Camping When Nature Hates You.

Camping is a queer concept to me.  I mean really, who in their right mind would willingly submit themselves to the elements if they are not homeless, raised by wolves or competing for a million dollars?  If humans were intended to live in the bush or mountains we would not have evolved to be able to build houses, nice hotels or invented electricity and room service.  Don’t get me wrong.  I do love to do quad biking, horse riding and I do appreciate nature’s absolute splendor.  But this doesn’t mean I want to spend a night in nature, sleep in a sleeping bag in a tent with God knows what crawling over me.  I have been camping twice in my life and this was enough times for me to realize two things:  One, I don’t like “roughing it” and two, I do NOT do camping.

About ten years ago hubby and I decided to go hiking with my sister, brother-in-law and some friends.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.  We would spend two days hiking up a mountain, walking about 10 kilometers a day (that is like 6.2).  The selling point for me was that we would not need tents as we would be sleeping in what they called “chalets” and they said there was electricity at both “camping sites”.  The only down side, I thought, was that we would need to carry everything we needed in backpacks with us.  Optimism never served well, and in this case optimism would once again dismally fail me.

Arriving on the Friday, the first “camping site” was basically a room with a questionable roof, holes in the walls that you could literally see through and stretchers to sleep on.  No electricity.  No indoor toilet.  That was the very first time I in my life that I saw an outhouse or as they called it - a “long drop”.  I was mortified!  It was nothing more than a hole in the ground with a toilet seat on top of it, smelled like shit and there were steam billowing out of it the following morning.  All I could do, when I eventually had to take a shit, was to go in there, hold my breath and pray that the whole thing didn’t cave in on me.  In retrospect, I think that’s where my fear of public toilets comes from.

The following day we started with the hike.  Ten kilometers is fucking far, especially if you are carrying 5kg on your back.  Needless to say I cursed a lot that first day.  My sister, the drama queen that she is, also had a complete dramatic melt down three quarters through when she had a cramp in her leg.  She was a whimpering mess and wanted to be medically evacuated off the mountain.  Needless to say that didn’t happen.  The rest of the hike she was whimpering out loud and I was crying and cursing on the inside.  Eventually, what felt like an eternity, we made it to the second camp and things only got worse from there.

Again the “camp site” was no Hilton Hotel and by all means worse than the first one, again with the outhouse, cracked walls and stretchers.  With blusters the size of plums on my feet and smelling like a funky monkey, I realized hiking was probably the worst idea I ever had.  All I wanted was to take a long hot relaxing shower.  Then came another shock.

The “camp site” had a shower but it was outside in the bush and if I wanted a hot shower I had to heat the water in a thing they called a donkey on the fire. Like primitive prehistoric men.  I remember screaming “No hot water, no indoor toilet, no indoor shower, no electricity.  Why the fuck did I do this to myself?”   I wanted to get clean so I heated the water, carried the donkey to the outside shower and hubby and I got in and opened the release valve.  First came the searing hot water then in came a snake.  I literally peed myself and that was the shortest and most traumatizing shower I ever had.  They said it was a harmless snake, but at almost a meter long it didn’t look harmless at all.  Besides nobody in our hiking party was a reptile expert.  We could have all died.

On day two we hiked back to the first “camp site”, completely paranoid about snakes,  but this time I was motivated by one thing and one thing only - I wanted to get the hell out of there!  It took us about six hours to reach the “camp site” and we left immediately.  I have never gone hiking again since but I did end up going camping a couple of years later.

My parents’-in-law are avid campers.  They own a caravan and all the camping equipment one would need to survive in the event that the apocalypse should destroy all man-made structures.  They go camping often and they invite us along just as often.  I have always found creative ways to avoid camping and declining their invitations.  That was until the one day about 5 years ago when I couldn’t get out of it.

My in-laws got me to agree to go camping and until this day I can’t remember how they did it.  They promised me that we will have our own fully equipped bathroom and that we would not have to share it with other people.  They also said there would be electricity.  The only down side was that hubby and I would have to sleep in a tent.  How bad could it be, I thought?  What is the worst that can happen, I thought?

