Gays to Blame for Hurricanes and Earthquakes?

In light of Hurricane Sandy hitting the East Coast of the United States this week and some fucktard called John McaTernan (right wing pastor of Defend and Proclaim the Faith Ministries), who blames Sandy on the LGBT community and President Obama for supporting gay marriage.  I could not help but recall this blog post that I wrote last year.  Yes, this is not the first time the queers are being blamed for natural disasters occurring and if you believe these religious nut jobs, you should be very scared of the gays because we can bring shit down.

“Gayness” has been blamed for the East Coast tremors in the United States of America this week. Yes, you heard me right! Apparently the influence and extraordinary power of the queers has yet again made the earth move and this time it wasn’t only limited to our bedrooms. Pat Robertson (the crazy televangelist) pinned the blame, in part, on us gays for the 5.8 magnitude earthquake that rattled the East coast. According to him it wasn’t even the gays per se (darnit) , but rather behavior that Robertson labelled “gay-like” that pissed off the almighty and prompted him to smote Americans. As I sigh and roll my eyes, I can only ask the obvious – Really Pat Robertson, Really?

According to Robertson “All across the Eastern seaboard, there are men who get manicures, wear designer eyewear and know about thread counts and God finds this gay-like behavior confusing, and He responded by getting mildly peeved”. Pat did God Skype or Facebook you or something, how do you know this? Surely the CEO of like the whole Universe and such has better things to worry about other than meterosexual men and their God Damn manicures (hmmm... does God really damn manicures?). Secondly, Pat are you a selfish son of a bitch who don’t want people to have nice things? How is getting a manicure, designer eye wear and good linen with a high thread count immoral behavior  It’s called having good taste and good personal grooming something, from the looks of it, you have very little off.

Queerly, Pat went further to warn that people should not get too upset about the earthquake and said “God looks at people who get their panties in a twist after a little shaking, and He says to Himself, ‘Wow, that’s really kind of gay’”. Well, I must concur with God on this one: the twisting of one’s panties and the right kind of shaking is indeed a little gay, especially if done with the right amount of KY and with sufficient thrust. But, then again, I am not sure whether God would be into watching that kind of thing, but maybe you are Pat, you do look like a kinky kind of guy. It’s always the folks who protest too much against homosexuality who are caught paying for male hookers or found blowing guys in public restrooms.

According to Pat the gays can not only cause earthquakes we can also influence the weather. Who knew? I wish someone told me that when the last cold front rolled in. Pat said “If you keep on getting pedicures and facials, you can expect two to three inches of rain and some really hot humid days in your future”. Now let me get this straight. Manicures, sunglasses and knowledge of thread counts causes earthquakes and pedicures and facials causes rain and humidity. Isn’t it amazing how personal grooming, fashion and tasteful decor can be so frightfully immoral and dangerous? We must be teetering on the edge of a very precarious slope. I am shivering in fear hiding behind my Prada sunglasses and surely will have nightmares tonight under my Egyptian Cotton Sheets (thread count 1500 FYI).

I don’t know about you but I am getting rather tired of crazy fundamentalist religious freaks making sweeping statements in public forums. Statements that is fantastical, unfounded, bizarre and insulting to the intelligence of the people who are unfortunate enough to have to listen to them. Robertson falls into the same category as, amongst others, the folks from the God Hates Fags fraternity - the “Let’s scare the shit out of people with our Bullshit and get their money!” category. Shirley Phelps Roper, who periodically sends me tweets on Twitter that does not make any sense, and Pat Robertson could be family as they seem to be peas from the same crazy ass train pod. I am not entirely convinced that their parents didn’t actually fuck each other at some point, but if they did this is the result we are being chastised with.

Blaming natural disasters on the gays is not a new thing. Before it became fashionable to blame the queers by fundamentalist freaks, Communism was the flavor of the month. So I guess the Gays have become the new Communists. The blame game is an age old tradition and has been successfully wielded by many groups, feeding of the fears of society for their own selfish gains. The gain, most times, being to get their greedy little paws on other people’s cash. If you scare enough gullible people (and there are plenty out there) into believing a group or aspect of society is a genuine threat to their way of life and offer them a false sense of security, it is easy to get them to part with their money. And in this day and age it has become easier than ever and it’s rubbing my tits the wrong way!

