I See Dead People

When hubby and I bought our new home we got more than we had bargained for. You see apart from minor- that later turned into major renovations we also inherited a tenant that lurks around our property and enjoys playing tricks on us. Whether you believe it or not, we have a ghost! The late husband of the previous owner‘s spirit still roams around and whenever we criticize any of his former DIY projects that we now have to fix, or do anything he disapproves off he loses his temper with poltergeist like flare.
Our haunting started out like most do: We moved in! At first it started with small annoyances for which there could have been any number of scientific explanations. A light bulb exploding hardly would raise any suspicion of paranormal activity, but when it happens frequently and a pattern that has nothing to do with faulty electrical wiring emerges one starts to think twice. The same holds true for our elaborate alarms system that would go off at the most inconvenient times for no earthly reason and even after being inspected by a technician no fault with the system could be identified. And no, it’s not just electrical interference through which he likes making his presence known; he also has a sense of humor which I hardly find amusing. Our ghost likes hiding sunglasses, keys and mobile phones and he especially enjoys doing this when you are late for work. The punch line being that once you return home the item would be placed neatly back at the same spot where you were looking for it that morning.
Perhaps the strangest event was when friends of ours came over to visit with their kids. We had only been living here for two weeks and removed the majority of the knick knacks that were hidden and scattered around the garden, ranging from flower pots, broken water features and hideous molded sculptures. Our friend, her daughter and youngest son ventured into our back garden and all three saw the sculpture of a monkey - the same sculpture that we removed the week prior and were no longer there! After their visit the daughter told her mother that she didn’t like our house and the father concurred later telling us that he sensed a spirit in and around our home.
The previous owners popped by our house a week later to bring the last set of keys we were owed. Knowing that wife and daughter of our ghost were pretty open-minded I told them what was happening in the house. Not exactly knowing what reaction I was seeking I was flabbergasted by their response. They confirmed that the husband and father was still in the house and was sitting on our bed in our bedroom. After briefly hyperventilating thinking we have had sex on that bed where the ghost is sitting, I tried to composed myself and before I could prevent the words from spewing out of my mouth I said “Well then, Tell him to leave - God damn it!” They responded by saying he would leave when he was ready to go. Not at all the answer I was hoping for as I was secretly wishing they would leave him a spiritual forwarding address and accompanying taxi fare.
The old man’s favorite spot on the property was a workshop in which he used to build model trains. This spot I suspect was also his hiding place when he wanted peace and quiet and to get away from his wife and daughter. When we moved in his workshop seemed the perfect place for an outside entertainment area and it was promptly demolished and revamped to become a covered Moroccan Patio. We also noticed that this spot was the one place on the property our cats refused to go near. As work progressed trouble started, first there was a wasp infestation that took weeks to chase away, and then the one automated garage door refused to work and would open by itself whenever it felt like it. The final straw was this past weekend with our housewarming. We decided to have the party under the patio and everything was going well up until round about 11:30 pm – our ghost’s bedtime. He decided we partied enough and electricity to the patio area was cut off. Several trips to the main power board inside the house were pointless as the power kept tripping, so we finished off the party under moonlight with candles. The next morning, in denial about our haunting yet again, I tried to find the electrical problem, and again there was none and everything was working perfectly and was back to normal.
We live in a haunted house with an old man that does not like being criticized. I suspect he may also disapprove of our live style, friends, pets, taste in furniture and art. He died just over a year and a half ago and doesn’t seem like he wants to leave. Even though he is still here, it is strange but I am not scared. It’s kind of comforting knowing I am not alone on the property when no-one else is around. He may stay for as long as he wishes on condition that he doesn’t break anything else, accept the fact that the queers have moved in and due to the fact that he’s dead he forfeits any voting rights or opinions regarding future alteration to the property.

...Till next time....

Gay Ghost (pt 1)

10 Things I bet you never knew about me.

OK, so this is my second 10 things about me. This is the onion which is my life of which there are many layers.  Now I am peeling away some layers for your reading pleasure.

So here goes…

10.) I am frightened off the McDonalds Clown because he looks like a sex-offender. Sure he doesn’t really resemble John Wayne Gacy who raped and killed 33 teenage boys, but he freaks me out and sends shivers down my spine regardless.