On arriving at the camping spot I was delighted to find that my in-laws didn’t lie.  We did indeed have our own bathroom, kitchen and there was electricity.  I needed electricity for my portable air-conditioned, inflating our double bed, electric mosquito repellent, ice machine and emergency light. Once again I have to stress that I don't do the roughing it thing. We helped the in-laws unpack and then set about pitching our tent.  Pitching a tent in your pants is one thing but pitching an actual tent is a whole different story.

Tents are complicated assholes and the instruction manuals that come with them, I firmly believe, are written by people who are high on drugs or drunk.  They make no sense.  After a struggle, some sweat and an averted mental breakdown the tent was semi decently erected.  Our bed was inflated, the air-conditioner was running and mosquitoes were fleeing.  The whole camping spot was set up and I must admit I was rather proud of myself.  Everything was done and as I was standing there admiring our handy work, I thought to myself “So now what.  We are here; we are set up, so what exactly does one do when you are camping?”  As it turns out – not much! You drink.

The only things we had to do were to go down a waterslide and drink.  I broke my rib on the waterslide that day and later that evening I got drunk on vodka jelly shots.  I would have broken my nose too had it not been for the emergency light outside our tent.  You see, vodka jelly shot, darkness and tent ropes don’t mix.  Much later that evening, I sobered up a little and we went to bed and that’s when it happened.  Back then my father-in-law use to snore, the sound of which could scare away wildlife in a five kilometer radius.  His snoring sounded a lot like a mixture between a diesel engine coming apart and a pig choking on its own esophagus.  It kept me awake for a long time.

After eventually falling asleep I was roused from my not so peaceful slumber by something tickling my face.  I brushed it away and dosed off again.  Then it happened again.  “Stop it” I mumbled to which hubby mumbled back “Stop what?”

Just then the tickling went down my chin, down my neck and into my t-shirt.  I woke up, reached for my flash light lifted up the collar of my t-shirt and let out a petrified scream as only a twelve year old school girl can do.  I too am like Oscar Pistorius and scream like a woman when I am petrified.  There was a big hairy spider on my chest!  As I stared down at it in utter terror, its beady eight eyes stared back at me while its front feet were touching my nipple.  I felt sexually violated and petrified that it would bite off my nipple after it had finished molesting it.  Pandemonium broke out.  I survived.  The spider did not.  I lost three years of my life that morning and inhaled a whole can of Raid in the scuffle.  I still get nightmares.  We never went camping again after this.

Until such time as North Korea starts nuking the shit out of the world or when the Zombie Apocalypse happens and we are all forced to flee the city and find refuge in the mountains, I do not see any good reason why I should ever voluntarily go camping or hiking again.  No amount of bug repellent, vodka or inflatable and portable luxuries will see me leave the comfort of my home, or that of a hotel, to go and spent a night under the stars with the wild life, spiders, snakes and other hideous and possibly dangerous insect and animals.  Sure Broke Back Mountain made it look sexy, but in reality I would have had no problem quitting Ennis Del Mar as no high altitude fuck can be worth being dragged up a mountain to sleep in a tent and being crawled over and molested by spiders and snakes.  I find no shame in admitting that camping is not for me.  I am a civilized human being. I am not meant to play survivor and submit myself to the elements ever again.

Till next time.

Your Daily Male: Art, Photography & Male Nudes.

Your Daily Mail 2016, is the first full color male-art tear-off daily calendar in the world. It consists out of art, photography and tastefully done male nudes. 49 artist from across the world contributed to this 366 pages of male-artwork.

Your Daily Male 2016 is published by the MooiMan Male Art Gallery in the Netherlands in collaboration with 49 local and international artists.

After many years of having made Homogenda and Flikkergenda (totaling 30 years) MooiMan art gallery decided to produce the first international male-art tear-off daily calendar. The result is a colorful, well balanced design in full color with a wide and varied range of international male art.

