Almost 40 and Ancient

I am almost forty. It's like I woke up one day and went "What the fuck?! Where did time go?" To most of the young gay people forty is ancient: ancient like you were part of the creation and saw the dinosaur extinction. I think being about to turn forty is more traumatic than actually turning forty. They say your forties is the best years of your life; you know who you are, you're settled in your career and you have disposable income that you actually can enjoy spending. I hope all this is true because if it's not I will hunt that person down, who said this, and threaten to kill them to their face. I won't actually kill that person because I am too pretty for jail and have terrible food allergies. Ok, I just made up the food allergies but still, prison food I assume is really bad.

A lot of things change as you approach forty. You realise that you're no longer in your sexual prime, you're sprouting grey hair (even your pubes which is stark reminder that your penis is old too) and you tend to become set in your ways. It's like you have reached a point in your life where you no longer are willing to tolerate shit from other people, you re-evaluate your friendships and attempt to have an uncomplicated life free of bullshit. In essence you are cleaning house in preparation for the next phase making sure you no longer have excessive baggage.  Because frankly who needs it.

The most obvious reminder that I am almost forty is when I drop off or pick up my son from kindergarten. Most parents there have just started their families and are young. Every time I am there I am reminded that I am one of the older parents. You know the ones that had little oopsies. However, I don't particularly care. We are all going through the same shit with our kids and we can stand in solidarity with just a sympathetic look or a nod of the head. The scary thing is that when my son finishes school I will be fifty six. That sounds ancient to me now but I guess only until I turn fifty. Oh dear god, the thought of that makes my head and Botox hurt.

Being almost forty and having a two year old also comes with both positives and negatives. The positive side of it is that I have more patience and have learned to pick my battles. The negative side is that I have never been a person who yells or even raise my voice, but now I am. I have patience but it is constantly tested. After the forth "No, don't, stop it" I tend to go into angry dad mode and my commands turn into "NOOO! STOP IT!!! I AM GOING TO COUNT TO THREE!", but three always come and everything calms down. Then five minutes later we are at the exact same situation. I am now a screamer.

I have also caught myself saying things like "Just wait until your dad comes home" and then immediately thought 'God I sound like my mother!".  

I am now at the age where I don't take myself that seriously anymore. A good example is when my two year old throws the mother of all tantrums. Depending on my day I will throw a tantrum as well mimicking his. Usually he reacts with total confusions like he's thinking "What the fuck is wrong with you?" normally this reaction causes his tantrum to seize out of pure shock. After all I'm the parent. The good thing is that we both got rid of our frustration in a "healthy" manner and I still maintain a small degree of parental control. I have not tried this in a shop yet. But when it happens I am sure it will have the same effect.  I just hope when it happens the people who witness it have children because they will be the only ones that would understand.

Almost turning forty also meant that I lost a couple of pets that I had since my twenties. In the last year I lost my two cats due to old age. It was sad as I had them for fifteen years. This also reminded me that life is short.

Turning forty has also seen my body go to hell. I got fat. Loosing weight is fucking hard. Diets can only do so much but you need to exercise to. I am not a fan of exercise at all. However, I did start. You see I don't want to fall one day and break a hip. I also don't want the get obese and have to be removed from my house with a crane. So I do my thirty minutes on my stairmaster every day. I despise that machine more than I hate homophobes and I have a mostly hate relationship with it. But the machine that was designed by the devil himself is yielding some results and I continue to torture myself daily.  Its like I am atoning for all my sins of my twenties and thirties.

I am thirty eight and two years away from the big 4 0. In a strange way I am looking forward to it. I have come to accept that I am ageing and that Botox and facial creams can only do so much to reverse the ageing process. I have no wrinkles or frown lines on my face but I am going grey and packed on a few pounds. As I am preparing for forty I hope I will be older and hopefully wiser. I am determined to enter that phase of my life with enthusiasm and glee. Well, I will try to anyway.

Till next time.

When Beauty Equal Pain.

