20 Questions I Have

We all, at times, have questions which are sometimes impossible to find answers for.  Here are the top 20 questions I have been mulling over for quite some time.   If you know any of the answers please post them in the comment section.  Seriously.

How long is "finger-length"?

Do therapists get to write off tissues?

Do they make mood ring sunglasses?

With so many daily hazards, why don't people wear shields anymore?

When did happy become the new sad?

Are child pageants just kid drag?

How long do you boil mustard to get the gas?

How do I make pronouncing the "j" in "mojito" a thing?

Midnight makes sense, but why do they call it noon?

On average, which profession has the largest sized heads?

Are any cats allergic to people?

Why do all lesbians either look like Justin Beiber, Molly Ringwald or Danny DeVito?

How much widescreen is too much widescreen?

Is it normal to have a tongue phobia?

What's the typical lost-to-found ratio?

What liquid do they use to test gallons of hats?

Do they call it a pyramid scheme because Egyptian people created it?

Do fireworks contribute to global warming?

Are there tame wildfires?

Is there a way to request a Hurricane to be called Pierre?

Free at Last. I am Free at Last! Well, Almost.

The end is nigh.  For my braces that is!  After sixteen months of unadulterated torment the medieval torture devices from hell will be ripped out of my mouth ending a phase in my life that I will not look back on fondly.  It all started last year when I learned with great distress that I was experiencing an “orthodontic relapse”: A fancy medical/dental term meaning “your teeth are being bitches and started to move again”.  For someone who has never had a cavity in my life, visits the dentist 3 times a year for checkups and teeth cleaning, brushes religiously and flosses as if my life depends on it, the prospect of having to get braces again, and all that goes along with it, terrified me.  With only a few days until I will be braces free, I decided to reflect back on some of the high lights and low lights of my orthodontic experience.

Ever heard of Inter-dental scraping?  No?  It’s the process by which the orthodontist (or her assistant) takes a micro file and scrapes between your teeth to make space or to aesthetically correct the shape of your teeth.  This is one of the procedures I had to endure on 5 separate occasions and had me squirming on the dentist chair, replicating an epileptic seizure while drenched in sweat and experiencing a cataclysmic collision of nerve endings in my head due to being physically grossed out by the sensation of having my teeth filed/sanded down.  It’s barbaric.  It’s unpleasant.  It’s something I hope to God I would never ever have to go through again for as long as I life.  I am convinced that I now suffer from a mild case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because of it.  Every time I see a nail file or sandpaper (which is surprisingly often) I experience I mild panic attack and have to resist the urge to cover my mouth and scream into my sweaty hands.

For the most part I managed to cope relatively well with the braces and not once, during the last sixteen months, did I break any of the wires or brackets.  Something that my orthodontist told me eight months ago is quite a feat.  However, I think it is important to add here that during that same consultation she also told me that the factory which manufactures my porcelain brackets was destroyed during the earthquake in Japan.  Consequently, if I were to break any of the porcelain brackets they would have to be replaced with the normal metal ones and that would have looked “peculiar” aka fucking UGLY!  Needless to say since she shared that little nuclear charged piece of information with me I lived in a constant state of fear of breaking my porcelain brackets which dramatically changing my eating habits.  This leads me to my next orthodontic challenge – food.

As anyone who has ever had braces will tell you, eating is a problem!  The first couple of months the natural human act of eating become a mathematical and sometimes geometric challenge.  But after a couple of faux pas (i.e. attending meetings with food stuck in my braces or going through customs at the airport in a foreign country with a salad leaf dangling off my front tooth) I learned to manage.  At this stage I can eat pretty much anything provided I have a knife and fork, and it’s all very civilized.  The only thing that still tends to rankle my tits is when food gets lodged in parts of my braces that not even the Holy Ghost can reach never mind dislodge.  And a day later it decides to come loose and you have the unpleasant surprise of re-tasting yesterday’s breakfast.  All though food is major part of braces hell the other more noticeable drawback is how it affects your speech.

