Grey Hair! What the F...

Denial n denying; statement that thing is not true or existent; disavowal.  This is how the Oxford Dictionary defines the state I have been in since I left my hairdresser’s yesterday.  What was supposed to be a carefree and relaxing day bleaching my hair and making me all pretty and blond for our island holiday turned out to be a “life event” so horrendous, so horrifying I can barely bring myself to write about it without sobbing uncontrollably into my Bloody Mary.  Yesterday I discovered my first grey hair(s)!

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

Seeing as I was bleaching my hair I arrived at the salon early as it normally takes a good 5 to 6 hours for my hair to turn platinum blond.  My stylist decided to cut my hair first as I still had some blond bits from the previous bleach in my hair.  As he cut my hair I noticed a patch of hair on my fringe that didn’t seem to grow out.  There was no regrowth just a blond patch.  “It must be my natural highlights” I thought, I remembered having them as a child and how nice of it to make an appearance again now.  I was wrong.

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

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

Traumatized and depressed I sat at the salon for 4 hours while my hair was being bleached.  The grey took off 2 hours of the total bleaching time.  It’s not the sort of consolation that makes me happy, but hey, being old I guess an extra two hours to do something else is helpful.  Life is short and over far too soon.

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

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

“SON OF A BITCH!  My crotch and balls too?!!  MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!” I screamed as lightning struck (it really did and I don’t just say this for dramatic effect).  As I sat on the shower floor crying like an emotionally disturbed child while staring at my old dick and balls, all I could think about was “Do you get like a hair dye for pubic hair or will normal dye do the same thing?”  At the end I decided to shave off my pubic hair, all of my pubic hair.

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

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

Till next time.

Happy holidays my dear reader.

May you have a wonderful festive season and a FABULOUS new year!

Baby, It's Cold Outside

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

Dickmatized

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lilly Lampshaded

FCK Bullies: Where do kids learn to hate?

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

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

The Cock I Refused to Eat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

Queer Duck - "I'm Coming Out!"

The Gay Plague

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

Waking Up Screaming!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

It's Time. End Marriage Discrimination.

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

Lips That Touch Liquor Shall Not Touch Ours

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

Queer Myths Explained (Part II)

-Part II-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

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

Queer Myths Explained

- Part I -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

Hedda Lettuce - Lady GaGa Telephone Parody

The Abomination of Humanity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time

Lilly Allen - Fuck you very much!