But for that I only received a warning.  This time I am in Facebook jail for a month.  Which led me to ask, is my Facebook Page making you horny?  You don't have to answer me right now, but I invite you to think about.

The third stroke of bad luck happened to me on Monday.  I was sitting in front of my computer working and then decided to get up.  It felt like my foot was asleep, as it often happens because I sit with my legs crossed most of the time.  As I got up I had the strangest sensation in my left leg.  It felt like it wasn’t there and it wasn’t just my foot that was sleeping it was my whole fucking leg.

Being up and desperately trying to steady myself it felt like I was going to bend my leg the wrong way.  You know so that it looks like a dinosaur's hind legs.  Not only would it be painful if I did do that it would have looked creepy as fuck as well. I had no control over my leg and after struggling to stay upright I then fell to the ground like a chopped down tree twisting my ankle and my foot into a very unnatural position.  As I was going down it felt like everything was happening in slow motion and as the ground came closer and closer I was waiting for the sound of something snapping, tearing or popping.

Lying on the ground and not being able to get up our maid came storming towards me.  She had a horrified look on her face and without saying a word she stated pulling on my toes.  Confused, embarrased and in pain I remember wondering what sort of fucked up first aid was she taught.  I mean honestly I possibly broke my ankle and/or foot and she is pulling on my toes.  What. The. Fuck.

After several minutes on the floor I finally regained sensation in my leg and was able to get up.  But as the sensation came back to my leg so did the pain.  The pain level went from a 4 out of 10 to about a 9! That evening my foot and ankle were throbbing and we had no real pain medication in the house.  So I suffered through the night and I hardly slept a wink.  At one point at around 2:30am I wondered how much worse this would have turned out if I had been 70 and fell down the way I did.  I probably would have broken my hip and the thought of this made me really scared of growing old.  For the first time I knew how it felt to have fallen and not being able to get up.  Old people, I respect you so much more now, I really do.

The next day I got some medication from the pharmacy and an ankle guard and I am walking with a limp.  If my ankle and foot do not get significantly better in next couple of days then I will have to go for x-rays at the hospital.  And you all know how a love hospitals.  Three bad things have happened and let’s hope my bad luck is now over.  I am still expecting a speeding fine in the mail but hopefully it never arrives.  In the mean time I am keeping a super low profile, hiding under my blanket of self-pity and resisting overdosing on chocolate.  I am also making sure that my Feng Shui is all balanced.  I mean 3000 years of Chinese art and science should prevent me from experiencing any further bad luck, wouldn’t it?

Till next time.

Screw this, I’m Moving to Mars

All of us sometimes reach the point where we are so tired of all the bullshit that we want to pack up our lives and run away.  You know, those times when work gets to be too much or those times when some idiot pisses you off causing you to have serious doubts about the future of humanity.  Well now there is an opportunity for you to do just that.  Now you can literally leave this planet of assholes behind.  You see a Dutch company has launched Mars One which is a private spaceflight project led by Dutch entrepreneur Bas Landsdorp and they aim at establishing the first permanent human colony on Mars.  AND they want volunteers!  So you, yes you, could be one of two men and two women who will touch down on Mars in ten years time ensuring your place in the history books.  But before you get all excited, there is a catch.  There always fucking are.

Since this project was launched in June of 2012 thousands of people have applied to be the first humans to live on Mars.  Watching some of their videos I do suspect that not all of them truly comprehend the enormity of their decisions.  The catch is that if you are selected, and you do go to Mars, it will be a one way trip.  You will not be coming back.  You will die there, we are just not sure what the timeline will be on  that.  The reason you will not be coming back to earth are twofold:  One, the technology to bring you back does not exist at this time and two, after spending two years on Mars at 38% of earth’s gravity your body would have adjusted to Mars’ gravity and if you were to come back to earth you will instantly die because your body would not be able to tolerate earth’s gravity.  So, if you leave earth you will do so permanently.  

Don’t get me wrong, Mars One does seem like a unique opportunity.  After all on earth there are so much drama and so many fools you have to suffer.  Who wouldn’t want to get away from all of this and emigrate to another planet?  There have been days when I watched the news and secretly thought that the world was going to shit.  It has also crossed my mind that just maybe our galaxy is some science project an alien kid got a D for and now sits on a shelve in his room gathering dust.  All the while we are blissfully unaware of this and we mindlessly continue blowing each other up and destroying our environment.  Just look at North Korea, I swear that one day their Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un will nuke us all!  And if he doesn’t get us some terrorist group will.  In which case if you were on Mars you would be safe.