You see, with braces I almost had to learn to talk again.  The constant obstacle course of wires and pointy metal and porcelain hurdles in your mouth requires some getting used to and it, at times, makes talking a intricate balancing act of trying to sound normal and accepting you sound like a freak.  Many a time I have heard myself either sounding drunk or talking with a slur (usually after my braces got adjusted) or sounding mentally retarded.  Usually this artificial speech impediment is at its worst when you are speaking to important people or when taking phone calls from people who only have your voice as reference to draw an opinion of you.  I simply cannot wait to again be able to talk like a normal person and to be able to move on from sounding like the drunken stuttering bionic mouth man and to be able to annunciate.  I remember being able to annunciate and I fucking miss it! Having your lips or mouth cheeks caught on your wires while speaking to strangers not only make you sound stupid but makes you look ridiculous too.  And I will not miss any of it!

The one thing I have missed the most during the last sixteen months is flossing.  Sure they make special dental floss for people with braces but you need a PhD to be able to use it and the patience of a Ninja.  I found myself many an evening on the bathroom floor crying like an emotionally disturb child with dental floss hanging from my mouth.  I also had to cut myself free from this “special” dental floss with a pair of scissors which is not only degrading and dangerous but also frightening as hell.  There is nothing scarier than the irrational realization that you may have inadvertently permanently entangled dental floss in your braces and, that the possibility exists that the fire department might have to pry the braces off your teeth with the Jaws of Life or you may joke to death in your sleep.  Yes, these are things that go through your mind in these types of orthodontic crises.  Not only do you feel terribly ashamed and scared but you also tend to momentarily lose your mind.  This happened often.

Sure, looking back at the last sixteen months of my orthodontic experience I cannot find any high lights only low lights which are plentiful.  The only high light I imagine will be once the braces come off and I am free at last.  I also did not lose all those weight I imagined I would and which I firmly convinced myself would be the upside of having braces.  I have learned that it is a lie you tell yourself and then tend to spread by telling other potential orthodontic victims.  But in the end, I guess, the last sixteen months’ suffering was not in vain.  My teeth have been restored to their former symmetrical splendor.  My dental health has never been better and in a couple of days I will be able to floss again without having the fire department’s number on speed dial.  My orthodontic nightmare is almost over and I am counting the minutes to my freedom.  My freedom and perfect teeth, that is!

Till next time.

Nothing Can Tear Us Apart - Uncensored

Wyatt O’Brian Evans is an author, journalist, entertainer, and entrepreneur residing in metro Washington, in the States.  As a journalist, his work has been featured in print and on-line publications including the Washington Post, American Politics, Imperious Entertainment, QBliss, and Bilerico.com.  His new novel, “Nothing Can Tear Us Apart—Uncensored” (gay/ethnic/erotica), is scheduled for release on July 27, 2012.  You can visit Wyatt's website by clicking HERE.

     What would you do after the man of your dreams battered you because he believed you’d been unfaithful?  Then, how would you cope with the revelation that someone’s vicious treachery was behind your partner’s despicable actions?  Could you forgive this man to whom you’ve given every piece of your heart?

     Such dilemmas occur in Nothing Can Tear Us Apart--Uncensored.  It’s the present time in metropolitan Washington, and desirable, wealthy gay Black celebrity Wesley (Wes) Laurence Kelly, 44, yearns for an enduring, satisfying love.  Unfortunately, disastrous relationships have left him shattered and disillusioned.

     Enter Antonio (‘Tonio) Miguel Rios, Jr., 30, a deliciously muscular gay Puerto Rican whom Wes has hired as his bodyguard.  He, too, has failed at love.

     Then, without warning, that magical, irrefutable, irresistible force known as chemistry totally engulfs the pair.  And after finding they have much in common, Wes and ‘Tonio forge a strong bond.  However, they’re too afraid to act on the growing romantic feelings and sexual urges they have for each other.
    But after a violent store holdup throws Wes’s life on the line, the connection strengthens, intensifies.   Their ardent, pent-up desire for each other rages like a four-alarm inferno, threatening to utterly consume them. 