9.) I am obsessed with Survivor and have watched every episode of every season ever made. I so would kick ass in the competition because I don’t get emotional and/or irrational when starved, I can be devious and manipulative and would do anything to win a million dollars.

8.) In my live I have been in four car accidents of which I only caused one. I also managed to reverse into the same tree twice on the same day because I was looking at a hot guy. But despite all of this I really am a very good driver!

7.) I have had sex with a woman once. And no I don’t want to talk about it. Suffice to say I didn’t like it and never did it again, nor do I plan to.

6.) I was a Spy once. I can admit to it now because I don’t plan on pursuing a career in espionage ever again. Consequently, I am really good at keeping important secrets - my lips are still proverbially sealed.

5.) I can curse and frequently do in three different languages - Afrikaans, English and French. Although the language in which curse words and phrases rolls off the tongue the prettiest is in Afrikaans.

4.) I judge people with dirty finger nails, I just can’t help it! If they can walk around with all that dirt under their nails, just imagine how dirty they are on other parts of their bodies that you can’t see!

3.) I have been in prison. I have seen the inside of five maximum security prisons not as an inmate but due to the fact that my father worked as a correctional officer and due to my studies and work.

2.) My handwriting is atrocious. Having grown up in the computer age I have slowly lost the skill to write anything legibly. So whenever I need to complete any forms by hand it is a struggle to say the least.

1.) I am actually really good at sports. I know it comes as a surprise to you but it is true. The problem is that I don’t like team sports because I don’t play well with other. Hence, I do not readily participate.

Till next time.

Why Heterosexuality is Unnatural

The other day at work my colleagues and I had yet another one of our captivating discussions. We usually have some sort of cerebral genius during our smoke breaks because we are brilliant like that. The discussion dealt, in part, about studies done on physiology and desirability and during which physiological phase’s men and women are most attracted to each. Suffice to say the studies in question solely dealt with heterosexual folk. It made for an interesting discussion and provided me with some unique insights, insights that lead me to realize that heterosexuality is most definitely unnatural.

Now, let me make something clear right from the get go - I have nothing against heterosexuals. Some of my best friends are straight and I do respect their lifestyle choice. I may not agree with it, I may not like it, but I love them and what they do behind their bedroom doors are none of my business. Sure straight folks flaunt their heterosexuality in public and we are forced to watch them kissing on television, but deep down I do believe they are only confused and this is just a phase they will eventually grow out off. And this is why.

Studies have shown that straight men are most attracted to women when they are in the peak of their menstrual cycle. I bullshit you not, this is true. The one week in the month when a woman feels her worst, feels bloated, cramping and the last thing on her mind and/or on her to do wish list is sex. And this is the time a guy wants to jump her? Talk about bad timing! On the flip side, women who are ovulating are most attracted to men who appear to be virile, you know the type. The manly man with all the man hair, sometimes bolding, the type of guys we queer folk know as bears or leather daddies. Peculiar isn’t it? The time a woman’s loins burn for some fertile sperm and she desires a leather chap wearing bear or on a bad day possibly even a really butch lesbian. But it doesn’t end there.

You see, nature never intended for people to engage in heterosexual relationships because nothing good can come of it. Just look around you, we see this every day. That guy in shopping mall looking like he wants to chew off his arm that’s holding his wife’s purse while she’s in the fitting room. The woman sitting in the bleachers with that bored glazed over expression on her face whishing she had rather gone out for cocktails with her girlfriends. And then there are the communication issues.

Straight guys and straight women just don’t speak the same language. Men never know that when they are asked “Do I look fat in this?” it actually means the women is fishing for a compliment and don’t actually give a flying fuck what you think. And straight women always confuse “The guys are meeting at the pub for the game” with actually thinking they are being asked for permission to let the guy go. And if the women let the guy go he thinks when she says “Have fun” she really means it, when in actual fact she means you better be home early, sober and not smelling of some slut’s perfume. But the heterosexual phase is not all bad.

Procreation is the only positive thing to come from the straight folk’s heterosexual phase. You stick a dick into a vagina once without a condom and voila 9 months later there pops out a baby. But this too poses as problem. The world is over populated as it is. This making of babies whenever and wherever straight folks want needs to stop, it just isn’t right. After all we need to think of our gene pool. I don’t know about you but I have had quite enough of ugly and stupid people. Heterosexual procreation needs to be regulated and only fortunate looking and intelligent people should be allowed to contribute to the population. We queer folk will have to identify and eradicate the heterosexual gene and stop this madness. But before we do that we need to do something about straight marriage.

