Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Mother Nature I Curse You!

It’s that time of year.  Animals are fornicating and plants are procreating and nature’s debauchery that is called spring is fucking with my allergies.  Each year for a full six weeks I walk around wishing that gasmasks were in fashion and that I could wear one everywhere I go.  But this would not be socially acceptable and would most probably freak people out, so I have to settle for antihistamines, a nose spray and eye drops.  I now know how drug addicts must feel, instead of getting withdrawals if I don’t take my drugs I get blood shot eyes, sinus and persistent sneezing which I am convinced kills brain cells.  Mother Nature can be such a bitch and this is why I hate spring.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that spring hails a farewell to winter, the fact that my garden seem to come alive with new flowers and that the dullness of winter is replaced with vibrant new greenery.  I also love the sweet perfume of jasmine and purple rain that permeates the air in my garden and watching bees gorge themselves on pollen and nectar.  But what I love about spring is also the things that literally make me feel like I want to die.  You see I have severe allergies.  The kind of allergies that could justify me being encased in a bubble filled with purified air and that is medically sterile.  I am allergic to just about everything except cats.  Ok, so I lie.  I am a little allergic to cats too and we have five.

Spring is the one time of year that my medical aid must think that I am a total hypochondriac, with on average about 3-5 doctor visit during this time every year.  You see when my allergies flare up it does so epically.  I look and feel like death warmed up with eyes so red it looks like I partied hard the previous night and that I smoked a whole case load of marijuana.  My voice goes and my nose start running like it’s preparing for a marathon.  It also usually doesn’t stop there.  Every year I get an eye infection which is referred to as chronic allergy related pinkeye and when I am really lucky I will also get an ear infection.  This year I had both twice and spring is not even really in full swing yet.
In an effort to at least try and make our house on the inside tolerable for me I bought an air purifier.  It’s a machine that sucks in air then takes out all the impurities such as dust and pollen and also kills any germs and bacteria that floats around and then blows out the clean air.  You can also add special concentrated extracts into the water that smells nice and helps you to relax.  I guess it is doing its job because neither hubby nor I have been sick since I bought it, but I suspect I need an industrial sized one to completely get rid of my allergies and make our house on the inside 100% pollen free.  Things have gotten so bad that if you stand outside in the garden you can physically see the pollen floating around in the air and it is making my bronchi and corneas shit themselves.

When we were house hunting we had very specific requirements, one of them being that the property should have no grass.  You see I am allergic to grass and we didn’t want to spend our weekends having to mow the lawn.  Life is too short the waste it behind a lawnmower where as you could rather spend it with a cocktail in the pool.  We also had a list of trees and plants, which we at that time, knew I was allergic too.  So when we found our house it “semi” fit the bill and we then proceeded to address the “semi” part and did some renovations.  The one thing we however neglected to research was some of the plants that were already in our garden and some of the trees and hedges of our neighbors.  So came spring, that first year we lived in the house, and I was unpleasantly caught off guard and found myself to be a whimpering snot filled ruby red eyed hot mess.  I was at ground zero of a pollen explosion of mammoth proportions.  It was like the Hiroshima and Nagasaki of allergy and pollen hell, and I was trapped in the middle!
It’s embarrassing having to go to work looking like you washed your eyes out with acid, having sneezing attacks that last longer than 45 seconds and having been blessed by more people in one day than a visitor to Vatican City.  It’s embarrassing having to stand nervously in line at the pharmacy looking like a meth addict waiting to get your allergy alleviating drugs.  But I have no choice.  I love our house and we still owe a shit load of money on the bond so we need to stay.  It’s also not like I can tell my neighbors to cut down their trees and remove certain hedges just because I am seriously allergic to them.  So, I do the only thing I can.  For six weeks every year I curse Mother Nature and call her things that’s not becoming of a lady.  But the bitch doesn’t listen and clearly she doesn’t care.  If only rapid weight loss was also a side effect of severe allergies, maybe all this suffering would be worth something.  But instead I have to diet AND suffer from allergies.  Gawd I hate spring!