So, Pat Robertson are you really as stupid as you sound? I guess that is the real question to be asked here. The men who are getting those manicures, pedicures and buying the designer eye wear and to whom thread counts matter in all probability are not stupid enough to be dissuaded by your mindless rants. Mind you, neither is the greater world population either. If I were you, I’d be more worried about what God thinks of your utterances and the words you put in His mouth. I am convinced that He is not at all amused by you making Him sound like a blabbering idiot, and He must be appalled by the state of your cuticles! I am so scheduling a facial and pedicure for next week, we can do with some rain...

Till next time.

Not the actual video (couldn't find it on YouTube), but this gives you a good idea of the freak show that is Pat Robertson.

iBreakup

So I finally did it.  After a two year, and I might add, unhealthy relationship with BlackBerry we finally broke up.  It was an uneventful breakup.  There was none of those “It’s not you, it’s me” or “I feel like we have grown apart” bullshit.  I just finally one day grew tired of my BlackBerry freezing up, having to reboot the piece of shit and going without reliable service.  So when it was time to upgrade it was a no brainer, I switched to iPhone.  And I must say iLove it so much that I also forced hubby to embrace Apple like a sex starved bandit!  But being now fully connected in the iWorld with my iPhone and iPad, I could not help but notice how certain apps (most of which are free) could seriously cause problems in your relationships.  So please bear with me as I explain.

After we got back from New York I wasted no time in acquiring my brand new iPhone.  I was like a five year old child at Christmas time, all excited even though I knew exactly what I would be getting.  Yes, I was one of those children that had an internal tracking device for hidden Christmas presents and I was also quite efficient with opening presents and then wrapping them again without leaving any traces that the presents were disturbed.  When I arrived at my service provider I told the lady that I was due for an upgrade and told her what I wanted.  In her very thick African accent she said “Eish, OOOKy.  We only have the white one, you still want it?”  To which I responded “No, I want my BEE phone, I am NOT a racist!” which she did not find amusing at all, but I thought it was hilarious.

After about 20 minutes of paper work and some technical magic, my address book was transferred to my iPhone, my new simcard activated and my BlackBerry was no longer operational.  The poor thing looked sad as it knew it was destined to go into that drawer in the dining room where old cell phones go to die.  It’s like an electronic retirement village for old phones, iPods, displaced chargers and other unspecified electronics.  It is the kind of collection that hoarders keep for in case there is a zombie apocalypse and only old Nokias, BlackBerries and old digital cameras would be the tools that will help them to survive in order to save humanity from extinction.

Seeing as I have had my iPad now for a while, getting use to my new iPhone was a breeze.  They work exactly the same.  During this time I also was blissfully unaware that there were certain people who were frantically sending me BBM’s which I obviously were no longer getting.  “Did I do something that pissed you off?” the one private message read on Facebook “Why are you ignoring me?” read the other.  Clearly nobody knew that I have dumped my BlackBerry and they were taking my lack of replying to their BBM’s very personally.  Even worse were those friends who are fiercely loyal to RIM and who after learning that I got divorced from their product only replied via text message with “Oh, I see...  Hope you are “happy” with your new iPhone and Whatsapp”.  Their sarcasm was almost tangible.

Why people take the abandoning of a brand so personally I don’t know.  Did they not get lost in a strange town because their Garmap refused to work?  Did they not also go a week without service due to a server clusterfuck last year?  Do they not get annoyed when their handsets freeze up and need to be rebooted a couple of times a day?  Do they like that BlackBerry’s Application World was inaccessible for the last six months that I had my phone?  I guess not.  Brand loyalty can only go so far before you get so sick of shit not working and you decide to move on.  And this is exactly what I did.  It is true that iPhone has some amazing apps.  But there is also the not so much talked about darkside.  iPhone and certain apps have taken stalking and lack of privacy to a whole new level!