The sanctity of marriage is being destroyed by people with heterosexual tendencies. Since they started getting married centuries ago they have slowly been picking at it taking something that was beautiful and making it ugly. Heterosexuals are committing polygamy, getting divorced, marrying their relatives, having affairs, getting married multiple times and it is disgusting! For years we have had to tolerate the hideous white dresses, pompous flower arrangements and exaggerated cakes, sitting in the Church pews having to pretend that we condoned what they were doing, committing these acts against nature. Well, we had enough and now the queers will have to dig our flexible heels in and show them how it is done. The gays will have to restore the sanctity of marriage to its former glory.

We have a long hard road ahead of us my fellow queers. Living in a world with so many confused people with heterosexual tendencies isn’t easy. Everywhere we look they want to convince themselves that their lifestyle choice is normal. They do this with television shows, movies and magazines. Every day I look at this spectacle, roll my eyes and quietly whisper to Gaga “I am so glad I was born this way”.

Till next time.

Google+ wants to be my Pimp

Ok, so recently being the Social Media Whore that I am, I finally decided to accept my Google+ invitation. Apparently I was flagged by Google as a superuser or in layman’s terms – the type of social media whore that “will love you long time!” The first invitation reached me just over a month ago and like a typical skittish intraweb socialite I required some more wooing. And wooed me they did. After being somewhat harassed I finally decided to check it out. And now I find myself in a social media ménage à trios, which led me to ask will Facebook, Twitter and Google+ make for good bedfellows.

I have been in my fair share of ménage à trios’s in my life, believe it or not. Some good and other’s not so much. So when the prospect of being intertwined in a social media three-way came up (so to speak) I found it quite daunting. I have spent allot of time and effort building my relationship with Facebook and I have spent the last two years trying to figure out my short -worded Twitter bird and its fail whale. So involving a third party in our cosy and comfortable little social setup was not something I took lightly. I wasn’t sure if Google+ would be a good fit and how this would affect my relationship with Facebook or Twitter.

Naturally, when I decided to check out Google+, I did so without the knowledge of Facebook and Twitter. My first rendezvous with Google+ was to be a secret one. I made sure the other two were closed in my web browser and I decided to use Google Chrome instead of Explorer to access my new potential social media lover. Feeling guilty and excited at the same time, I logged on and discovered a new social media world filled with potential. Circles, hangouts, sparks and being able to +1 websites and things I liked. Google+ was younger, prettier and its video chat application much faster and more robust than that of Facebook. Clicking and poking my way around I got the sense of being on the verge of a social media revolution and then like a lightning bolt it hit me -this could be my second chance, a chance to start over in social media!

You see, maintaining another social media presence is not something I would have been likely to consider. Maintaining my Facebook and Twitter accounts takes up enough time as it is. But with Google+ there seems to be an opportunity: An opportunity of having more control over my online presence; an opportunity of having more control over my privacy settings and more control over my social connections. Effectively, if you have been overwhelmed by your current social media accounts, have been smothered with social connection over which you have lost all control, and want to have a new beginning Google+ provides this for you. Whilst in the grips of this mental orgasm I could not help but think, is this social media whore wanting to turn all “I’m only going to be friends with people I know in real life”. Well the answer is NO.

Deep down I am an incredibly loyal person. I have spent far too much time building my Facebook fan base, cultivating followers on twitter and all this at no financial benefit to myself. So effectively this makes me more of a social media slut than a whore. I am cheap and easy and love traffic! After I have had my shag in the virtual hay with Google+, I spent a good few minutes starring at my Facebook login page. Feeling a little bit dirty and ashamed I did not want to enter. What if Facebook knew? What if my Facebook friends saw me? So I did the only thing I could think off. I status updated my indiscretion.

Will I be cheating on my Facebook friends with Google+? That is was how I choose to confess. It was a good ten minutes before anyone responded. I was nervous. Then the first whimper of a reaction, first one person liked the update, and then two more. I was confused. Was it OK? Didn’t they mind? Then the answer came - a flurry of requests by my friends to invite them to Google+. It seemed there were many folks out there wanting to try something new. Maybe they were just curious or maybe there are some people genuinely wanting to start afresh. Once you hit your Facebook friend limit of 5000 and start missing important status updates from your close friends, this tends to happen. If you have spent a whole Saturday going through your friend list deleting people you don’t know, never interact with and by the time you get to the P’s in your social alphabet it’s 8pm already you will understand.