Your Daily Male is an additional stage of the gallery in addition to many exhibitions and art fares. It thus also shows how gay rights go hand-in-hand with international male art, including gay Russian Artists. Their versatility and passion of the artists are included in this calendar as an example.

Your Daily Male can be purchased at the gallery in the Netherlands as well as many bookstores in Europe but also at the Shwules Museum in Berlin, Germany.

You can also order the Daily Male 2016 calendar online by CLICKING HERE. 

The Gospel According to Me.

The Bible has been a best seller of all time and obviously the authors of the book did not make money from it whatsoever. So who profits from the sale of the book and who agreed to that contract?

Well, actually the Bible is copyrighted and each company who owns that copyright makes money off it. In order to create a new copyright there must be substantial changes to the Bible which means the Bible most Christians read today is not a true reflection of the original version. Which led me to wonder, which parts of the Bible have been changed and how did this impact on the first love story of all time in Genesis which is the one between Adam and Steve.

I have frequently heard that it was just Adam and Eve and not Adam and Steve in the Gardner of Eden when religious freaks try to condemn homosexuals to hell. Well, how the fuck would they know? Were they there? Also, which printed re-written copy of the Bible are they reading?

I believe Adam and Eve were not alone in the Garden of Eden and that Steve was also there (you are welcome to prove me wrong). You know, to give Eve options. We all know how women are. The one thing that could not be foreseen was the fact that Adam and Steve would fall in love and that Eve would become their much begrudged beard. Was Steve God's back up plan for Eve? Who knows. Was it planned that Adam and Steve would be gay, I think not.

Eve felt cheated out of her deal in the Garden of Eden and obviously developed resentment. I mean who wouldn't. She did not have a guy or even the option of becoming a lesbian? Was this because she was not skinny enough, her boobs were too small or maybe she had the personality of a hedgehog. Who knows. But the fact that she was lonely, did not have a lover and possibly developed some body image issues is very plausible. For most people that would be depressing but not for Eve, she was a woman on a mission so she got her shit together and made a plan. She would tempt Adam to commit the primordial sin: Eating the forbidden fruit. Apparently she got this tip from a snake which is highly unlikely because you know, snakes can't talk. Her plan was all her own and kinda genius when you think about it.

As most of you know in the Garden of Eden there was an apple tree which God told them they may not eat from. Which is stupid because it's like putting a treat in front of a puppy and telling him he cannot eat it. They were kinda set up to fail if you ask me. Adam had great will power and listened to Steve who was the responsible one in their relationship. There were a lot of fruit in the garden, including them, and there were no reason to develop an appetite for apples, even if one apple a day keeps the doctor away. Not that there was a doctor with them but you get what I am saying. But Eve was a temptress and knew exactly what she was doing. You see she had a short term and long term plan for Adam who was the butcher one and Steve more on the fem side.

Her short term plan was to roofie Adam and make him eat the apple so that they can be thrown out of the garden, hence getting him away from Steve. The long term plan was to get Adam to fall in love with her. So that is exactly what she did. Adam ate the apple and fucked up his relationship with Steve. He got thrown out of the Garden of Eden leaving Steve all alone with his spring collection made of flowers and leafs who he now had nobody to model it for.  Eve was cruel but her plan succeeded and she soon found herself in a brokeback marriage. It was not ideal but it was what it was. What happened to Steve nobody knows. You see the authors could only focus on one narrative because the people back then didn't like to read and papyrus leafs were very expensive.

In the later printed copy of the Bible the publishing companies decided to remove Steve and the dinosaurs from the narrative entirely and tweaked the original version. Poor Steve was written out of the Bible and hence he never got the credit for decorating the Garden of Eden or for styling Adam with the newest fashion and Haute Couture. Basically he got screwed and dissipated into obscurity. 