     Soon, Wes and ‘Tonio break down and profess their love for one another.  They celebrate in steamy, hot and heavy lovemaking, which sweeps them away.

     However, tough challenges and obstacles jeopardize their relationship.  And then there’s a certain someone who has a score to settle with the celeb.  He or she (Or, is it she or he?) sets up Wes to make it appear that he’s been cheating. 

     Taking the bait, the frenzied bodyguard physically brutalizes his partner!  The final blow is when the couple learns just who was behind the deception.

     Can and does Wes forgive ‘Tonio?   

     Will the couple still be able to vow, Nothing Can Tear Us Apart?”

   

I designed “Nothing Can Tear Us Apart—Uncensored” to be fresh, hip, and unique, with rich drama; but more importantly, to explore relevant issues and themes that resonate with a universal audience.  Domestic violence/abuse is one such issue.

And, I decided to tell the story of two openly gay, masculine, accomplished, upwardly mobile men of color who fall deeply in love and eventually find themselves in this situation.  I wanted to demonstrate that anyone can become a victim—regardless of race,  gender, size, income, etc.

New research suggests that more LGBTQI persons are living in fear of an abusive partner than previously thought.  Each year in the U.S., between 50,000-100,000 lesbians (or more) and as many as 500,000 (or more) gay men are battered, and about one in four LGBTQI relationships/partnerships are abusive in some way.  This fall, I embark on a national Domestic Violence Seminar/Boor Tour.

The following is an excerpt from “Nothing Can Tear Us Apart—Uncensored.”   At this point, the couple is in a committed relationship.  After Thanksgiving dinner with ‘Tonio’s family, ‘Tonio ushers Wes upstairs to his boyhood bedroom.

     The lock to the door went clickety-click, click…click!

     Oh, shit. 

     That made me tingle through and through, waiting for him to make his move.

     And without warning, ‘Tonio did just that! 

    "Gimme all dat phat chocolate culo --right NOW!" 

    ‘Tonio wasn't asking or negotiating.  He was commanding, demanding!  Taking my ass was a foregone conclusion. 

     Next, he clutched my firm, round culo, holding on to it for dear life.

     Then, I felt his hot breath blowing against my ear, and his goatee brushing against my neck.  All the while, his moist, hot, slick lips kissed my neck.  That made me freakin’ jerk!  And finally, his warm, slippery tongue found its home in my left ear.

     I was in freakin’ sexual overload!

     "Oh, Gawd, Papa!  Papa, we can't do this here...Papa, shouldn't we wait...?"

     "Want me ta stop, Wes-lee?  Is dat what’cha really want, papito?”

     "Of course not, Pa!  I want you anytime, anywhere!  Just take me, Pa!  Right here.  Right NOW!"

     “Well den, like I said:  gimme all yo’ phat chocolate culo!"   And with that, he skillfully unbuttoned my jeans, swiftly yanking them

D-O-W-N!  Then, ‘Tonio positioned me against the wall.

     Quickly, he slid his thick index finger straight up my bootyliciousbutthole.  

     He got an intriguing surprise!

     "What da fuck?  Hey, you're already lubed up?"  Smiling, he asked, " 'Sup?"

     "Yeah, Papa," I smiled back, looking at him.  "I had a notion you wanted some."

     Then, his fingers went in and out…and then in and UP my willing, receptive, thoroughly juiced-up bootyhole!  And, the exhilaration was causing me to produce my own natural lubricant.

     Those probing sensations made my body jerk!  It became taut, rigid.  He was approaching my prostate, and I felt ready to holla at any point. 

     'Tonio had secured me up against the wall.  As he finger-fucked me with one hand, the digits of his other beefy, moist mitt tweaked my nips.  Ahhhhhhh, yessssssssss!  And with his tongue deep in my mouth, I was totally lost in red-hot emotion and sexual abandon.

     "Gotta have ya right now, baybee!"