Till next time.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Panic Attack!

It may come as a surprise to some people but I actually have a real job.  You know the kind that pays the bills.  Seeing as I have never made any money from blogging and probably never will, I do need something that can sustain my and hubby’s “lavish” lifestyle.  But in the real world all is not always sunshine and roses and of late things have been rather (how should I put it) stressful in my work environment.  The fact that I also had to visit the dentist once a week for the last three weeks and having had to get two filling and a root canal also did not contribute to alleviate my stress levels.  All of this then also contributed to me having my first serious panic attack on Monday and it was not pretty.  It was not pretty at all!
Those who know me well understand that August is never a good month for me.  It seems that each year shit goes down in the month of August and bad things happen.  Being a professional sailor down the river of denial, I usually ignore unpleasant things until it goes away (I have learned this skill from my cats, they are fucking good at it.)  But denial can only work up to a point.  You see even when I am under a fuck load of stress I usually have the ability to suppress it and I also don’t really ever get seriously angry about anything.  I call this having excellent coping mechanisms and vodka.  Unfortunately, the human body is a mean bitch and sometimes when you try and lie to yourself, particularly about stress, the bitch gives you a reality check and it’s normally not pleasant.  And this is exactly what happened to me.

On Monday our new security company’s representative came to my office in order for me to sign some papers.  I fired our previous security company and it’s a long story.  While in this meeting all was going well up on to five minutes into it.  As unexpectedly as a crack whore appearing in a dark alley it hit me.  I started feeling woozy, my heart began beating rapidly, I could not breath, I started shaking like a Parkinson patient, sweating and I literally felt like I was going to die.  All this in front of a complete stranger who sat there looking at me horrified.  I was having a full blown panic attack and I was desperately trying to keep things together and look normal.  “Are you ok?” the guy asked me looking all concerned.  “Yes… I am fine” I lied.  After about three minutes I realized there was no use trying to fight the panic attack and I eventually said “I’m having a panic attack, I need a few minutes.  Don’t judge me!
The panic attack lasted a good ten minutes and it was terrifying.  Having one in the privacy of your own office, house or car is fine, but having one in front of a complete stranger in the voyeur of your office with people walking past rates right up there on the embarrassment scale with shitting your own pants.  So, I phoned my doctor and scheduled an appointment.  This guy has been my on-and-off physician for well over ten years and he knows me and some of my embarrassing medical issues well, and I trust him.  Sitting in his consulting room I remember thinking “What. The. Fuck?!  I have worked undercover where I almost got killed and I didn’t have panic attacks then.  Why the hell is this happening to me now?!”  The doctor then proceed to explain that if you suppress stress for too long eventually your body will rebel and it does this normally by stomach ulcers and panic attacks.  With my blood pressure having been 173/135 I could have had a heart attack.  Or like I like to call it - a myocardial infarction due to bullshit overload.

The doctor proceeded to tell me that having panic attacks while under extreme stress is nothing to be ashamed off and he prescribed me some “happy” and “don’t give a fuck” pills.  So the next day I was as chilled out as a stoner at a Bob Marley concert.  It was nice working at the office all mellowed out, having the world seem like I was a couple seconds behind it and driving to work thinking that all taxi drivers are such great drivers.  But, unfortunately my little piece of medicated nirvana was not to last long.  Timing is everything and never let anyone tell you any different.  This counts for both good and bad things.  You see after what can be described as a rather uneventful day I arrived home and went about my normal routine of being a domestic diva.  I fed the cats and tortoise, began with the laundry and prepared dinner.  Then it happened, some asshole on Facebook told me that I should slit my wrists.
Being quite use to receiving hate mail I am not normally too phased by it.  Mostly they have strong religious undertones to them, tell me that I am going to hell and even that they wish that I would get AIDS and die.  Surprisingly, I have also received my fair share of hate mails from disgruntled queer folks, so I really thought that I have seen it all.  I was wrong.  This fucktard took hate mail to a whole other level.  This sad queen wrote I should slit my wrists, or if I don’t want to do that he will give me a toaster to throw into my bath because he would love to see me drown in my own piss and shit.  How fucked up must one person be to say or write something like that to another person?  Suicide is no fucking laughing matter and if this is the type of fantasies this guy is having there must be something seriously wrong in his pathetic little head.  It really upset me and this psycho’s timing really sucked.  All I have to say to that man is FUCK YOU! (Clearly my happy pills are not strong enough to deal with certain fuckwads)