Then we get to Leviticus in which everything is a sin. According to this chapter everyone is going to hell and their puppies and kittens to. And I mean everybody. In the chapter you are also allowed to stone your neighbors to death which I think many of us secretly wish we could do today. But that's against the law.  Everything sex related is a sin and pigs are evil, shell fish is from the devil and masturbation is a death sentence. Do you even know how many men and women are going to hell because of masturbation. That's like 99% of the population with the 1% being people in comas!

When Leviticus was re-written the author(s) was in all likelihood in a bad mood and probably terribly hung over. Frankly that is the only reason why he would condemn 99% of the population to hell, including himself. Hangovers will do that to you and are major assholes. There are too many sins in Leviticus to deal with as it seems to be the most hateful chapter in the Bible. So if you haven't read it yet skip it - it will ruin your day and you will go to hell. Ignorance of the scripture is no excuse but hey, when you have to start making lists of sins it becomes very annoying.

I wonder what the original version of the Bible was like. I also wonder when people thought it was ok to go and make substantial changes to it. Fiction novels are not suppose to be re-written just because you don't like sections of it. You don't see people going and re-writing the classics in our literary history. So why would the oldest fiction novel in the world be changed and copyrighted? The only reason I can think of is that is that it is meant to be used for sinister purpose.

Too often people use the Bible to condemn people, to justify discrimination and in the past even rationalize racism. The Bible has been changed to fit certain people and organizations agendas. The book people are reading today is the byproduct of bigotry, politics, religious oppression and the justification of hate. The people in a 100 years from now will read a completely different Bible than the one we have today. Who knows, there might even be transgender aliens in it. Unfortunately we will not be around to see it. For now we are stuck with the most judgmental book known to mankind. It is a poorly written fiction novel the original of which is nowhere to be found. Not even on the internet. I am probably going to hell for having written this, that is if hell really exists.

Till next time.

When things start to sag

Growing older sucks.  And not in a good way.  Throw in early onset male menopause and you have the odds stacked so against you that I now totally get why Meryl Streep drank that potion in Death Becomes Her.  Only in real life there are no magic potions only hormones, exercise and diets.  All of which I loathe because hormones require needles, exercise make you sweat and diets are just a “socially acceptable” way of starving yourself.  You know, because anorexia and bulimia are “mental disorders”.

Having gained 7kg (15.4 pounds) in just over three months I can honestly say being fat isn’t fun.  I know that I have been joking that our pregnancy is the reason I have put on a few, as I am "with child" so to speak, but in all honesty most women I know do not gain that much weight during pregnancy.  So why did I gain all this weight in such a short period of time?  Well, according to my doctor (not the one that lives in the Internet who communicates with me through WebMD) it is male menopause and being in my thirties.  I almost killed him, but I didn’t because even though I am chubby I’m still too pretty for jail.  Do you even know what they will do to a pretty boy like me in there?

The final straw that broke the camel’s back happened last week Thursday.  Picture it.  It’s 6:30am at our gay petting zoo, the animals have been fed, I have brushed my teeth, shaved, applied my plethora of age defying creams, done my hair and got ready to get dressed.  I took out an outfit that I wanted to wear, put on my shirt and then tried to put on the pair of pants.  But it didn’t fit.  Then I pick another pair of pants.  That one was also too small.  I made a third attempt, this time I tried to suck everything in and almost popped a vein in my head in the process, but to no avail.  Then I started to panic.

You see, the larger size pants that I recently bought was in the washing and I only had two more pairs of pants left as options for work.  If these two didn’t fit I would be totally screwed!  I have never prayed when I was dressing myself but this day I did.  But my prayers went unanswered.  After I tried on all five pairs of pants I found myself sitting in the middle of a pile of rejection, in the form of pants, sobbing like an emotionally disturbed child.  I looked at my fat and screamed “Why do you hate me?” as if my fat would be able to answer me back.  Anyone who has ever been in that kind of situation will tell you that at that moment you cannot think rationally.  I also almost called in fat for work that day.  But I don’t think that is actually a thing, but it totally should be.   Needless to say I didn’t try it.