Take the Find Friends App.  Just this weekend I downloaded it to my iPhone.  On the surface it looks like quite a useful tool for checking up where you friends are (Like in physically.  Like in their actual accurate location within a 3 meter radius) After downloading the app I turned to hubby “Honey, I want to send you an invitation to a new app that I just downloaded, which email address should I sent it to?” I said in my sweetest and most innocent voice.  He gave me an email address and within minutes he turned to me and said “Are you serious?!  I am NOT accepting this!  What about my privacy, you may as well insert a tracking device into my arm!  WTF?!” Visibly shocked and disgusted with technology he asked me if this was legal, to which I said “Of course it is legal!  You would not be able to download it if it wasn’t”  To which he responded “But you made us register our phones to Botswana because South Africa is blocking too many apps, I am sure this is NOT legal”.

After some debate and talking about issues of trust, hubby finally accepted the request.  I mean honestly, if you can take a shit while your partner is brushing his teeth in the same bathroom, the issue of privacy becomes a little complicated to define, don’t you agree?  So, hubby became the first person I could track on my Find Friends App, and it works really REALLY well!  Coincidentally, hubby “forgot” his phone at home today.  I guess he wanted some privacy, after all he is not under house arrest or correctional supervision and he does not need full time monitoring – he is my husband and not my prisoner!  At least not this time, but I don’t speak out of the bedroom…

The Find Friends App really raises some important questions though.  If you have this app, is it morally correct to use it on your spouse?  If your spouse refuses to accept the request, do they have something to hide?  Does this cross the line and create the impression that you don’t trust your spouse?  All of this is something to think about while you search your spouse’s exact location and check if they are where they are suppose to be.

I no longer use the Find Friends App because even though it works really well it isn’t actually right, in my opinion, to spy on your husband or friends – people that is why we have Facebook!  If you have children, then that is a whole different story though because then you can rationalize it by saying it is a “Parenting Tool”.  Technology has really made some great strides since the days of those huge cell phones people carried around in the 90’s, but as I learned this week, technology can also cause some serious problems especially in relationships.  I have come to realize that you can choose to use technology for either good or for evil and sometimes the lines appear to be quite blurred.  I guess the moral of this story is don’t let your iPhone lead to an iBreakup.  Use your iPhone wisely.

Till next time.

Why Cats Hate Halloween!

Halloween is one of my favourite holidays.  It's a time you can dress-up and be silly.  However, there are some people out there (and you know who you are), who is not only content to walk around in silly costumes themselves, their pets have to be tortured to do the same.  Here are the photographic evidence!

And then we wonder why our pets sometimes turns on us...

This Is Halloween

Halloween. Did you know?

With just over a couple of weeks until Halloween I thought it appropriate to share some little known facts with you about Hallows’ Eve.

1.) “Halloween” is short for “Hallows’ Eve” or “Hallows’ Evening,” which was the evening before All Hallows’ (sanctified or holy) Day or Hallowmas on November 1. In an effort to convert pagans, the Christian church decided that Hallowmas or All Saints’ Day (1 November) and All Souls’ Day (2 November) should assimilate sacred pagan holidays that fell on or around 31October.

2.) Halloween originated in Ireland over 2,000 years ago. Ireland is typically believed to be the birthplace of Halloween.

3.) The first Jack O’Lanterns were actually made from turnips.

4.) Halloween is the second highest grossing Commercial Holiday after Christmas.

5.) The word “Witch” comes from the Old English wicce, meaning “wise woman.” In fact, wiccan were highly respected people at one time. According to popular belief, witches held one of their two main meetings, or sabbats, on Halloween night.

6.) Samhainophobia is the fear of Halloween.

7.) The Owl is a popular Halloween image. In Medieval Europe, owls were thought to be witches, and to hear an owl's call meant someone was about to die.

8.) Trick-or-Treating evolved from the ancient Celtic tradition of putting out treats and food to placate spirits who roamed the streets at Samhain, a sacred festival that marked the end of the Celtic calendar year.

9.) Black and Orange are typically associated with Halloween. Orange is a symbol of strength and endurance and, along with brown and gold, stands for the harvest and autumn. Black is typically a symbol of death and darkness and acts as a reminder that Halloween once was a festival that marked the boundaries between life and death.

10.) Dressing Up as ghouls and other spooks originated from the ancient Celtic tradition of townspeople disguising themselves as demons and spirits. The Celts believed that disguising themselves this way would allow them to escape the notice of the real spirits wandering the streets during Samhain.

