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!

The Gift of Death

With the celebration of World Aids Day on 1 December around the corner and with this year's theme  being “Getting to Zero” I decided to engage some people on this topic. During one such discussion the bizarre phenomenon of deliberate HIV infection was brought to my attention. I vaguely recall hearing of this a few years ago (in 2003), but thought it was an isolated incident; with further exploration I discovered to my horror it is still being practiced. This phenomenon is called Bug Chasing.

Bug Chasing is described as a subculture of homosexual men who actively pursue sex with HIV infected people in order to get infected themselves. However, in recent times, this practice has now also spilled over to the heterosexual community. This peculiar practice has also given rise to its own terminology:

Bug Chaser: Person who deliberately attempts to contract HIV by having unprotected sex with a person or a group of people who are known or suspected to have the virus.

Gift Giver: A HIV+ person who deliberately transmits the virus to those willing to contract it.

Bug/Conversion Parties: Sex parties where unsafe sex is encouraged and where bug chasers can potentially be infected by a gift giver. At these parties there are usual only a few HIV+ participants and only the host of these parties knows of these individuals positive status.

HIV has become a manageable disease and many infected individuals live normal and healthy lives with an increased life expectancy. It no longer is the death sentence it was thought to be nearly 30 years ago. This put aside, we are all aware that there still is no cure or vaccine for this disease and many people still perish due to AIDS; with the majority of AIDS related fatalities occurring in poverty stricken countries where access to modern medicine is limited. So why would any person in their right mind want to be infected with HIV?

A variety of studies have been done on the psychological and sociological reasons for this type of behaviour. The findings on the Bug Chasers range from people with anxiety disorders that wanted to get contaminated to relieve their fear of getting infected; people doing it to get free medical care; people who felt isolated and viewed being HIV+ as a means through which they would gain acceptance and sympathy; sex addicts; and people who demonstrates sexual risk taking behaviour seeking a new thrill or sexual high.

Whatever the motivation for any person wanting to get infected I find it outrages, irresponsible and borderline criminal! How long before these individuals realize the so-called “Gift” they received have far reaching consequences and in all probability could lead to their untimely departure from this planet. It’s nothing less than suicide! The Gift Givers, in my opinion, are criminals. In many countries around the world the deliberate infection of people with HIV has been criminalized and charges of attempted murder can be filed against them. I find it unfathomable how any person could knowingly infect another person even if the recipient is a willing participant.

Having a few friends who are HIV+ and having had one friend who passed away from AIDS, I distinctly recall their reactions upon receiving their diagnoses. Not a single one of them were filled with joy upon receiving the news. Their diagnoses were followed with depression, anger and fear. One described being HIV+ as living with a time bomb inside you, never knowing when or where it will ignite. Most of my HIV+ friends have come to terms with their HIV status and live with it quite comfortably but remains aware of its potential lethal end game.

I find it quite ironic that such a practice as Bug Chasing exists in light of this years World AIDS day’s theme - Getting to Zero. Are both the Bug Chasers and Gift Givers in denial? Do they even know how many people are infected world wide and don’t have access to potentially life saving medication, how many people die of AIDS and have they ever seen the devastation of this disease during its final deadly grip? Being infected with HIV will not make them part of a special or elite brotherhood, most definitely will not help cure AIDS and not free them from the eventuality that we all face at the end of our existence.

Many people across the world are denied the basic human right to receive access to essential HIV medication and dies as a result. Therefore, it is quite disturbing that in developed countries such a flagrant disregard exists amongst people regarding their health. The fact that they deliberately infect themselves and spread a virus whilst having access to all the treatments that will keep them alive longer is not only selfish but is also destructive. There are people across the world who didn’t ask for this virus, who do not want to die, yet they will die unless granted the same opportunities and access to essential medications.

I hope participants in Bug Chasing come to realize that this “Gift” they refer to is the Gift of Death, and engaging in it is profoundly immoral, in my opinion, and only perpetuates the spread of the disease, worsening the situation and putting unnecessary strain on healthcare and pharmaceuticals making treatment inaccessible to those who are truly in dire need.  Hopefully we will get to Zero one day.  Perharps that one day will be the day the Bug Chasers are dead.

Till next time.

The Gift

Quitting Fags. For real this time.