Luckily hubby saved the day.  I had forgotten that I bought another pair of pants that I have never worn because hubby hadn’t gotten around to hemming it yet.  So he promptly did and I was able to go to work, albeit it emotionally bruised and feeling rather defeated.  Later that day I spoke to hubby on the phone and he suggested that I go and see my doctor.  Which I did.  While in his consulting room I told him about my unexplained weight gain, that I did not eat more than usual and that he needed to help me.  Then he asked me when last I got a testosterone shot and I then remembered that it was more than seven months ago.  And apparently that was the problem.

Also, apparently those little tropical holidays I have been experiencing again the last three months were hot flashes.  The injection I had seven months ago only works for four months and the last three months my hormone levels took a nose dive again.  Now I am on a testosterone injection once every two weeks until my levels stabilize.  The doctor said that due to the lower testosterone levels I was gaining weight and once the levels are back to normal I will find it easy to lose the extra weight.  But being thirty something I should also remember that my body’s metabolism slows down and that is part of ageing and there is no pill or injection OR magic potion for that.

Look, I do know that we all are going to grow older and that our bodies will change as we do but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.  The fact that I have also noticed that certain parts of my body are on the verge of sagging freaks me out and I will definitely have a few things lifted, nipped and tucked down the line.  I started with Botox when I turned 30 and luckily due to this I have no frown lines, wrinkles or crow’s feet.  However, from the neck down that is a totally different story that I like to refer to as “Ground Zero”.  It’s like a natural disaster but only it involves fat and cellulite; the kind of fat and cellulite that you will eventually have to get sucked out of your body because they are stubborn motherfuckers.

Growing older isn’t any fun.  There comes I time that you have to accept that the twenty something body you once had is gone forever.  The days that you could do fifty sit-ups and have a six pack has passed.  The days that you could lose weight just by fucking breathing is now a distant memory.  Many people I know embrace the process of ageing; they don’t mind gravity sucking their boobs and asses to the ground, the odd wrinkles, grey hair and the cellulite.  They accept it as the natural order of things.  But I don’t.  If we were meant to age gracefully there wouldn’t be things like facelifts, body lifts, tummy tucks, liposuction and Botox to mention but a few.  I’m not saying that I will do all these things or advocating that you do.  All I am saying is that I will try and defy the process of ageing for as long as I can afford it.  And as for my early onset male menopause, I have only one thing to say about and to it is and that is fuck you!

Till next time.

Product Reviews

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Paris Attacks

You are in our thoughts and prayers. May the victims R.I.P.

It's Friday the 13th so don't be an asshole.

It's Friday the 13th and for all those superstitious folk out there, take a Xanax and stay in bed.

I have never believed that there is anything sinister about these "unlucky" Fridays. How can I? I have three black cats who continuously cross my path on a daily basis. Sure my cats are assholes but they have never caused a ladder to fall on me, break a mirror, spill salt or made me forget to touch wood to avoid bad luck. Sure they have tripped me, scratched me (for no reason) and sometimes sit and stare at the wall making weird noises but all of this is just to enforce their authority in the house. They also do this to make us aware that we are the inferior species. Cats like to remind us that they were once worshiped as Gods until some son of a bitch ruined everything for them. So they are just resentful and not evil. Mostly.

Furthermore, touching wood has never helped me to get a parking bay closer to the shop, made me win the lottery or caused me to get a 90% discount on my Botox. In other words  - I do not believe in any of this shit.  And we should stop being assholes to these Fridays. We will give them an inferiority complex or worse - make them resentful towards us.  We don't want them to be pissed off because they are being teased by the other Fridays and make them send Jason after us, now do we.  So don't be a dick and enjoy your weekend.

I am so offended! I don't have a STD!