Before any of my Facebook friends freak out – NO I WILL NOT BE LEAVING FACEBOOK! However, I have joined Google+ and I am going to give it a try. It’s like opening a brand spanking new book with all its pages blank, ready for me to write a new chapter. This social media slut’s ménage à trios is going to be my own little experiment. Which one of the three will prevail, who knows but I plan on having fun finding out.

Till next time.

Straight Eye for the Queer Guy

It’s not often that I get guest writers for my blog. In fact in the last 2 years I have only had 4. So seeing as I was going through a short lived phase of not loving my blog much and having one of my close friends being bored at work, I suggested he write an article for me. A good idea at the time. Or so it seemed. But it didn’t go quite as planned and it had me suffer a brief panic attack and caused a rather humorous fall out. Here’s how it went down.

Ok, so lately my fagaliciousness hit what you may call a speed bump. My serotonin levels took a dip and my creative juices ran low. I wasn’t really in the mood to write and my last shitty blog post is a literary example of that. So when the opportunity presented itself to have someone else write a fresh and inspired article for my blog I grabbed it with both hands and wrestled it to the ground. My hairstylist (the creative genius) had a slow day at work and offered to write a blog post. It was to be titled “Straight Eye for the Queer Guy”. Brilliant, I thought. A straight man’s perspective on us queer folk has the potential to be insightful, funny and could get loads of hits. You know I am a whore when it comes to unique visitors to my blog. So I gave him the green light and anxiously waited for him to pen it down.

Later that day I got a call from him and he read me the first two paragraphs and I was impressed. It was witty and sounded like a piece my readers would really enjoy. That evening my husband brought me the DVD disk with what promised to be a really good article. The creative genius told me that I should not feel obliged to publish his article and gave me Carte Blance to edit it as I saw fit. I thought the editing would be a breeze, but I was wrong. What seemed to be a good idea and promising article turned out to be quite the opposite.

The article turned out to be a clusterfuck of confusion. It started off quite interesting but at paragraph 3 it descended into an incoherent mind fuck addressing issues ranging from Lady Gaga’s lack of a wiener to spy cams and elves. I’m sure it all made sense in the creative genius’s head but I could not figure it out. So I went about trying to fix it. I tried to re-write the article several times, but with each attempt it only got worse. So I started to panic. I was faced with the unpleasant choice – do I hurt my friend’s feelings and don’t publish it or do I publish it and have my readers think the author is riding on the crazy train. I mulled over this for several hours. But finally I had to concede that the article was not good and I was very nervous about breaking the news to my friend. So I did what any one in my position would do, I BBM’ed his wife.

Me: Hey, I have a conundrum. How do I tell your man that I am not going to use his article? I tried to fix it, I really did for 2 hours. It just aint working!

Wife: LoL!!! Hahaha….. my only advice is shit I have none!!!

Me: Thanks for nothing! I will then go with the “Fuck, I got mugged & the only thing they stole was the DVD with your article on it! But at least I am OK” Will that work?

Wife: Hahaha, my man just caught me laughing really loud!!!! Now what!

Me: Say nothing, your having an epileptic fit! Fake one now!!!

Naturally a couple of minutes later my phone rang and it was him. At first I did try the mugging story but it did not work. I was left with no choice but to tell him the truth. He took the news as well as could be expected. I think I did hurt his feelings a smidge. But hey, he’s a big boy I just hope he doesn’t fuck up my hair the next time I am there for a cut.

So “Straight Eye for the Queer Guy” never came to be. It is sad really because I did love the title. But sitting down staring at a blank page and writing something each week is not for everybody. Sure I sometimes misuse grammar, abuse punctuation and treat spelling like my bitch, but at least you get to read something. It may not always be brilliant and I don’t see any Pulitzer Prizes in my future, but as long as you are reading I will continue writing.

Till next time.

Funny Friday

We can all do with a little giggle on a Friday to set the mood for the weekend...