I have been a smoker for 17 years and I am really good at it. Sure I have tried to breakup up with my favorite fags on several occasions, but every time I tried I ended up going back to them. Whether it is the nicotine, the habit or the combination of both, I have never managed to make a clean break of it. So imagine my surprise when colleagues at work started quitting in droves. One by one they gave up cigarettes seemingly without effort and/or the associated melodrama. Naturally, I was intrigued and discovered that they were all on this new but very controversial prescription drug called "Champix". So I had to try it.

Now, everyone that has ever tried to quit smoking will tell you. It. Is. Hell. I have done the patches, mouth spray, chewing gum, Zyban and the electric cigarette. None of which worked. I have also once tried going cold turkey and let’s just say it was no fucking fun fair and I almost ended up committing a triple homicide. So when this new drug crossed my path and appeared to help folks quit without any psychotic cravings, you know the “you need nicotine so bad you’re considering licking a dirty ashtray” kind of cravings, I was curious. Would this new drug work for me? So I did some research.

As many of you know, I am Google’s bitch and Facebook’s slut. So it was only normal for me to utilize them both to learn more about this pill called Champix. What I discovered freaked me out. The pill has a list of side effects longer than the New Testament which includes, but is not limited to, death and/or suicide! Did I really want to take something that could give me migraines, blood in my poo, flatulence, gingivitis, rashes, nightmares, mood swings and/or muscle pains, just to mention but a few? After weighing up getting cancer versus farting blood, I called my doctor fully expecting him to be thrilled that I wanted to stop smoking. However, his reaction was rather shocking.

“Look I am glad that you want to give up smoking and it is about time that you did, but I am not prescribing that pill for you!” and Yes, “No I won’t” was his final answer! Apparently he spoke to a number of specialists who all agreed that giving Champix to patients was too great a risk. So, I just went to another doctor who would prescribe it for me, because I am responsible adult like that.  I started taking the drug and by week two the side effects started. At first they were mild but soon they grew more prominent and less easy to ignore. But the worst was yet to come. As I entered week four I peaked on several items as listed on the medication insert pamphlet, which I now decided to read with comprehension, and it wasn’t fun anymore. NOT. Fun. At. All!

Normally I am a moody person but on Champix I am an irrational borderline psychotic bitch! What makes it worse is the fact that when I am being an irrational bitch I am fully self-aware, know I am being irrational and a bitch and still I just can’t stop myself. Combine this with being bloated and looking like I am four months pregnant, throw in a headache and mix well with nausea and you have a Champix recipe for what can only be described as a clusterfuck of side effects that actually saw me taking one day’s sick leave from work. However, side effects aside, by week four I managed to cut my smoking down by half. But I still was smoking. Smoking but not enjoying it. Smoking out of stubbornness. Smoking out of habit.

They say that when you are on this pill you should set a deadline for yourself for when you plan to quit - quit smoking that is NOT the pill! This was something I wanted to and chose to ignore. Setting a deadline to quit made me sad, miserable and for some bizarre reason I wanted to believe that the pill will help me give up smoking naturally. So one morning after I dreamed that I had to drive through the Gaza Strip and Hamas and some Somali pirates wanted to kidnap me for ransom, I had an epiphany. I came to the realization that if I really wanted to quit smoking I would need to put some effort into it myself as well. And then I wondered what Somali pirates were doing in Israel, why they were working with Hamas and why the hell they were after me!

At week five I started to think that maybe I am in the percentile of people for which this new “miracle pill” doesn’t work. Look, I don’t mind being a statistic as long as I am at the right side of it, and being competitive by nature falling into the “failure” percentile pissed me off and was going to have none of it. I will quit smoking and this Goddamn pill will help me even if it kills me! So I have set a deadline to stop. I have bought my last carton of cigarettes last week (yes I do smoke that much) and it should be finished within the next few days. May God have mercy on all the souls who cross my path. When I smoke my last Peter Stuyvesant it will be a sad day. Saying goodbye to a friend of 17 years who have always been there for me will not be easy. Not easy at all…

Yes, my love affair with Peter Stuyvesant, Marlboro and Camel have almost come to an end. They have been there for me when I was stressed, sad, happy, bored and in need for some after action satisfaction. For 17 years their odor have permeated the air in my house, my car, clung to my hair, clothes and hands. After 17 years it is time to bid them adieu. I must admit, I am a little scared as I am not sure what to expect when I put out that last cigarette, but one thing I am certain off is that in 10 years from now I’d be happy I did.