Apparently having a urinary track infection (UTI) is quite normal especially if you are a women. Or so I have been told. I have no way of verifying this with clinical research. Also, if you are gay and have a UTI it is perfectly normal for a nurse to make the assumption that you have slept around while drinking excessively and that your UTI is in all probability is a STD. This  is what happened to me this week.

On Tuesday I woke up blissfully unaware that I had a UTI. That was until I had to pee. When I did I was in considerable pain causing me to negotiate with myself for how long I could hold my pee in before I would die. Apparently not long (holding it in, not the dying part). What made it worse was that I was also passing a kidney stone which is right up there on the "I want to die" pain scale.

As the day progressed and I noticed that there was blood in my urine and I grew increasingly concerned. I did not want to die of blood loss through my penis because that would not make for a good story at my funeral. "How did he die? Well, uhm he bled to death? How? Through his penis?" 

Naturally when you suspect that you have a UTI you see your doctor. Unfortunately mine was indisposed and could only see me in two days time. Which, when you have a UTI and about to pass a rock through your penis, is a fucking long time to wait.

I did not want to go to the emergency room for my UTI and kidney stone. You see, the problem was that the last time I was there I thought I was having a heart attack which turned out to only be severe heartburn. As such I can never show my face there again. So I opted to go to there pharmacy. It seemed like the lesser of two evils. Also, they did not know about my heartburn incident and would not judge me me.

When I got to the pharmacy and explained my symptoms they seemed quite accommodating at giving me something to make everything better. Well, that was until they heard that there was blood in my urine and then they treated me like a zombie asking for drugs. Feeling less confident to assist me (because they did not want to kill me) I was referred to the nurse. And this is where things went south rather quickly.

I got into the nurse's consulting room and explained what was going on. I just wanted to pass my kidney stone in peace and have my UTI sorted out. So she made me pee in a cup. This would have been fine had I not been experiencing pain at the time. Knowing that I really did not have a choice I reluctantly I complied.

She took the cup with my penis blood and urine and stuck a stick into it and looked at it and then looked at me and said "Hmm there seems to be a lot going on here" To which I thought "No shit lady. Why do you think I am here?" But I didn't say that because I am a gentleman. She said that I definitely had a UTI and then proceeded to ask me if I had been drinking over the weekend to which I responded in the affirmative. This however pissed me off as she made it sound as if I had gone on a drinking binge which was so not the case. And then the part came which really offended me.

"Is your partner also experiencing the same kind of symptoms?" she asked. "Because if he is he would also need to come see me". This made it sound as if my UTI was a STD and that I got it from my husband. I rather rudely responded to her that he wasn't having similar symptoms and that we are not sleeping around. Why I felt the need to explain that to a total stranger holding me pee in her hand is beyond me. But I did it anyway.

Apparently, in her experience, people only come to see her with such symptoms when they are too ashamed to go to their regular doctor because they do have a STD and know it. I found the stereotype I was being boxed into offensive and I was even more upset because it was painful when I peed. It seems that if I am in pain and I don't get drugs to make it go away that I too become rather judgmental: I thought that she was being a bitch which in all probability was not really the case.

After being treated like an alcoholic serial orgy inclined homosexual I got my antibiotics and left. It still hurts when I pee but at least it is not as bad as it was. But at least it no longer feels like I am giving birth to satan through my dick.

I have never used the word penis this often in any of the blog posts I have ever written. So if you are offended by penises I am sorry. It is just that gay guys know a lot about penises and for that I apologize too. Well, not really. But it is what it is. My UTI is being treated and is healing and I passed the kidney stone with great effort. I am still alive and not peeing blood anymore which is a win in my books. I am still offended by the nurse's assumption about me and gay guys in general but I will get over it. However, I will never see her again because I do not plan on getting a STD and if I had one I'd rather see my regular doctor. I prefer being judged by people I know.

Till next time.

100 Years of Lesbian Couples

20 Pictures of lesbian couples covering 100 years.  Yes, we have been around forever.

100 Years of Gay Couples

20 Pictures of gay couples covering 100 years.  Yes, we have been around forever.