A Day in My Head

In life one can and should expect many surprises. Living on the southernmost tip of Africa, I like many of my fellow South Africans, sure have no shortage of that. But today I choose not to dwell on the circus that is politics, nor will I focus on gay rights or the lack thereof in the rest of the world. Today I choose to focus my attention on a subject matter far more interesting and complex. Today I will provide you with an unbridled glimpse of what goes on inside my head. So brace yourselves here is a rundown of a typical day in my life.

Contrary to popular believe, I am not a morning person nor do I break out in a glee like musical with the first break of light. In the morning it takes a good hour and a half to become me. Due to chronic insomnia and an approximate 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep a night, I awake in the morning totally personality-less and somewhat unpleasant For this reason I try to avoid any form of human interaction before I am fully awake as I may hurt someone. Like a computer my brain needs to boot up and any application request during this process will lead to my brain crashing and the rebooting process to start afresh. I absolutely hate morning people or any person who wakes up happy – they are freaks of nature. Should a cheerful morning glory bitch cross my path I tend to fight the urge to cut them up like a cracked up tranny hooker and wipe their blood from my pillow wrinkle imprinted drool covered face. I sometimes wish I had a little billboard on my forehead that reads “Approach with caution!” and proximity warning bells, because if I had many an early morning grunt and sneer could have been avoided.

After I have shaved my man hair, powdered my face and wrestled my hair and wardrobe into a recognizable submission, Facebooked and Twittered it is time to face traffic. I am what you may call an impatient and aggressive yet courteous driver. I have no patience with taxi drivers, people applying makeup and/or hair products while driving or people who fail to use indicator lights. As such I also have no dilemma with driving these people of the road and I have done so in the past. Even though, in recent months, I have made a conscious decision to keep to the speed limit, I do see my drive to work as a race against time. A race I am adamant to win but looses daily. So if the speed limit is 120Km/h I expect everyone else to drive at 120Km/h or get the hell off the highway and/or out of my way.

Work is something I enjoy and suffer simultaneously for about 8 hours a day as it pays my bills and sustains my not so lavish lifestyle. Like most work places there are people and when there are people there are issues. I, for one, absolutely detest it when I greet someone and they look me square in the eyes and ignore me. Are they deaf, in a semi vegetative state or are they just plain rude? But just the other day, having had a dreadful morning, I too was greeted with a cordial “Good morning” to which I duly responded “What is so fucking good about it?” Maybe I should have kept quiet, but hey that’s better than just being ignored don’t you think? Alternatively, if they don’t want to speak the least they could do is give a polite smile or a nod of the head. It only takes 17 muscles to smile and if I can crack a smile with my Botox laden face even when I don’t want to or don’t feel particularly friendly they can do that too Damnit!

At work, as I am sure most of you will agree, there are times that your attention is not as focused as it should be. As for me, during those times, I tend to get lost in what is called my “Ally Mcbeal moments”. For those of you too young to remember the series I recommend renting it. There have been some meetings during which my imagination got the better of me. In one particular meeting, about a rather serious subject matter, I caught myself sitting in a room and everyone were wearing pink ballet tutus with the one rather bombastic gentleman additionally in fishnet stockings and red 9 inch high heels – it took some restraint not to giggle. Don’t get me wrong I always give my full attention in important meetings, workshops and interviews I just tend to livening it up a bit and make otherwise dull situations a little bit more colorful. After all I do bore easily and everything is more fun and interesting in pink!

After a hard day’s work and road rage there is nothing I like better to do than come home and smell my cats. Sure it is not an exercise they enjoy but it gives me pleasure and they are rewarded for the indignity with a treat. After I get my daily whiff of pussy, worked in a spot of television it is time for dinner. An exercise fraught with complications when it’s hubby’s turn to cook: You see, when it comes to food I can be full of shit. I have issues with textures of certain foods and I also have an aversion to pasta, pancakes and two minute noodles. With the latter being a painful reminder of my student days when I was poor and it use to be my staple diet. Two minute noodles with mayonnaise, avocado and lemon juice to this day brings back the angst of exams and project deadlines.

After a long day bedtime is usually between 10pm and 12am, sometimes 1am. I did mention I have insomnia, right? Our sleeping arrangement could be peculiar to some. In bed, other than being fabulous, I tend to be a blanket hoarder and, of late, a pillow thief and I am still not sure why I do that. Also being somewhat claustrophobic our 4 cats have learned that my side of the bed is off limits and crossing the border will result in retaliation involving feet. So many nights/mornings poor hubby would awake without a pillow, only a small part of the blanket and our four cats on top of him with the soothing sounds of my quiet and very adorable snoring. So this is how most of my days go down. Boring aint it?