They say beauty is only skin deep and that beauty is pain.  This is especially true if you go for Erbium laser skin resurfacing.  You see for the last couple of years I have declared war on premature ageing.  I refuse to “age gracefully” and I have successfully managed to keep a seven year distance between my perceived age and my real age. My arsenal in this war includes my oils of delay, regular Botox treatments, the odd minor cosmetic surgery and most recently, laser skin resurfacing.  Consequently, I have no frown lines on my face, no wrinkles and no sun spots and I intend on keeping it that way.

For a couple of years now I have had Botox treatments and absolutely love how it works.  Emotional expressiveness on your face is highly over rated and who could not benefit from a brow lift and looking mildly surprised.  Botox is like having had a little vacation in your lunch break that lasts four to six months.  It is relatively painless, takes only a couple of days to start working and if your doctor knows what she is doing you will still be able to move some muscles in your face and look natural.  Besides the anti-ageing benefits of Botox and it also hides one of my tells.  You see whenever I am in a meeting and someone is boring me or talking bullshit I tend to frown.  It’s involuntary and now with Botox I no long can do it either involuntarily or voluntarily.

Recently I noticed sun spots developing on my face.  They were like freckles, but freckles on steroids.  They were scattered all over my forehead, cheeks and multiplying like sex starved bunnies.  So in my last consultation for my Botox maintenance the doctor recommended Erbium laser skin resurfacing.  It’s a procedure that takes roughly 30 minutes and only requires three days down time.  She promised that this will remove the sun spots, smooth out my complexion and fill in any frown lines and/or wrinkles that I may have.  It doesn’t take a lot of convincing to fix a problem on my face or body if it falls within my budget or price range, so I booked the appointment.

Three days prior to my appointment I started with my pre-procedure medications, purchased the skin numbing cream that I had to apply an hour before the procedure and pain medication for just in case.  Whenever any person in the medical profession uses the term or phrase “It may cause mild discomfort” it means it is going to fucking hurt.  Besides if your whole face is going to be penetrated with a laser for a half an hour you'd be silly if you do not expect some pain or "discomfort" as the professionals phrase it.

On the day of the appointment I was rather excited.  But as the time drew closer my excitement turned into a nervous tension.  “What if it doesn’t work and I am horribly disfigured?” I remember thinking when I washed my face at the office.  Just as I was about to leave the office and applied the numbing cream I thought “What if this is the last time I’ll ever be pretty because of some really bad reaction from the treatment or from some nasty infection?”  When I arrived at the consulting rooms I checked in at reception and made a dash to their restroom to apply another thick coat of numbing cream “Better safe than sorry” I tried to reassure myself.

I waited ten minutes and then I was ushered into the laser room by my doctor and her assistant.  I took off my coat, got onto the examination bed and shot up a little prayer “Please don’t let this hurt too much!” Then the treatment started.  Three short burst per area, a slight stinging sensation and the smell of burnt hair filled the room.  The doctor explained that it wasn’t my skin that was burning but rather the hair follicles in my beard that were being scorched.  Half way through I was asked if I wanted a ten minute break.  But being brave and believing that I had a high pain threshold I asked her to finish.  This was a mistake.

When the second part of my face was being treated it hurt like a motherfucker. But just as I thought I could no longer handle the pain it was over.  Like any self-respecting homosexual I asked if I can smoke a cigarette, for a ten minute break and a cappuccino before the second and last laser treatment was done and the repair lotion was applied.  At that stage my face was burning and I looked like a pale Brit who fell asleep on a South African beach and woke up just moments before his sunburn turned into blisters.  I looked and felt like a burn victim.  The burning sensation lasted about an hour and then completely went away.

The next morning I woke up to find my face red and some mild swelling around my eyes, mouth and cheeks.  I managed to wash my face which was rather sensitive and noticed that already pieces of skin were starting to peel off.  To my amazement my sun spots was being wiped away every time I used my cleansing lotion and it seemed like a miracle.  The treatment was working!  The worst part of the laser was not the actual procedure, the burning sensation directly after or the swelling.  The worst part was the not being able to shave for 7 days.  I hate facial hair on myself and I was starting to look like I had an emotional breakdown and was turning into a recluse whose greatest enemy was sunshine and people.