To be honest I don’t think I would want to leave earth just yet.  There are too many things holding me back.  I mean really, I only recently got hooked on televisions shows like The Walking Dead, True Blood and I really want to see how Revenge will end.  Also, The New Normal and Modern Family are doing groundbreaking work and I feel obliged to watch and support these shows, it’s my duty as a gay man!  Also being a horror movie fanatic I would hate missing all the new movies that are released as I don’t believe there will be much entertainment on Mars.  I also cannot see how I could leave my Zoo behind and I am sure they will not allow hubby and I to take our 5 cats, two bunnies, a tortoise and a fish with us to Mars.  And you know there will be no gay donkeys on Mars either.  So what will be the point of going?  The view?  The bragging rights? I think not.

Mars One states that with this project over a course of a few years, starting in 2023, forty humans will be sent to Mars.  That’s a lot of people.  Say you are one of them and after a couple of months you have a falling out with a few of your fellow Martians, what will you do?  You are stuck there with them, you cannot come home and you definitely can’t go outside without a spacesuit.  You are stuck with those assholes in a confined space for the rest of your life.  Will you be able to handle it?  I wouldn’t.  The other major problem I have is the food issue.  Everyone that will be living on Mars will be vegans.  They won’t have a choice.  I would die if I had to be a vegan.  I love my meat and cheese and I am in love with bacon!  Never being able to eat it again will be like a virtual death sentence or the diet from hell.  This in itself is the one major reason I have not volunteered.  Bacon is preventing me.

Mars is also not the most hospitable planet.  Any number of things can kill you on that planet.  One little mistake and the entire group of people can be wiped out in seconds.  It is also not like if something goes wrong you will be evacuated.  One way or another you are going to die there (I cannot emphasize this enough).  In the event that one of the Martians falls pregnant do we even know if that pregnancy will be successfully carried to full term?  Do we have any idea what that baby will look like?  The one thing we do know for certain is that if this does happen that baby will never be able to come to earth and the child will be well and truly an “alien”.  But let’s not be negative.  With all the uncertainty and enormous risk this project poses it does, in my eyes, show the essence of humanity which is our innate urge to explore and to reach out into the unknown for the advancement of our own species.  This is something to be admired.

Do I think the people who are volunteering to go to Mars are crazy?  Maybe a little but I also admire their courage.  I think this will be one hell of a great experiment for humanity and we will definitely learn a great deal about prolonged space travel and the effect it and low gravity has on the human body.  The only concern I do have is how we as a world family will react if this whole project goes to shit and everyone involves die a slow and agonizing death while we sit here on earth and helplessly watch as it happens.  Will we be able to move forward from such a tragedy?  If this project does succeed how will this change us as human beings having the knowledge that we have conquered space and successfully colonized another planet?  What will we do and where will we go next?  I am left with so many questions…

If you feel like you will make an excellent Martian and want to apply for Mars One, CLICK HERE to apply.  Or you can just go and check out the application videos and judge those people in secret like I do.

Till next time.

Killer Pussy: A Memoir of a Semi Deranged House Cat.

Admittedly I have a sense of humor which is an acquired taste.  I have found that some folks can only take me in tinny doses because I lack tact, curse like a sailor and many times I am as surprised by the things that comes out of my mouth as the rest of you.  Some people may view this as being eccentric; I view this as being normal.  Honestly, how many people do you know who run a semi entertaining and successful fan page for their cat on Facebook?  Well you know at least one because I do and it is awesome!  However, last week something happened which may just take Killer Pussy’s fame and fortune to a whole new level, something that might make me seem even more eccentric than usual.  I was asked to write a book about Killer Pussy (not to be confused by the porn film with the same title).

Those of you who read my blog regularly know that I am well on my way to having a small petting zoo.  Our house is filled with fury critters and it is totally normal to have five cats, two bunnies, fish and a tortoise.  For heaven sakes we are gay and can’t have children so we have pets.  Lots of pets and they are all treated like royalty.  Hubby have warned me on more than one occasion that if I bring home one more animal then I either need to buy a farm or else.  And it is that “or else” that has prevented me from buying a gay donkey and calling him our make believe unicorn.  However, this blog post is not about a gay donkey but if you have one you should totally email me and not tell my husband.

Getting back to my cat’s page.  Running a fan page for your cat can be fucking exhausting.  Especially seeing as the two cats Killer Pussy is based on are witty, sarcastic, intelligent, mischievous, facetious, complicated and to top it all off they are also prolific killers.  Also taking into account that Killer Pussy’s page needs to be updated several times a day and the fact that it does sometimes involves a complicated thought process; I would not say it is something that just anybody would want to do or would stick to doing.  I am aware that people know it is me writing it, I am not that delusional!  But regardless of this all the feedback I have received from Killer Pussy’s fan page have been overwhelmingly positive.  Perhaps these people are as “eccentric” as I am.  They are cat people after all!  But if it entertains people and give them a humorous break from an otherwise dull day, I would say I have achieved my goal and unbeknownst to be somebody noticed.