As that was not enough, today I am going for my second round of my root canal and this time around I am less panicked about it than the first time around.  My dentist did a fantastic job the previous time and I know I am in excellent hands.  But that being said this week have sucked donkey balls.  Starting my week off with a panic attack and then receiving the most disturbing hate mail to date, I can honestly say this has been the worst week of this whole year.  But, fortunately there’s medication for that and it is fabulous.  I know this is not a permanent solution but for the interim this will have to do.  Bitch be chilled.

Till next time.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Facebook thinks I’m a Pornographer!

Oops I did it again.  This week Facebook blocked me for 24 hours. This is their version of sending you to the corner for being a very naughty boy.  Apparently, some fucktard reported a certain photo which I uploaded to my fan page resulting in the gods at Facebook thinking that I am a “pornographer”.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my porn just as much as the next fag, but there’s a time and a place for porn and Facebook is not the place for it.  Besides who goes onto Facebook armed with lube and tissues ready to molest themselves?  Not me, that’s why we have Tumblr.  But I digress…
As you know I have made some enemies through the couple of years that I have been blogging (3 years to be exact).  Having enemies and people who hate you isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  I take it as a sign that I am doing something right and sometimes their hate mails are seriously funny, especially the ones that like quoting Leviticus.  But every so often one of those people does something that seriously inconveniences me.  Sometimes they report me to Facebook and on occasion I am punished for it like the dirty bad boy that I am.  In the last 3 years I have been banned from Facebook twice, have been blocked 7 times and even received an email from Facebook accusing me of Hate Speech.

Now we all know there are some seriously fucked up people on Facebook and I have blogged about this before.  Those folks who are offended by the world, lives in a bubble of ignorance and waves around their intolerance as if it is an Olympic event.  It really is a pity that their profiles don’t come with a mandatory idiot warning and that there isn’t a Facebook app that can block them outright.  But the world needs idiots and whether we like it or not – they are here to stay.  Besides if there weren’t any idiots who would we laugh at?
With my latest incident on Facebook I have come to the conclusion that maybe some folks need to download themselves a sense of humor.  Because whoever got offended by a naked man’s butt cheeks and is incapable of thinking that the “offensive” picture is funny needs to go on some strong medication.  Have these people not seen some of the really nasty shit other people upload to Facebook?

I have blocked and banned so many people from my one Facebook group because of the stuff they post there.  I have had to report and delete hundreds of pictures of cocks, cum, fisting, water sports, vaginas, and stuff people like to shove up their assholes.  I didn’t see those people get blocked or banned from Facebook.  Could it be that Facebook have a problem with pictures that are not hardcore enough?  If the man had a dildo hanging from his rectum would that have been ok?  One can only wonder.

The previous time Facebook gave me a timeout was because of a picture I uploaded of nuns painting a naked man.  Again the only thing you could see was his very nice and tight ass.  That too “offended” someone so much that they just could help themselves but to report it.  I wonder whether that person did it before or after they masturbated.  It seems that Facebook has double standards and that some on Facebook, especially heterosexuals Christians, are more equal than others.  Since I created my Fan page I have encountered numerous problems due to people reporting my page.  The culprits were mostly the fanatical religious far right.  The same people who also have fan pages devoted to their anti-gay rhetoric and dire tripe.  The same people who propose that all homosexuals should be killed and that we are abominations.  Yet these people are allowed to preach their hate on Facebook and that seems to be ok.