     " I'm yours, ‘Tonio.  Fuckin’ take me!"

     Without another word, he fitted an extra large black condom over his rockhard, throbbing, long, wide, phat tool.  In a few seconds, I felt Papa's bulbous, meaty head graze, and then stretch my bootyhole wide O-P-E-N!  And next, with a small push, he’d entered, gliding deep all up inside me. 

     I trembled!   My eyes bulged!  At first, there was that oh-so familiar “stang”: then that glowing, burning sensation--which is a swirl of just the precise amount of pain…and pleasure. 

     "Are ya okay, baybee?"

     I could barely moan, "Everythang's aight, sweetheart."   My voice became guttural, lower than low, laced with heat, lust and passion.

     And then, with one straight, solid, fluid thrust, ‘Tonio pumped the rest of his caramel papadick all the way in and up my bootyhole!  Goddamn!  I was completely, absolutely, totally filled up.  YOWZA!

     Now, Papa went about doin' his work!  He had his humungous muscled legs supporting my slightly bent over body.  As well, he'd wrapped his bulging left arm tightly around my waist, and had his massive right arm and palm pressed into the wall for leverage.

     His stroking became “powerpumping” and then evolved—no, morphed--into POUNDING!   Lickety-split, I assisted by bucking back and forth against his torso, my azzmuscles dragging that caramel papadick further and deeper into me.  That drove him mad-crazy! 

     And shyit!  I was in stone-cold, red-hot delirium.

     "Baybee, you belong ta me...only me!  Dont'cha evah forgit dat!" ‘Tonio grunted and groaned, sweat pouring down his face.

     "I do...and I won't, Papa."   Fuck!  I was in a sex-crazed haze, with no choice but to defer, to agree unequivocally.  After all, I was deliriously in love with this man!

     "Oh shyit, baybee--I gotta cum!"

     "Do it, big man!  You deserve it!" 

     Quickly, he pulled out.  "Oh, Gawdddddddd,” he quietly groaned.  (Y'all can figure out why we had to keep the volume down.  Fo’ real! Smile.)  Thick ropes of cum splattered all ovah my sweaty, quivering azz.   

     Afterwards, I slapped his musclebutt.  “I'm gittin' mine tonite." 

     Totally spent, ’Tonio panted, "No doubt, baybee.  No doubt."

You can Purchase "Nothing Can Tear US Apart - Uncensored" on Amazon by clicking HERE.

Mandela Day

Nelson Mandela is without a doubt the face and soul of South Africa. This great icon of peace and liberation will be celebrating his birthday on 18 July and he will be turning 94. Therefore, a great tribute to this legend of Africa is the annual celebration of Mandela Day (make an imprint a 46664 celebration) which was established in June of 2008. Mandela Day is an annual celebration of Nelson Mandela’s life and a global call to action for people to recognize their individual power to make an imprint and change the world around them; individuals are required to spend 67 minutes on this day devoted to the charity of their choice in celebration of Mandela’s 67 years of making a difference.