Till next time.

27 Things to say when stressed at work

1. "Okay, okay! I take it back. Unfuck you!!!"

2. "You say I'm a bitch like it's a bad thing?!"

3. "Well aren't we a bloody ray of sunshine?"

4. "Do I look like a fucking people person!"

5. "This isn't an office. It's HELL with fluorescent lighting"

6. "I started out with nothing and I still have most of it left"

7. "Therapy is expensive. Popping bubble plastic is cheap. You choose"

8. "Practice random acts of intelligence and senseless acts of self-control"

9. "I'm not crazy. I've been in a very bad mood for over 30 years."

10. "Sarcasm is just one more service I offer."

11. "Do they ever shut up on your planet?"

12. "I'm not your type. I'm not inflatable"

13. "Stress is when you wake up screaming and realize you haven't gone to sleep yet"

14. "Back off!! You're standing in my aura."

15. "Don't worry. I forgot your name too."

16. "I work 45 hours a week to be this poor."

17. "Not all men are annoying. Some are dead."

18. "Wait...I'm trying to imagine you with a personality"

19. "Chaos, panic and disorder... my work here is done."

20. "You look like shit. Is that the style now?"

21. "The Earth is full. Go home!"

22. "Aw, did I step on your poor, little bitty ego?"

23. "I'm not tense, just terribly, terribly alert.”

24. "A hard-on doesn't count as personal growth."

25. "You are depriving some village of an idiot."

26. "If assholes could fly, this place would be a freaking airport."

27. "You realize speaking to me before I've had my morning coffee is a VERY bad idea!"

Coming Out

There comes a time in every gay person’s life when the claustrophobia and social isolation of the proverbial pink closet becomes too much and you need to step into the sunshine as the fabulous and authentic person you are. A time when you no longer can deny your true nature and the truth needs to be revealed. This experience can be daunting, exhilarating, traumatic and cathartic. All openly gay individuals have their own unique coming out stories and this is mine.

On an autumn Sunday afternoon at the tender age of 16 I decided to step out of the closet. After Sunday lunch I decided to break the news to my utterly unprepared family. My decision to do so was threefold: Firstly I have known that I was gay probably since the age of 6 (I kissed my first boy at that age); Secondly I was growing tired of having to make up lies about why I do not have a steady girlfriend; and Thirdly I no longer wanted to have to lie about the true nature of my “friendships” with certain boys.

I was considerate enough not to drop the bomb during lunch. I didn’t want to spoil the meal or cause anyone to choke on their food and having the family drama spill over to the emergency room. During the washing up the words every parent fear left my lips “Mom… Dad… I am gay…” It was received with a cold silence and a shocked pause. I remember my mother slowly turning around while loosing her grip of a plate that shattered into pieces on the floor much like my heterosexual future she had envisaged for me. In a slow, controlled and slightly strained voice she asked me to repeat myself hoping for a different outcome. “I am gay…” I hesitantly said again. The room flooded with tension, disillusioned stares where exchanged between my sister and father while my mother’s eyes were burning holes through me. In her eyes I could see the death of her imagined grandchildren and the perfect daughter-in-law. Without saying a word she left the kitchen, went to the master bedroom and sobbed behind a locked door for the remainder of the day. My father visibly distraught by my revelation later sat me down and told me that he had always suspected that I was gay. He explained that the gay lifestyle wasn’t what he wanted for me, but if this is what I am he would try to accept it, but it wasn’t going to be easy. My sister was fine with the fact that I am gay, apart from the sex part which “grossed her out”.

The next day at school I was unexpectedly called to the principal’s office. On arrival I found my mother waiting for me. Being in an all boy school, my first thought was that my parents are going to pull me out of school as instead of the testosterone fuelled environment “butching” me up I still became gay. As things turned out she was fetching me to go see a psychologist. After several sessions (10 to be exact) with a slightly homophobic therapist he unenthusiastically revealed to my parents that I was indeed gay and it wasn’t a phase. I remember my mother breaking down, wanting to know from the therapist what she and my dad did wrong causing me to be this way. The fears they had were also revealed: Was I going to get Aids? Am I going to start wearing woman’s clothes or even get a sex change? In retrospect, I guess I can’t blame their ignorance as they never had much exposure to gay people and the stereotypes about the gay community were all they knew. After the therapist explained to them with great compassion that the majority of their fears where unfounded and that they in all probability didn’t cause my homosexuality, their guilt reluctantly started to dissipate over the years to come.