11.) Mexico celebrates the Days of the Dead (Días de los Muertos) on the Christian holidays All Saints’ Day (1 November) and All Souls’ Day (2 November) instead of Halloween. The townspeople dress up like ghouls and parade down the street.

12.) Teng Chieh or the Lantern Festival is one Halloween festival in China. Lanterns shaped like dragons and other animals are hung around houses and streets to help guide the spirits back to their earthly homes. To honour their deceased loved ones, family members leave food and water by the portraits of their ancestors.

13.) Halloween celebrations in Hong Kong are known as Yue Lan or the “Festival of the Hungry Ghosts” during which fires are lit and food and gifts are offered to placate potentially angry ghosts who might be looking for revenge.

14.) In the United States of America both Salem, Massachusetts, and Anoka, Minnesota, are the self-proclaimed Halloween Capitals of the world.

15.) In many countries, such as France and Australia, Halloween is seen as an Unwanted and overly commercial American influence.

Till next time.

A Week in New York & Jet Lag

Our week in New York was everything I expected and more.  Now being back at work and feeling extremely jet lagged, it seems strange to think that just a couple of days ago I was still in the Big Apple.  Being jet lagged isn’t any fun and it makes you stupid.  It feels like you are hours behind everybody and everything and you experience uncontrollable bouts of drowsiness and energetic rushes at the most inconvenient times:  Falling asleep at your desk at 11am and being wide awake and ready to climb Mount Everest at 2am.  My body’s clocked is fucked, but they say it will reset itself and things will go back normal in a day or two.  In the mean time everybody just have to deal with me somewhat incoherent and sleepy the whole time.  But I digress; let me tell you about our week in New York City.

It should not come as much of a shock to learn that a certain airline didn’t upgrade hubby and I to business class.  We had to fly cattle class and it was awful!  Imagine spending 23 hours in a plane, cramped in like sardines with what sounded like a 100 babies screaming at the top of their lungs none stop.  This happened on both our departing flights as well as our return flights.  I have come to learn that I hate babies, especially on planes.  Luckily I was armed with sleeping pills and my iPod and if I didn’t have this combo you were sure to have read about a certain passenger who tried to open the plane doors at 35 000 feet threatening to throw babies out of the cabin.  It was that bad!  On our flight to JFK I also learned a valuable lesson the hard way – never fly with boots because your feet will swell up and you will have one hell of a hard time putting your boots back on again.  Needless to say when I arrived at JFK I could hardly walk.  I was in pain and my ankles looked like those of an 8 month pregnant woman who was retaining water.

Waddling my way through customs must have looked very funny as I was walking like a disabled person.  We stood in line for just under an hour and for the first time in my history I did not experience any problems.  Hubby and I were processed and welcomed to America.  No interrogations, no searching our luggage, no strip search (I was kind of disappointed about the strip search part though seeing as the one security guy was rather hot).  We made our way to the taxi and we were whisked off to our hotel in midtown Manhattan.  We stayed in the Yotel on the 24^th floor and had the most amazing view of downtown Manhattan.  The only disappointing thing about the hotel was the fact that it was a “non smoking hotel” (yes, I am smoking again) and they have a $245 fine if you were caught smoking in your room.  So I was creative.

I did smoke in our room, practically hanging out of our little window that could open and I went through two air fresheners in one week.  I did not get fined and I sure hope that no one of the Yotel’s staff actually read my blog.  On our first day in New York we decided to do the open hop-on-hop-off bus tour mainly because my feet were still throbbing and secondly because we wanted to get our bearings and find out where everything were and how far certain places were from our hotel.  We managed to see midtown and downtown Manhattan and we also saw a large part of Brooklyn on the first day.  It was fabulous!

The first thing that I noticed was that New York is loud.  Everything makes a noise and it doesn’t stop.  The noise level practically stays the same 24/7.  The second thing I noticed was that New Yorkers are some of the friendliest people I have ever come across.  Sure most New Yorkers mostly keep to themselves walking down the street with their iPods firmly lodged in their ears, a cup of Starbucks coffee in the one hand and checking their messages on their phones in the other.  All New Yorkers clearly have places to be and everyone is constantly in a rush, but if you look confused or lost New Yorkers will take the time to stop and ask you if they can help.  In South Africa that will never happen.  The only people who will stop and take an interest in you are the ones who will most probably rob you.  Which brings me to crime in NYC.