I am one of the lucky South Africans that had the honour of meeting this legend a couple of years ago. Madiba made a visit to the university I was attending. When he entered the room I could feel I was in the presence of greatness. I was overwhelmed by his energy and enigmatic poise. Shaking the hand of this unassuming and soft spoken man I looked into his eyes and could not help but wonder how this person that spend 27 years in prison could emerge without any bitterness or hatred. On 11 February 1990 his freedom was secured and his dynamic purpose and instrumental role in forever changing a country, I suppose, provided him with a higher objective that could not afford him the luxury of ill feelings of the past but instead focused him on his destiny. After changing a nation and an exemplary life Madiba stood in front me and I realized I was touching a legend and a part of living history. The few minutes of interaction I had with him will remain vivid in my memory and his genuine interest and ability to make each person he relates with feel important and respected will remain an example to me of how human beings should treat each other.
Being too young to actually remember Apartheid and the evils it perpetrated I recently visited the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg. Our sordid history is on display in this multi-million establishment that serves as a reminder for us not to repeat the past. Atrocities committed on both sides of the battle are on display in this museum. After drinking up all this history I left the museum feeling perturbed at how a society could be mislead to believe that discrimination and hate could serve any higher purpose. I also left with a sense of hope as we as a nation were victorious in this struggle and are well on our way to navigate successfully an enlightened future. The story of Apartheid is a painful one for many people – black and white alike! Many innocent people suffered, died and many lives were forever changed with both physical and emotional scars that individuals will take with them to their final resting place. All this sacrifice so that we (the next generation) will have freedom and a better future, a sacrifice I believe not many South African’s fully appreciate.
Having been to Robin Island on a few occasions it’s hard to believe that Nelson Mandela spend the better part of his live there. Having been inside his prison cell I came to realize how resilient a person’s mind must be to stay strong, focused and optimistic as the claustrophobia could easily persuade your soul to lose hope and your mind to forfeit progress. While on the island I also had the opportunity to see the man made cave that the political prisoners dug; the cave that is fondly referred to as our first democratic parliament and many of our current political leaders received their political education there. If anything the visionaries of that era were creative, innovative and motivated – qualities we hope they will soon reintroduce into our current political landscape.

Nelson Mandela truly is an extraordinary human being and will be celebrated across the world on the 18th of July for many years to come. His life is an example of sacrifice, hope, change, resilience and peace. It’s my wish that with Mandela Day people from across the globe will engage in the values of compassion, respect, charity, peace, forgiveness and goodwill and make a positive imprint on their community propagating the legacy of Madiba and embracing Madiba Magic in their lives and generously share it with others.

(For information on how you can participate in Mandela Day please visit the official website http://www.mandeladay.com/)

Till next time.

Mandela Day - Song especially written by Simple Minds for the Free Nelson Mandela Concert held in Wembley in 1988

I Am Not Dead Yet!

Being sick is one of the most awful things in the world.  I have just started to recover from two weeks of coughing up green slime, a snot marathon and feeling like I bungee jumped off a bridge without a bungee cord.  When sick I am also one of the worst patients you will ever come across even when heavily medicated.  You see when I am ill and on a myriad of drugs I tend to become emotional.  My emotional range varying from self pity and believing that I am really dying and that nobody cares resulting in me having episodes of crying like an emotionally disturbed child who just broke his favorite toy, to being an angry and highly agitated bitch on steroids (with the  steroids actually being 2000mg of penicillin per day).  They say when men are sick they tend to behave like babies and looking back at my 14 day antibiotic haze I could not help but wonder – is this actually true?

In January hubby and I returned from our holiday on Paradise Island.  Unbeknown to me I returned from our holiday with a little gift; the gift being double pneumonia.  Long story short, when we landed back home I was directly taken to hospital with my pretty ocean view of 24 hour earlier replaced with a view of an old dying queen in front of me, my drip and an oxygen tank.

My stay in hospital was abruptly ended when I had a complete emotional melt down after one particular evil nurse popped one of my veins for the 3^rd time when she tried to fix my drip.  I did the ugly cry and my pulmonologist discharged me from hospital but not before giving me a very serious and stern warning: “Many people die of pneumonia every year, even young healthy men like you.  This is to be taken seriously.  Your lungs are damaged and for the next 12 months you will be vulnerable to respiratory ailments that could again result in pneumonia.  Take special care this winter, OK?”

This doctor died of a heart attack a couple of weeks ago and his heart attack is in no way related to me (just saying).  I heeded his warning and have been taking Vitamin C supplements ever since and everything was going well until after my birthday party.  You see we sat outside under a gas heater for most of the evening.  Drank way to many tequila and caramel vodka shooters and the next day I felt like Jose Cuervo and a Russian tried to kill me.  I was hung over and felt sick.  Monday morning I went to work feeling like death warmed up and believed it must be the aftermath of my hang over and me moving on in years, but it wasn’t.