So there I was last week minding my own business when I received an email with the subject line reading “Killer Pussy, a fan”.  My first thought was “What. The. Fuck.  My email address is nowhere on Killer Pussy’s fan page.  Could Killer Pussy have a stalker?”  Then I read the email.  It was from a South African based publishing company.  The guy said that he is a huge fan of my cat’s Facebook Fan Page and wanted to know if I would be interested in writing a book from her perspective.  My first reaction was to say no.  I mean really, like I have the time to write a book for my cat.  I always imagined that I would one day publish a novel but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine my first novel would be written as my cat.  I thought it was bizarre and that this guy was trying to take the piss out of me.  So I ignored the email.

A couple of days passed before I mentioned it to my husband, and then to a couple of friends and colleagues who were also fans of Killer Pussy’s Page.  They all agreed that maybe it was not such a bad idea after all.  None of them have ever heard about a book that was written from a house cat’s perspective.  So I chewed on the idea and then decided to start writing it to test the water and to find out how it would feel to take this on as a project.  I wrote one paragraph.  The first paragraph which is the most important paragraph of any book as it sets the tone for the rest of the book.  It took me five minutes to write and I sent it to my husband.  I anxiously waited for a response from him and when I finally got it I was taken aback.  He said that it was crewed bordering on vulgar.  He then immediately tried to minimize his reaction by saying “But I’m not your target audience.  You and Killer Pussy have many people who follow you and I am sure they would love it.”  That left me somewhat conflicted.

I know my sense of humor can sometimes be dark, even offensive to some.  My world perspective is also not always all sunshine and rainbows but I know funny shit when I see or read it.  After all, Killer Pussy did not end up at our doorstep dropped off by a stork; the bitch has a back story.  So what if her mother was a whore who only allowed her litter to suck on her teats in order to stay alive.  So what if having her asshole licked by her uncaring mother was a rare privilege while she was a kitten.  So what if she was conceived during a cat orgy.  Killer Pussy is a multi dimensional character and I was taking this shit seriously.  So I did what I normally do, I sent the first paragraph to my trusted critics who call a spade a spade and who would call my shit out if they had to.  If I were heading down the wrong track they would be honest enough to tell me so.

They all loved it.  Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the prospect of now having to seriously start writing this book, having to rekindle my relationship with my book agent in the United States who in return would have to whore my book around to publishers, I decided to take my first weekend off.  I was freaking out slightly and instead of finishing the first two chapters of my book I spent the weekend watching Season 1 & 2 of The Walking Dead.  It’s a perfectly normal thing for me to do when I am panicking: surrounding myself with Zombies (or like they call them “Walkers”) and a lot of blood and gore while eating junk food and staying in my PJ’s for 48 hours straight makes me feel safe and secure.  Don't judge me! I am starting with the book this weekend.  If all goes well you will have a borderline vulgar yet humorous novel written by Killer Pussy to read by the end of this year.  So watch this space bitches.

Till next time.

The Best of FCKH8

Through the years the FCKH8 campaign has made several videos dropping the F-bomb on homophobia.  Here are  my favorite 5 videos.  Enjoy...

Hormone Therapy: Not For The Faint Hearted

So I started with hormone therapy last week.  For those of you who are reading my blog for the first time, NO I am NOT in the process of getting a sex change!  I am menopausal and it fucking sucks!  It has been a week since I got the hormone injection.  As for those of you who are still naturally producing enough testosterone and don’t need to get it through a hellishly long needle every three months - I kind of hate you right now!  But that’s probably just the hormones talking.  Undergoing hormone therapy has its upside and yes you guessed it, also its downside.  So please allow me to explain it to you in unadulterated graphic detail.

So after my little blood test result clusterfuck that determined that you can suffer from early onset male menopause at the tender age of 35, I reached a cross road in my life.  It was not like I did not produce any testosterone but the levels in my system were much lower than what it should be (I always knew I wasn’t normal).  I had a choice: undergo hormone therapy or just leave it and enjoy the plethora of symptoms associated with low testosterone levels.  Seeing as I was not much in favor of the continued little tropical holidays I was suffering, anxiety attacks, living in a virtual freezer and having a libido as unpredictable as a schizophrenic beggar, I chose the hormones.  So last week Monday I made an appointed with my doctor to start the hormone therapy.

