Thursday, December 22, 2011

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.

Thursday, December 15, 2011


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.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

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…

Friday, December 9, 2011

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.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

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!"

Thursday, December 1, 2011

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.

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