You see I caught a bug the night of my party and the son of a bitch was inside my lungs making babies.  By Tuesday I could no longer ignore my symptoms (i.e. the pain when I was breathing) and consulted with my personal physician.  He did his normal examination and we ended up arguing; he said I had a fever and said I didn’t.  Eventually I went for X-rays and the final diagnosis was that I was developing pneumonia in my left lung.  I cursed, he scribbled a prescription and a sick note for work and I left coughing and wheezing all the way home.

The next couple of days I spent in the horizontal position with my earthly existence being restricted to antibiotics, cough syrup, anti-inflammatory medication, chicken soup and reruns of MacGyver and CSI New York.  By the following Monday I was convinced that I was fine to go back to work and that if I was ever in a pickle that I would be able to get myself out of it with a paperclip, tinfoil and a piece of string.  I was also confident that if I had to work a murder case that I would be able to solve the shit out of it in under 52 minutes.  I was wrong.

I arrived at work as high as a kite on antibiotics.  I floated through the day not being able to concentrate or focus.  The next day I realized I was still not fine and went back to my doctor only to learn that the pneumonia was cleared up but that I now had bronchitis.  “Mother. Fucking. Hell.” was my reaction and the doctor’s considered professional medical opinion of the cause was, and I quote “It is winter.”

By this time my tolerance level for being sick had reached critical mass and I found myself regressing back to being an emotionally needy and rather pissed off toddler.  With a second round of antibiotics, coughing up and secreting rather unearthly looking fluids from my nose and lungs I was not sure who were more irritated with me being sick – my cats watching me clearly wondering what their plan B was if I died or me wondering when I was going to die.

Poor hubby barely survived the 14 days having to deal with a sick, cranky and super emotional bitch.  But being the gentle soul that he is, he managed to control the situation and defuse the supernova that almost occurred roughly 30 times.  One evening I even ended up yelling “I AM DYING!  i am dying, don’t you love me?  Nobody loves me…” while wiping drool and snot from my fever flushed cheek.

Yes, in my personal experience, I can emphatically state that men when sick do not behave like babies.  Men behave like emotionally needy toddlers and it’s best to keep them heavily medicated and in an emotionally tranquil state for the duration of their recovery.  My main problem when I am starting to get sick is my categorical denial that I am sick and when I eventually accept that I am, is my firm suspicion that I am dying.  All the emotionally charged nuclear fallout after that I blame on the medication.  I am still not completely well yet but at least I am no longer lying in bed stewing in my own snot and self-pity.  I will survive *cough* I really will *sneeze*…

Till next time.

Religion: The Horrors, Ignorance & Homophobia

For The Bible Tells Me So (2007)

Grounded by the stories of five conservative Christian families this film explores how the religious right has used its interpretation of the Bible to support its agenda of stigmatizing the gay community and eroding the separation between church and state.

The Christian Exploitation of Homophobia for Cash

My commute to work has become rather (how to put it) dreadful.  You see The Light of the Nations “Church” has erected a huge billboard that I have to drive past twice a day five days a week.  This billboard suggests that Jesus can “save” people from homosexuality.  It depicts a man ripping open his shirt as words such as “drugs, lies, depression, porn and divorce” (amongst others) fly into the air.  Among the words is “homosexuality”.  This billboard then also suggests that the Church believes that a person’s ills, including homosexuality, can be cured by the Christian faith.  I say this is bullshit!

This advert is misleading, dishonest and offensive, to say the least, and I take great personal umbrage that this billboard was even allowed to be erected.  Homosexuality is neither a disease nor is it a choice and it most certainly cannot be “cured”.  This advert clearly uses discrimination against the LGBT community as a tool to bring people to their services and therefore perpetuates their Church's hate against the LGBT community.  Homosexuality should not be equated to things like using drugs, having an extramarital affair, viewing pornography and getting a divorce. These are choices people make. I find it offensive that they advertise their ignorance and intolerance next to a busy road and that I have to drive past it every fucking day.