There wasn’t any time during our stay in New York that I felt unsafe.  Not taking the subway or walking the streets at night.  The NYPD are everywhere and if you don’t do anything stupid chances are nothing bad will happen to you in NYC.  The one thing that I did notice was that there are a lot of homeless people in Manhattan, people from all ages, from the druggies to the mentally ill.  The funniest homeless woman I saw was at Battery Park.  She was your stereotypical bag lady and clearly was suffering from mental illness.  She was screaming at puddles of water on the ground and at one point she collected these puddles in Starbucks cups screaming at them “I will deal with you later!”  I didn’t know what the water puddles ever did to her but clearly she had issues with them and I didn’t want to get involved.

There is a reason there are so few obese people in Manhattan.  You walk a lot in New York and you walk long distances.  This is why we quickly learned to use the subway.  It’s cheap and convenient once you have figured out how to use it.  On the first day of venturing underground we were struggling to buy our metro cards.  The machine kept on saying “NO” much to our frustration.  The fact that it is hot as hell down there also didn’t help much either.  Eventually a homeless man came to our assistance and it freaked me out.  I almost broke my Botox!  We got our metro cards and the guy left by saying “Have a nice day now” and he didn’t even ask for money.  It felt quite surreal!  I did see a really fat lady on the subway the one day though.  She was too fat to use the turnstiles and she had to use the emergency exit which sounds a rather loud alarm if you open it.  I recall hubby turning to me and saying “Shame, it must be horrible to be reminded everyday by an alarm that you have a weight problem” as we watched her struggling to climb the stairs.

Some of the highlights of our trip to NYC must be Central Park which looks amazing in autumn, watching Mamma Mia on Broadway which was awesome, seeing Picasso’s Black & White exhibition in the Guggenheim and generally just walking around in New York and experiencing the city as it rushes by you, rumbles underneath you and brushes past you on the sidewalks.  We took a couple of cab rides as well and contrary to what I heard taxis aren’t that expensive in New York.  However, I would not recommend using it as your primary form of transportation but every now and again it is convenient.  Owning a car in New York is also way too expensive as your parking fees per month could easily cost you the same, if not more, as your rent as parking spaces is a problem in the city.

We also saw a lot of people walking their dogs.  Some dogs having been quite large and it begged the question, how do you keep a Labrador in a New York City apartment, but clearly many people do.  The nastiest thing about being a dog owner in New York is that you have to pick up your dog’s poop with a plastic bag.  I gagged twice when I saw people do this and it made me really grateful that I am a cat person.  I cannot imagine having to kneel down and pick up dog shit and then having to walk a couple of meters with that in my hand to deposit it into a dustbin.  It’s gross, but I guess if you love your dog and you live in New York, that’s what you have to do.  New York is also one of the cleanest cities I have been to.  You won’t find the street littered with trash and there are very few, if any, cigarette butts on the street.  Every now-and-again you will catch and odd smell coming from vents in the street but mostly you will smell the food of the street vendors.  I ate two Halal hot dogs from said street vendors and they were scrumptious.

The weirdest thing we saw in New York was a prostitute (or at least we think she was one) a few blocks from Times Square.  It was just before 9am and she was wearing a very tight fitting red dress that accentuated all her fat rolls of which she had many.  Her plunging cleavage also revealed her aversion for brassieres and she was talking to a man who clearly though her eyes were down at her sagging tits.  This was not the normal morning attire of your round of the mil New Yorker and she looked like a two dollar whore.  We could not help but stare at her whorishness.  I wanted to take a picture of her because I knew nobody back at home would believe me if I told them this story, but I didn’t.  I didn’t know where her pimp was at.

Our time in New York City was fantastic and I desperately want to go back some day.  In the time we had we managed to get around to seeing everything we had planned.  But there are so much more in New York that I want to experience and see and one week clearly is not enough time to do that.  So hubby and I will have to save up money and plan another trip to New York.  It’s easy to fall in love with a city and I did with New York.  We took a big bite out of New York City and New York City took a big bite out of us and we loved every minute of it!

Till next time.

*This blog post was written while experiencing extreme jet lag.  Apologies for any incoherence, my biological clock is fucked.