Then the religious issues surfaced. How to be a good Christian and deal with your child being gay? Are you allowed to love your gay son who is condemned to hell by the Church? At this point both my parents had started to accept the fact that I am gay, but both were in denial regarding me being sexually active. You see being gay was not technically viewed as a sin, by them, as long as I didn’t practice the lifestyle. Unfortunately, my mother was yet again due for a rude awakening when she forgot something at home on her way to work. Returning home she walked in on me and my then boyfriend in the heat of passion. She almost died 20 deaths and my boyfriend was expelled from the house and remained in exile for 2 months. I am sure both my parents spend an extra couple of hours in prayer that evening.

When I met my now husband I had been out of the closet for just over 5 years. Both my parents, by this time, had accepted my sexual orientation and lifestyle. They have almost come to view it as “normal” and I was no longer the source of family shame or the result of their souls’ condemnation. My family welcomed my husband into our family with open arms, as he was the equivalent of the perfect “daughter-in-law”, so to speak. Unfortunately, at that time he was still in the closet to his family. After a couple of months, I ushered him out of the closet as I didn’t feel comfortable dating a guy and having to lie to his parents. I gave my husband the opportunity to exit the closet on his own time and on his own terms. He came out to his family in a restaurant. Always a good idea as drama will be limited and he went with his own car for an easy exit. After coming out and the truth about our relationship was revealed, I was banned from my husband’s parents home for 3 years, but he was still allowed to see me. After 11 years his parents too have grown to accept my husband and me for who we are and our relationship for what it is. They now treat me like a son. It wasn’t easy for them either, and like all parents I am sure their hearts were broken at first when the son they had didn’t turn out to be what they had wished for.

Coming out of the closet is different for everyone. We all have different families and friends who react in different ways. Coming out is a rebirth and it can be a painful experience for all involved. Those of us who are lucky have family and friends who understand that even though we are gay and live a different lifestyle we remain the persons we were before we exited the closet. They love us just the same and wish us happiness and true love as they do everyone else. I have a lot of respect for families and friends of gay people who support their gay children and peers. They are the unsung heroes who should also be celebrated. As both my family and that of my husband have come to realize, having a gay child and brother is not the end of the world. We can still make them proud and live healthy, constructive and happy lives. This month I have been out of the closet for 16 years and am still proud, queer and here!

Till next time.

Prayers for Bobby- Trailer
True story of Mary Griffith, gay rights crusader, whose teenage son committed suicide due to her religious intolerance. Based on the book of the same title by Leroy Aarons. Stars Sigourney Weaver.

Technical Problems & my Vaginal Extraction Day.

This past weekend I celebrated my birthday, or like one of my Facebook friends so eloquently phrased it – my “Vaginal Extraction Day”. But as life would have it the run up to my annual celebration of burdening the world with my fagalicious presence was met with some upheaval. You see for this weekend we did not plan any boisterous activities - it was to be simple and subdued affair. But, three weeks prior to the big day, fate once again gave me a glimpse of what a bitch she can be and the countdown to commemorating my vaginal extraction was riddled with unexpected problems.

Three weeks ago the first sign that fate was in a provocative mood with a sadistic sense of humour was the fact that I came down with the Swine Flu. Now, I have had the Swine flu once before and it was awful. After about a week of having a snot nose, coughing, wheezing, headaches, loads of self pity and daydreams about slaughtering Babe the pig, I eventually conceded that I was sick and saw my doctor. He ran some tests, confirmed the swine diagnoses, stuck a massive needle in my ass cheek, and sent me home with medication and instructions to take it easy and stay in bed. Did I listen? No. I did spend the weekend immobilized horizontally but the next week I got onto a plane and dragged my sick ass to meetings. Not surprisingly, when I got home after my trip I was a little worse for wear.