Once again religion and a bunch of pastors with questionable motives are exploiting homophobia for financial gain.  But this is not the first time this “church” has been involved in less than Christian like behavior.  The “church” has also featured on Hello Peter for deducting donations of people’s accounts, one of whom had left the church well over two years ago.  It would seem that these Pastors are truly in the business of religion for the cash and not for saving souls, which in their case may be a secondary bonus.  Personally I am sick of people using religion to further their own bank accounts, spreading hatred and intolerance and using homophobia to get more asses into their seats at sermons.

Sure, faith can help some people get rid of a few of their vices but haven’t we learned by now that you cannot pray the gay away.  Why are certain religious groups and churches still perpetuating this myth?  Don’t they realize they are causing more harm?  Creating more fear and hatred towards the LGBT community?  Committing a sin according to their bibles?  Is it just me or does this seem like a trend.  Every time a congregation seems to dwindle in numbers the first place that congregation leaders go to is the old trusty LGBT community.  Condemn the gays and promise you can “cure” them and your church will be saved.

This is exactly why I don’t go to church and why I do not believe in organized religion.  The bible is open to interpretation and some people can twist and deform its content to suit whatever agenda they want to push.  What is sad is that there are some people sitting in the pews every Sunday who do not want to think for themselves and lap up untruths which they never question and place their trust and salvation in people who are not even qualified to preach.  People who call themselves pastors.  Pastors who need your money.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against religion per se but I do have a big gripe when religion is being used to justify intolerance and hate.  Not so long ago religion was used to justify apartheid in South Africa.  In the Middle East religion is used to further terrorism.  And it is these people who are abusing their faith who are giving religion a bad name.  It is these people who use fear in a religious context for financial, political and social gain and it makes me sick.  Literally!

A complaint has been laid with the Advertising Standards Authority by a fellow queer who also drove past this billboard and I applaud Francios Joubert for taking the initiative.  Edmund Burke once said “All that is needed for the triumph of evil is that good men to do nothing”.  And believe me when I say the queers will not sit idly by and watch how certain “churches”, political parties, organizations and individuals try and strip away our long fought rights, dignity and respect.  That billboard will come down even if I have to rent a bulldozer.

Till next time.

Dear Constant Headache

A guest post by the FABULOUS GeeGee Curtained from the blog Two Fat Cows & A Bottle of Goose.

We started doing this fucked up little dance almost 5 years ago and I ignored you for months.  You obviously had no idea how good I am at sailing on that river called denial which is probably why you decided to drop me like a sack of shit when I was in the shower 4 years ago with that lovely shotgun headache.  Fine, so I lay there like a drowned rat for ages and finally dragged my wet ass to my bed, popped 6 Myprodol’s and went on with my day.  There was no way in hell I was going to be found with my nekkid ass out for all to see which is why you didn’t kill me, even though you were supposed to.  When they found the tumour it finally explained why my constant companion Irene was around, especially when I was having a few toots and we could entertain ourselves for hours on end.  She was a crazy bitch but I loved her.  Irene, rest her soul, ended her days in a medical incinerator and I was left with a very sexy titanium plate to remind me that she existed.

When you didn’t manage to kill me outright, you did your best to make me have a melt-down by having me diagnosed while Himself was away on a trip to the UK.  On the plus side, once I got over the shock I was quite relieved that I wasn’t losing my mind.  For months I’d felt like the song ‘Crazy’ by Gnarls Barkley was playing softly in the background while I went about my day.  Waking up spooning my Doberman in his bed with no idea how I got there, going shopping and coming home empty handed having left all the packages gawd only knows where... the list goes on and on.  People thought I was mad when I insisted on getting completely plastered with a few close friends before I went to hospital but the way I saw it I was about to iron my wings and wanted to have one for the road.  What a party that was!!  We had so many liquid cocaine shooters our pee was blue for 2 days... It’s also the only time I wore all my diamond and sapphire jewellery that I still haven’t been at a fancy enough occasion to wear.