The world seems to be filled with double standards especially when it comes to gay people, so why should Facebook be any different?  With over 8000 likes on my fan page and with over 700 people having shared the picture that got me blocked for 24 hours, I couldn’t help but wonder whether we are being picked on.  It’s not my fault the photo went viral.  It’s not my fault it was fucking funny.  Did the person at Facebook who ultimately decided to block me not use his/her discretion and realize this was a malicious report?  Could that person not see the humor in it or was the decision to block me based on my fan page’s name and the fact that it is dedicated to LGBT news and issues.  Was that person homophobic?  Who knows…

One thing is for sure – I will not lose sleep over this.  This queer has more important things to worry about other than scared little homophobes trolling Facebook trying to take out one homosexual at a time by maliciously reporting them.  If that is the only thing that gives them pleasure in their sad little lives then who am I to take it away from them.  I will much rather focus my attention on what is really important: Recruiting homosexuals to ensure that Queer HQ is prepared and well resourced for our end game – Taking Over The World!  Suck on that Homophobes!

So Facebook thinks I am a pornographer, who the fuck cares.  I don’t know what type of porn they are watching or downloading but something gives me the idea that they are doing it wrong.  At least my 24 hour ban is over and all is back to normal.  As for the person who reported me, I have three words for you: Go. Fuck. Yourself.  Just try not to do it in front of a mirror; we don’t want you to offend yourself now do we.

Till next time.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Gay & Fabulous

Every so often I come across LGBT signs and pictures on the internet that grabs my attention.  Some are funny mostly because they are true.  Here are some of the most recent ones I stumbled upon.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

When Your Worst Fear Comes True

My worst fear is about to come true.  No, not the one where I am eaten alive by a great white shark, or the one where I have to base jump off a large building or the one where I have to give a speech in front of a thousand people and once on the podium I realize I forgot my speech.  No, this is so much worse than that and it sends petrified shivers down my spine and makes me want to scream crying “Why me?  WHY ME?!”  You see, after thirty something years of flawless dental care, having never had a single cavity and after 16 months of orthodontic hell, this week I learned that I need to get a fucking root canal.  And I am terrified!
I have always been proud of myself for my very exemplary dental care.  I brush my teeth two to three times a day, floss more frequently than a crack whore gets laid and have my teeth professionally cleaned every three to six months.  The reason I think I have been so meticulous in caring for my teeth is the fact that, deep down, I am scared of dentists.  Ever since I can remember the weird sounds echoing from the dentist chair into the waiting area had me breaking out in a cold sweat, had me clenching my fists so hard that my knuckles went white and caused me to develop a weird facial tick every time I walk through a dentist’s door.  The sound of drilling gives me nightmares and I have always vowed that I would never ever have a cavity or any dental issue that require the dentist to drill holes into any of my teeth.  But alas you don’t always get what you want and sometimes nightmares come true.  Life is a bitch like that.

Last week after my braces came off my orthodontist (Dr Antoinette du Toit) checked my teeth.  After the cement was removed and some of my teeth were reshaped it appeared as if some of my teeth got damaged and needed to be fixed.  She also noticed that I had four teeth that were about to form cavities and she referred me to her daughter, who is a dentist, to get fillings for those identified teeth as a proactive and preemptive fuck you to tooth decay.  Having never had a cavity in my life (I do feel that I cannot emphasize this enough) I was understandably nervous to get fillings.  I knew that there would be drilling involved and I needed to prepare myself mentally.  So I did what any self-respecting homosexual would do – I took a tranquilizer before my appointment.
Arriving at Dr Roos’s practice (I have threatened that I would blog about her so she can’t fuck anything up) the receptionist could tell that I was nervous as all hell.  I was trembling like a caffeine addict at a decaf convention.  After scribbling down some of my details in my rather illegible handwriting I was ushered into the exam room, sat down on the chair and possibly told Dr Roos ten times that I was nervous.  So she looked at me and said “Everybody hates dentists and everybody is nervous, so don’t worry about it I won’t hurt you”.  This was then affirmed by her assistant and I was promised that I wouldn’t feel a thing.  I didn’t believe either of them and I was wondering whether they had any restraining straps hidden in the room somewhere because I was convinced that they may have to tie me down at some point.