Housewife and Dog Psychologist Start Race Riot on the Ridge

Seeing as I am in New York City this week and clearly having too much fun to blog, I have a guest blogger whom is no stranger to my blog.  She’s the infamous GeeGee Curtained from the Blog Two Fat Cows and she is also the token straight woman and columnist for the popular online Lesbian magazine The Modern L.  In this time of political correctness in South Africa, GeeGee unashamedly calls it as she sees it.  And if you don’t like it, as she would put it, “You can go fuck yourself!”

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m about as racist as I am homophobic and I haven’t been called ‘Superlettiebag’ and ‘Superfaghag’ for nothing.  I’m just fed-up, or as we say here in Gauteng – Gatvol!  I was standing at the till in the supermarket a few days ago and a black man behind me in the queue asked me if I would pay for his groceries.  I’ve done it before when I felt someone needed my help so I glanced down at the contents of his trolley and it was full of luxury items.  Not basic necessities like bread, milk, maize meal and tins of food but rather massive slabs of chocolate, ice-cream, t-bone steaks and so on.  I thought he was joking so I just looked at him and smiled politely so he says to me that he’s serious.  I think the disbelief at the bloody cheek of it was written all over my face because that’s when he called me a racist.  Without me saying a single word I was called a racist.  Asshole.  I thought to myself that he’s a very lucky man because if the incident had happened while the tumour I named Irene was still lodged in my brain it would have ended very badly for him.  Irene didn’t take shit and lost her temper spectacularly when she was fucked with.  Sometimes I miss her.

That brought to mind 2 things that happened while Irene was still very much alive and well.  The first was right here in my own back yard.  I’m ashamed (ok, not really ashamed – I just thought I’d put it out there to see how it sits) to say that morning I was a poster child for the saying ‘You can take the girl out of the hood...’  I was sitting minding my own business and having my first cuppa of the day (never a good time to mess with my ass) when all hell broke loose outside.  My elderly Golden Retriever Daisy was going absolutely apeshit and she’s a friendly muttley who loves everyone on sight, so it was strange enough for me to go to the window to investigate.  Our lovely neighbours are the Embassy from some God-forsaken African country.  I won’t mention which one but suffice to say it’s one that hangs gay people for the ‘heinous crime’ of loving someone of the same sex.  Anyway, one of the kids that live there was standing on the wall throwing stones at my dog.

"Hey! Stop that!" *through the window in my sternest voice*

He has the nerve to throw another rock, waggle his bum at me and stick his tongue out!  Well.  Clearly that was me!  Before I knew it I was outside in my robe, pyjamas and slippers trying to climb the 7 foot dividing wall. All I was focused on was getting my hands on that little shit and showing him what a crazy ass white bitch is capable of first thing in the morning if you mess with her muttleys.  I don't know what would have happened if my son hadn't come outside to see what the commotion was about and pulled me off the wall...  I don't even want to think of the image Shadrack now has in his head of his madam being held off the floor by her son, arms and legs flailing in her pink pj's and fluffy slippers.  Said neighbours have branded me a racist.  Assholes.  I would have reacted exactly the same if the child was white, a naughty child is a naughty child, no matter what colour.

The second erm... incident was while I was walking our dogs in the park around the corner with our dog psychologist. Don’t judge – I was trying to integrate my beloved late Doberman Samson with our smaller dogs and finally end the apartheid in our household.  There are massive signs everywhere telling people to keep their dogs on the leash but suddenly this ugly ass dog that looked like a hyena (in retrospect I think it might very well have been) appeared out of nowhere and was trying to bite Daisy.  She’s a gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly and this bloody beast is nipping at her flanks and legs, my poor girl looked terrified.  Two black women wearing black t-shirts with white clenched fists on them come strolling over the rise and shout for us to leave their dog alone.

"We're not touching your dog, please put it on a leash" *politely*

"We don't have to do it just because you say so..."

WTF???? Huh?

"It's the law, read the signs" *doing my best to keep cool in front of the dog psychologist*

"You white bitches can't tell us what to do, we're diplomats..."

OMG....