So I was wearing jeans and a hoodie at the time, so fucken what.  Can’t see anything wrong with that...  Was I supposed to curl up in a little ball and have a pity party?  Sorry!!  That’s not in my nature...  Hell, I even got annoyed at other people feeling sorry for me.   If I’m going to buy the farm I’m going to do it with grace and I’ll be fucked if my son remembers me as a wet snivelling snot nosed heap of fear.   The hardest part was being wheeled into that elevator to surgery like a lamb to slaughter and being convinced it’s the last time I’d be laying eyes on my boys.  I felt like my heart was being ripped into pieces but there was no way in hell I was going to show it and I gave my husband and son a smile because that’s how I wanted them to remember me.  Nobody was more surprised than I was when I woke up in ICU – even the doctor couldn’t believe that I came out of a medically induced coma but I did.  Because I was being bed-bathed.  With a cake of Lux soap!  And a fucken blue kitchen cloth...  ‘Nuff said.

Ok, so I survived and I don’t think you liked that very much so you decided to make me a codeine addict.  Almost 9 months sitting on the sofa looking like a drooling Bride of Frankenstein with my shaved head and another 2 years of being lost in a lovely bubble of prescription drugs.  You knew I wouldn’t go to rehab but you didn’t count on me going cold turkey, did you?  4 months of wanting to crawl out of my own skin but I made it.  3 months ago you woke me up in the middle of the night and I thought the time had finally come.  What worried me the most was that I had Bridget Jones comfy knickers on (what? who sleeps in a bloody g-string??) and I hadn’t had a wax or a pedicure.  Death?  Nah, not so much. 

I’ve bumped my head so many times you can serve soup in the dent it’s created but what’s a spaz like me to do?  Walk around with a helmet on all day?  My neurosurgeon said I’m never allowed to do contact sports again and the look on his face when I asked him if rough sex counts was priceless!  I couldn’t resist, the poor man...  Serves him right really – I mean, do I look like the type of person who does Sport??  Oh, and that fugly snow hat I have to wear in bed in the winter to keep my plate from giving me brain freeze?  I’ve learnt to ROCK it you motherfucker!

I know the ‘kill shot’ can come any day, any time BUT I’ve made my peace, so do your worst...  Just make sure it’s fast.  I’m NOT going back for more surgery.  Never again.  That’s why I’m almost a year overdue on my annual MRI, I mean what’s the point?  I already got rid of everything I don’t want people to find when I’m dead, I’ve planned my memorial (my boys know who’s banned and that the pyramid of shot glasses on top of my ashes better reach the Rabbit Hole ceiling), I’ve learnt what’s important in life and I’m content.

You’ve taught me a lot Constant Headache, and I thank you for it.  I know the ‘pain scale’ better than I should.  A constant 3 out of 10?  Bitch puuuhleeze!  After experiencing the loveliness called bleeding on the brain that’s nothing!  You taught me that I’m tough, that I can feel like I’m bleeding from my eyeballs and still won’t give up but most importantly – you’ve put a built-in blood pressure monitor in my head which has helped me get rid of the dead weight in my life.  The assholes that drained me and never gave anything back, not even loyalty, and even though it’s been hard it’s been worth it!

A lot of people think I’ve become a complete bitch from hell but I couldn’t give a flying fuck through a rolling doughnut to be honest.  If I’m going to die tonight or tomorrow I’m sure as hell not wasting any more time on fucktards and users.  So what if I happen to be related to some of them?  I’ll explain myself when I get to the pearly gates.  And if I go downstairs instead?  They better have vodka there, and poker games, that’s all I’m saying....  And you know what?  Irene might have gone up in a ball of flames but GeeGee was born out of the ashes like a motherfucking Phoenix and she’s growing on me.  You’ve been getting quite bad again so I gave in and took the one kind of pill my doctor said I must never stop taking and boy, did I regret it!  I was as dumb as fuck for days and when I stopped I could’ve slit my wrists with a spoon.   So fuck you dear Constant Headache, you’re not getting the better of me, no matter how hard you try.  I’m done with pills and I’m done with you...

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