Before the dentist started she explained to me, like I was a six year old, exactly what she was about to do.  I found it comforting and in situations like this talking to me like I am a toddler is weirdly appropriate, mainly because I was milliseconds away from running away and behaving like an emotionally disturb child who just saw Satan.  After I calmed down she started.  I was injected numerous times with anesthetic and my whole upper lip right to the tip of my nose was numb.  She repaired some teeth that was identified and did two filling and an hour later it was all done and I did not feel a thing exactly as she had promised.  Then she said “We need to talk about that one lower tooth”.  Knowing that something wasn’t quite right with it I tried to avoid the conversation completely, much like one would avoid telling your parents about when and how you lost your virginity.
But my avoidance skills and talent for sailing down the river of denial was no match for the dentist and she skillfully forced me to accept what she was saying.  That tooth is busy dying and I needed a root canal.  Apparently a root canal is done over two sessions of an hour each.  They drill into your tooth and then scrape out the nerve.  Not exactly a walk in the park or a fun visit to the petting zoo now is it?  My first reaction was to scream in my head “Motherfucking son of a bitch! Why me?! Why now?!”  After avoidance failed I went to my second defense mechanism and tried to negotiate my way out of the root canal.  But the more I tried the deeper I was drilling myself into that bloody hole of that root canal.  In the end I had to agree and I am getting the root canal next week.

Driving away from the dentist I cried.  Actually I sobbed.  I drooled too because my upper lip was still numb and just hanging there ignoring all instructions given to it from my brain.  That evening when I got home I wrapped myself in a blanket of self pity and resorted to annoy my husband to the point of him almost going crazy.  He could not understand what the big deal was and I explained why it was a big fucking deal until I was satisfied that he understood.  In reality he didn’t understand and still doesn’t.  People on Facebook also tried to better the situation.  Some said it’s painless and that I have nothing to worry about and other people said it hurt worse than child birth.  I don’t know who to believe and I guess I will have to find out for myself.
I am looking forward to this root canal as much as a death row convict is looking forward to the electric chair.  My worst fear is being realized and there is nothing I can do to stop it from happening.  If I don’t have it done the consequences could be far worse and could lead to far more horrifying problems.  So I guess I will take some prescription tranquilizers before my root canal and try and find out if my dentist has some Nitrous Oxide because I will fucking need both!  It just goes to show, no matter how well you look after your pearly whites anyone can get a cavity and some of us assholes will end up getting a root canal.  Fuck!

Till next time.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

I Love Pussies and I Just Cannot Lie

My husband lives in a constant paranoid state of fear that he will get home one day to find that our property has magically transformed into a one giant petting zoo.  You see I love animals, the furrier and smaller the better.  And as some of you know (the 7 of you who read my blog regularly and those of you who are friends with me of Facebook), hubby and I currently have 5 cats and our most recent addition to our gay family is a tortoise called Irina.  Sure some people say pets are substitutes for the queers’ lack of being able to have children and maybe that’s true.  But, animals bring so much joy to your life, they are cheaper than children, don’t go through puberty and tells you that they hate you and don’t come home at 4am in the morning drunk and possibly knocked up or disappoints you by not living up to your expectations.  Pets enrich your life in so many ways and this is why I love them.
In my 30 something years on this rock I have had 4 dogs, 2 hamster, 5 chickens, a duck, a parrot, 3 love birds, 10 white doves, 2 turtles, 3 bunnies, 16 gold fish and 10 cats.  And I love(d) them all.  Last week our family got a little bigger with a tortoise that we decided to name Irina.  Irina means peace in Russian and I believe that the name suits her perfectly due to her temperament.

Now, tortoises are not the most affectionate pets.  They are shy, a little aloof and it takes quite a while to win their trust.  Hubby and I understand this but our 5 pussies do not.  The first day I brought Irina home all our cats were completely bemused.  They visibly could not wrap their head around this thing that I brought home in a box filled with hay.