Clearly that was me and all previous thoughts of decorum flew right out of my head without so much as a backward glance.  I made such a scene that two old white men who were there in a bakkie full of black construction workers came running. I could just picture the headline: 

“Housewife and Dog Psychologist Start Race Riot on the Ridge”

It got ugly, really ugly and I got nervous when I realised us whiteys were outnumbered 4 – 30 but my temper had total control over me by then.  At one point the dog lady was holding me back because all I could see was red and I wanted to smack the sanctimonious smirk off that bloody woman's face Oh. So. Badly.  Next thing she was right in my face, spittle flying, shouting that we tortured black people!  Me!?!  I've never tortured anyone or anything in my life but at that point I would’ve been more than happy to start with her.  Things only ended when I told them that one signal from me and Samson would rip all their throats out, starting with their ‘dog’. Gawd, one would think that one could walk one's dogs in peace...  The pure venom and undiluted hatred in that woman’s eyes was something else – I’m pretty sure if she had a gun on her she would have shot me, a perfect stranger.  Asshole.

I like living on the Ridge, but these bloody diplomats really get to me. We pay to live here yet they act like they own the whole neighbourhood, happily living the high life off their countries' gravy trains while their fellow countrymen starve to death.  Assholes.  Oh, and while on the subject of gravy trains - since Missus Z No. 5 has moved into the street our electricity bill has gone up by loads, funny that...  Asshole.  I'm not a racist, but days like that, when I'm exposed to reverse racism at its ugliest, I tend to waiver in my beliefs. My generation had no part of apartheid yet we get punished for it every day.  Growing up the first I ever knew racism even existed was when my mother’s best friend Jubi, her husband Josef and their kids would come over to visit and the neighbours wanted nothing to do with us because of it.  When I asked my friends why they weren’t allowed to come over anymore they told me it was because we had coloured people visiting at our house and their parents didn’t want them to play with me anymore because they saw me playing with coloured children.  Fucking assholes.

I don’t care whether you’re black, blue, green or pink but if you’re an asshole you’re a fucking asshole.  I’m sick to death of being accused of being a racist and keeping my mouth shut, walking on eggshells around black people with chips on their shoulders in case I offend them.  An old friend of mine often rants and raves about the state of affairs in this country – to the point where we tease him that he’s sounding more like a Right Wing AWB leader by the day.  I’m sure old Eugene Terreblanche would turn in his grave if he knew a coloured man was being compared to him!  Can’t help having a bit of a giggle at that...  Ah well, he was an embarrassment anyway – I mean, apart from all the shit the damn fool spoke, the fucker fell off his horse.  Walking in a parade...  And he called himself a Boer?  Perfect example of what I mean by Asshole.

Last year at Pride when I went undercover as a lesbian my Gentledyke and I were asked by a black man whether he could watch us have sex and he kept pestering us for ages, making a complete nuisance of himself.  He got more inappropriate as the hours went by, completely spoiling our day.  If he was white he would’ve had his ass kicked into the next century by the men who were with us but because he was black he got away with it.  Asshole.  And don’t even get me started on the black women in the parking lot of our local supermarket.  Driving massive 4x4’s they can barely see over the steering wheels of – but if they have diplomatic plates you can be sure that bitch is going to either scrape your car or drive over your foot and beware if you so much as say a single word about it, then you’re a racist.  Assholes.  If I did the same thing accidently?  Then I’d be called a racist.  You just can’t win. 

I have often partied and had great fun with people of all races in our Rainbow Nation but I don’t walk around talking about my black friends.  I don’t talk about my white friends either.  Friends are friends, no matter what colour they are.  So I don’t sit down with Precious for a cuppa and a natter – I had a white maid in Spain and I didn’t socialise with her either, as one does when someone is part of your household staff, but I wasn’t accused of being prejudiced because of that.  Besides, Precious is completely uneducated and comes from a small Xhosa village in the Eastern Cape and communicating with her can be a bit of a challenge.  I had no idea until friends from the UK came to stay and they asked me what language we speak to each other, apparently it sounds like a strange form of Pidgin English.

If there was a word for someone who can’t tolerate assholes I wouldn’t mind being called that at all.  An assholist perhaps? But being called a racist?  Yes, I do fucking mind thankyouverymuch...

Time for a voddie shot methinks, I'm all worked up all over again.

*clink!*

GeeGee xx

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