In my naivety I thought my doctor would keep hormone injections in stock at his practice.  I was wrong.  I was unceremoniously told that he would have to order it.  Also, seeing as my health care plan does not consider hormone deficiency as a “life threatening condition”, I had to pay for the therapy out of my own pocket.  Clearly the bastards at my health care did not consider that my condition could be lethal to other people if left untreated, but then again if I did kill someone I would have gotten free health care in prison, so in the end it did kind of make sense.  But I digress…

Seeing as hormone injections are not cheap my doctor wanted to make sure what the price was.  So as I was standing at his reception with a room full of people in his waiting area he shouted to the receptionist “Please phone our supplier and find out how much Nebido costs for Pierre!”.  I should add that if you say Nebido really quickly, as he did, it sounds a lot like Libido.  At that moment I could see the faces of everyone in the waiting room go all sympathetic as if they were thinking “Shame, he is so young and he has no sex drive.  Poor thing, I hope that helps him get laid again.”  I blushed and looked at the floor.  I did want to shout that it was for my hot flashes and anxiety but I did not see the point in being embarrassed any further than what I already was.  So I let the assholes go home to tell their families about the gay guy at the doctor's office who had to get a Libido injection instead.

At the end of the day the pharmacy at the same shopping center had the Nebido in stock at a reasonable price so I handed in my script, got the injection, paid and went to the nurse.  Luckily the nurse was very sympathetic, didn’t ask any questions nor say anything apart from asking me if I was afraid of needles.  Apparently she would have to inject the substance slowly as it was suspended in thick oil.  It was the longest 90 seconds of my life and also ranked in my top 2 most agonizing injections I ever had.  The fact that she had to rub my ass to make sure it gets absorbed was both painful and I felt slightly molested in a non sexual way.  If it was sexual it would have been gross as she was almost 60.  After she was done she asked me if I wanted the insert of the Nebido and I said yes.  Big mistake!

You see, the hypochondriac in me knows never to read the inserts of any medication that I am prescribed.  The OCD in me always insists on knowing exactly what I put into my body and what the side effects are.  The OCD in me usually wins to the great annoyance of my husband as I always believe that I am about to die.  After reading through the insert and hyperventilating because there was no way of undoing the injection, I accepted the fact that I could suffer a few unpleasant symptoms and that I just had to man up and deal with that shit if and when they occur.  The effect of the hormones was slow but there were a couple of immediate effects.

After the injection I did feel slightly light headed but that soon disappeared.  I then started to feel as if my body was waking up and there was a mild rush that pulsated through my body.  I started to feel better, more alive and as if I had more energy.  But with all things in my life I also experience a bit of waxing and waning as the testosterone was being absorbed into my system.  I would have moments of feeling euphoric, horny and like I could conquer the world then followed by being moody, generally pissed off, annoyed and antisocial.  All of which the doctor said was perfectly normal.  He explained that as my body was adjusting to the testosterone that was now introduced into my system and as the deficiency was being corrected there would be some ups and downs.  It was nothing to worry about and he assured me that if I did not believe him that Google would substantiate what he was saying.  My doctor knows me too well.  Before getting the hormones many people warned me on various social media platforms about getting the treatment.  Some of their warnings were quite frightening.

Some warned that I would go bold which is a truly terrifying prospect as I look like a drug addict and a convict without hair.  Others warned that I would be growing more hair which was disturbing as I cannot see myself joining the gay bear biker club and I do not feel comfortable in the bear leather gear getup.  I mean honestly, can you imagine me in a leather bar?  Then there were those who warned me that the hormones would make me a sex crazed maniac and that hubby would have to lock me in a room with lube and tissues.  Possibly even restrain me as I would become a complete and uncontrollable nymphomaniac.  Well, sorry to disappoint you but none of these things have happened.  Yet.

It has only been a week since I've been on the hormone therapy and I can definitely affirm that I do feel slightly different and that the hormones are affecting me both physically and mentally, mostly for the better.  I guess it is still early days and a lot more will change and happen in the days to come.  For the most part I am pleased that I decided to undergo hormone therapy as menopause is a motherfucker to deal with.  So what if I grow a thicker beard, some more chest hair and when my libido sky rockets like that of a teenage boy I am sure hubby will be the last one to complain.  The only real downside of this whole process is that I now also have to get my prostate examined yearly.  Having my doctor shove his finger up my asshole twice a year without being first bought dinner or drinks is the only thing I am not looking forward to.  My doctor isn’t even hot.  Fuck.  Do you think I should bring my own KY?  Will I want a cigarette after?  Guess you and I will have to wait and see.

Till next time.