The cats hovered around Irina for days as if she was a spaceship that just landed waiting for the alien to show itself.  They were not quite sure whether Irina was friendly and mostly they could not understand why something that looks like a rock had a head, feet and a tail and could walk.  It took them a full week to get use to the idea that there was a mobile rock in the garden and that she wanted nothing to do with them.  As for Irina she also was just as intrigued by her new surroundings and one thing I have learned is that tortoises are very smart animals and curious as all hell.
Most tortoises tend to hibernate during winter and Irina’s species is one of them.  So when I brought her home I expected her to do just that but clearly she had other plans.  You see, Irina took it upon herself to explore our whole garden.  Not a single inch of it have not been inspected by her.  Anyone who says tortoises are slow clearly has never seen one move and Irina is a sprinter of note.  Another talent she has is that of camouflage and hiding.  Every afternoon I have to go into the foliage of our garden, Indiana Jones style, to look for her to make sure she’s still there and that she is ok.  On two occasions I failed to find her and being the fatalist that I am I was convinced a bird of prey snatched her from our garden and that she ended up being either breakfast, lunch or dinner in a tree somewhere.  Luckily I was wrong.

Boris (meaning warrior in Russian) is the youngest of our five pussies and noticeably the only male in the house apart from hubby and I that is.  He has been with us for six months and he is a handful.  From the first day we brought him home he took over the house, as little as he was, and claimed the house as his kingdom.  He has attitude, a will of his own and a strong and possibly unhealthy relationship with food.  That cat will eat anything!  He is also completely orally fixated and have a tendency to bite and nimble on everything ranging from hands and toes to television remotes to electrical cords.

He also lacks the grace of his feline sisters and has the ability to walk and then just drop on the floor most times in not so flattering or gracious positions or postures.  Many a morning you can literally see how he is walking around the house looking for something naughty to do.  Most mornings he is destructively successful.  Another thing about Boris is his inability to do anything quietly and you can hear him approaching from a mile away through things crashing to the floor, his stomping and meowing.  Recently he discovered that there is a cat game app on iPad that’s fun and that it doesn’t take too much physical effort, seeing as he is the laziest cat I have ever had.
Yes, you read correctly.  There are apps for cats on iPad.  I also didn’t believe it when I first heard about it, but they do exist and cats love playing with them.  The one game our 5 pussies enjoy the most is a mouse that runs around on the screen which they can catch by stepping on it.  When stepped on, the mouse makes a squeaking sound and every “catch” is recorded in the individual cat’s score.  Currently Boris is 35 points ahead of Katija (meaning Pure in Russian aka Killer Pussy and FYI, she has a Facebook Fan Page), who clearly prefers catching live prey but finds the artificial mouse good mental practice.  She approaches the game like an Olympian who’s trying the get psyched up for a race.  She’s totally focused, determined and scarily accurate, whereas Boris will rather lie next to the iPad and randomly catch the mouse every time it passes by him which makes his score all the more amazing.

When Boris first arrived home the other four pussies wanted nothing to do with him.  It took some time and a lot of cat psychology to successfully assimilate him into the family.  You’d be amazed by how just changing the way you feed them (creating a fluid hierarchy) and the way in which you greet them changes their attitudes towards each other.  It took 3 months to get the other pussies to accept him and now he and Killer Pussy are best mates and occasionally, when Boris feels up to it, killing partners.  I have also noticed how Killer Pussy encourages Boris to be naughty to her great amusement especially when he gets into trouble.  Not that much unlike how human siblings behave.
Yes, I love animals and I especially love my pussies.  I cannot lie.  There is not a day that goes by without them blessing us with a cuddle or a giggle or two.  Sure our pussies can be destructive and have been the cause of a great many pot plant fatalities and many mornings waking up with a house full of feathers and a few bird corpses.  But I would not want it any other way.  Irina is still new to the family but if my experience and memory of my previous tortoise serves me right, she will be just as amusing and a joy in our garden.  I am slowly but surely building up my petting zoo and as such hubby’s fear is completely justified (but don’t tell him).  Now, apart from our 5 pussies and 1 tortoise we only need a giant bunny, a donkey and a pony.

Till next time.

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