You see, doctors tell you to take it easy for a reason and it’s always highly recommended to heed their advice. My lack of compliance and stubbornness caused me not to get over my flu, and to date, I still have reminiscent swine flu related sniffles and coughing. But that was to be the least of my worries. Our oldest cat, Scary Pussy, got sick around the same time as I did. She was losing weight and didn’t have an appetite. So on the same day as my swine flu diagnoses I took my ailing pussy to the vet. One thing you should know about Scary Pussy is that she does not travel well. She does not like vets, and if she doesn’t want to do something it is never a good idea to try and force her.

Arriving at the vet, feeling like shit myself, I did warn the vet that Scary Pussy is highly neurotic, volatile and a scratcher. All information I assumed vital for the vet to be able to prepare her plan of action. All was well until she needed to shave Scary Pussy’s hair in order to draw blood from pussy’s neck. It was a blood bath! The vet, her assistant and I were scratched up, the table and floor was covered in blood and hair (not all the cats though). It involved screaming, hissing, scratching and a few prayers, but the vet got her pint of blood and Scary Pussy got hers too. Scary Pussy lost one of her lives at the vet’s office that afternoon and I lost part of my dignity. With Scary Pussy groaning like an injured and angry demon cat from hell in her carrier, bloodied and embarrassed I shamefully paid the vet, apologized profusely, got Scary Pussy’s medication and headed home.

Trying to give medication to a sick cat is a skill. It requires trickery, illusion and timing. Giving Scary Pussy her antibiotics was a two man job. We tried sticking it down her throat, but she would spit it out. Tried disguising it in her food, but she would refuse to eat. Eventually we found that diluting it in a little bit of milk, putting that into a syringe, wrapping her in a towel, peering her jaws open and squiring it into her mouth was the only way it would work. Only 40% of the medication made it into her system, but hey, at that point 40% were plenty for us. With one week left to my birthday the cat now slowly recovering and I was no longer yearning for all pigs to die. I thought it would be smooth sailing to my birthday weekend, and then fate intervened again.

We started experiencing electrical problems at our house. For some inexplicable reason our power would go off during the evenings starting from around 8pm continuing right through to the next morning. It’s especially annoying if you’re are cooking dinner, doing laundry and plan on having a party on a Friday night and have a family lunch due on the Sunday with my roast having to braise over night. As the deadline for my birthday was loaming and frustration building we got out an electrician. Late one afternoon he pitched up and started doing what electricians do. He checked wires, appliances and like an astute detective he narrowed the problem down to a single garden lamp. He opened it up and to my horror discovered that my Operation Genocide of a few months ago was not a complete success. A few of those sneaky devilish termites from hell survived, and the survivors covertly colonized the lamp causing power surges resulting in our blackouts. With the electrician confident that he had found and resolved our problem, he left. But this would not be the end of that.

By 8:30pm that evening, the power still did not go off and hubby and I were relieved that our problem had indeed been fixed. 9:10pm the power goes out! “Mother Fucker! Damnit!” were the words my neighbours heard as I made my way to the main power board in the dark and accidentally bumped my hip, which is still blue, into to dining room table. I flipped the switch and as power was restored hubby and I looked at each other with a sense of defeat. I went to the guest bathroom, peed and as I flushed the toilet the flushing mechanism broke! As I walked towards the lounge to inform hubby that we now had plumbing problem too, the power went off again and I again bump into the dining room table but this time with my other hip. “God Damnit!” I thought, my birthday is just two days away, we are going to be celebrating in the dark, with cold raw food and the guests are going to have to go to the toilet either in the main bedroom or if that is occupied in the garden. On the verge of breaking down and crying like an emotionally disturbed child, I opted to take a sleeping pill and go to bed instead.

As if this was not enough fate thought it appropriate to add insult to injury and in addition to our electrical problem, plumbing problem and other ailments I also got an eye infection in both my eyes. But my vaginal extraction day celebrations were to go ahead regardless. After all I did not spend 18 hours, some thirty something years ago, being pushed out of my mother's vagina to have a few technical difficulties spoil my day. Eventually, on Friday evening we managed to rectify our electrical situation, tracing the problem to a faulty oil heater. On Sunday my brother-in-law fixed the guest toilet, and with blood shot eyes and a few coughs and sneezes I celebrated my birthday. Yes fate can be a vicious bitch with a wicked sense of humour, but unfortunately for her I can be one persistent bitch too!

Till next time.