Till next time.

Rather Be Black than Gay

One of my friends recently said “I’d rather be black than gay, at least then I don’t have to tell my mother!” We were talking about coming out of the closet and how difficult it can be. Since I started my blog, I have received numerous e-mails from gay people around the world going through this metamorphosis from effectively living a lie to being their authentic selves. Most usually find themselves in the midst of a crisis. They are scared. They fear being rejected, being hurt and most of all hurting those they love. So why put yourself through this?

Most gay people knew that they were different from a young age. I, for one, knew from my kindergarten days as playing "Cowboys and Crooks" was not as appealing to me then, and I preferred the company of what would later become my "Fag Hags". These days I do not mind smoldering cowboys and the meaning of that game has changed quite significantly. As one grows older the sense that you are different grows stronger and when puberty finally kicks in you start to realize exactly what it is that makes you different.

A couple friends I have spoken to have expressed the sense of isolation they experienced, the fear of having their secret exposed and the difficulty inhibiting their natural sexual urges. Let’s face it being a gay teenager with hormones raging and sex on the brain makes for a fairly precarious predicament! Many challenge their sexual preference but at the end of the day most ended up in some kind of situation with another confused kid of the same gender experimenting with sex. This was done with great caution as being exposed as gay in school could have dire consequences.

Many gay teenagers feel lonely, misunderstood and like they are the only ones in the world. I sure did, and when I did come out in high school my burning flame of fagotary’s light was not well received and High School was not one of my favorite times in my life, but I wear my battle scars with pride. Luckily, today young gay teens no longer have to feel isolated as there are many organizations at their disposal which can assist them and give advice and guidance. Their flames can shine bright instead of being prematurely extinguished!

There are gay people walking around with a sense of guilt about their homosexuality. One such person wrote to me saying that he decided to pursue heterosexual relationships because it would not be fair to his family if he came out: His family would be shamed and he would be ostracized because the community in which he lives were very conservative. Every time he had sex with his girlfriend he would fantasize about guys and he was terrified that she would become aware of this. God forbid he shouted out the name “Jeff” at the peak of passion!

He did eventually come out of the closet. As one would expect his family did not take the news well and neither did his girlfriend. The town folk did not try to chase him out of town with an angry mob carrying garden forks and burning torches, but some did make homophobic remarks and he lost a number of friends. Even though his family did find it difficult to come to terms with having a gay son and hurtful things was said and done, at least he no longer have to live a lie, no longer have to fantasize about men and deceive his girlfriend. He now can be himself. He started a new life, a new beginning, made new friends and become part of a new elaborate rainbow family. It was not easy and his family still has issues, but time heals all wounds and they too will come to realized that he still is the same person he was before he came out and they will love him just the same.

Unfortunately, coming out of the closet could be lethal for some of our gay brothers and sisters. Homosexuality is still illegal in 79 countries in the world and in 8 countries the punishment is death by hanging or even stoning. Countries like Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia and Nigeria are still known to execute homosexuals. In Africa, Uganda now also wants to pass new legislation that too would provide for the execution of homosexuals. Being gay in anyone of these countries is dangerous. I cannot even begin to imagine the utter fear one must live with should your secret be exposed and to what extent they must go to hide who they truly are. The problems and consequences we face when coming out seems insignificant compared to theirs. That’s why we must fight for not only our own rights but also for theirs. This cannot be done from inside the closet!

There are many reasons gay people have for struggling to break free from the confines of the proverbial closest. Some e-mails I received dealt specifically with religion and the great difficulty they experience reconciling their sexual orientation with their religious beliefs and Church. Some gay people even find themselves in Brokeback marriages, or are confused about their sexuality not knowing how to tell their partners they’re bi-sexual or feel they were born into the wrong gender. The conclusion I have drawn from all these people’s messages is that we are all different with our own unique challenges. However, they are never insurmountable and all can be overcome.

Being gay is not a disability, illness or a curse. We should not be stuck in the closet due to shame, fear or guilt – open that door and step into the light. Coming out is never easy and you can expect some turbulence on your flight to freedom - No journey worthwhile is without its challenges. The good news is that you will reach your destination a stronger person and happier we are not called “Gay” for nothing. So kick down that door! Be proud!

Till next time.