Needless to say, I didn’t venture into public for four days.  Unfortunately for me Sunday was father’s day and hubby and I were hosting it at our house.  Still red and peeling I thought "What the hell it is family after all".  Also, it’s not like I was keeping this a secret from anyone.  When the in-laws arrived they noticed something was amiss with my face but it took some time before the reason my face looked the way it did was discussed.  My sister-in-law (who can be a bitch sometimes) in her not so diplomatic way, said “I do have my opinion on your cosmetic procedures, but it is your money.  If you want to do it and can afford it who am I to judge you.”

On Monday, I didn’t go back to work.  Not because of my face but because I hurt my back.  I ventured into public for the first time for an injection and flurbiproven plasters and nobody noticed anything funny with my face.  My skin already started to clear up on Sunday night and returned to a semi normal color.  I still have three more days to go before I am allowed to shave my beard and it seems like an eternity.  As for the results?  Four days after the treatment and I can already see a 75% improvement and I believe the full effect will be visible in the next fourteen to sixty days.  Maybe now I can extend that seven year distance between my perceived age and my real age to ten years.

Till next time.

Grey Hair! What the F...

Denial n denying; statement that thing is not true or existent; disavowal.  This is how the Oxford Dictionary defines the state I have been in since I left my hairdresser’s yesterday.  What was supposed to be a carefree and relaxing day bleaching my hair and making me all pretty and blond for our island holiday turned out to be a “life event” so horrendous, so horrifying I can barely bring myself to write about it without sobbing uncontrollably into my Bloody Mary.  Yesterday I discovered my first grey hair(s)!

Yesterday started out like any other normal day.  I slept until 8am (I am on holiday after all), had a quick breakfast while maintaining my social media presence and catching up on all the GLBT news from around the world.  Then got dressed and made my way to my hairstylist’s salon, completely oblivious to the fact that my world was about to be turned upside down.

Seeing as I was bleaching my hair I arrived at the salon early as it normally takes a good 5 to 6 hours for my hair to turn platinum blond.  My stylist decided to cut my hair first as I still had some blond bits from the previous bleach in my hair.  As he cut my hair I noticed a patch of hair on my fringe that didn’t seem to grow out.  There was no regrowth just a blond patch.  “It must be my natural highlights” I thought, I remembered having them as a child and how nice of it to make an appearance again now.  I was wrong.

Just as my stylist was about to start applying the bleach to my hair, he inspected my blond patch.  As he was inspecting it I thought he too was admiring my natural highlights.  Then he looked at me and I could tell something was amiss.  “Dude, I don't know an easy way to say this.  You are starting to go grey.” he said.  He called his assistants who also had a look and they confirmed the news I was dreading.  So I had a closer look myself.  “MOTHERFUCKER!” I screamed in my outside voice in my head.  They were right! If it wasn't for my botox everyone in the salon would have seen how shocked I really was.

 Mother nature, the cruel bitch that she is, crept up on me like horny dog wanting to hump my leg and snuck in a whole patch of grey hair while I slept.  “I am only 34.  I am too fucking young to be going grey!  This is the last fucking time I will allow my natural hair colour to grow out.  Nothing good ever comes of it anyway!  NOTHING!” I thought.

Traumatized and depressed I sat at the salon for 4 hours while my hair was being bleached.  The grey took off 2 hours of the total bleaching time.  It’s not the sort of consolation that makes me happy, but hey, being old I guess an extra two hours to do something else is helpful.  Life is short and over far too soon.

It was clear that I have passed my prime and the only way I now will be able to maintain my dignity and the farce of a youthful appearance will be with chemicals, toxins, medical procedures and prayer.  This must be why people become reborn Christians:  Once the grey hair start appearing and you enter into this phase of life, you realize how close you are to old age and seriously need to start thinking about the hereafter.  “Jesus Christ, Mary and Joseph!  I cannot believe that I am getting old!” I thought on my drive back home.  I was not happy, but the worst was yet to come.

 Later that evening I needed to attend to my man hair in my genital area.  A couple of days earlier I had a full body wax and all my man hair that was not covered with a G-string was ripped from their follicles.  Even though my beautician is completely willing and capable to give me a “crack & sack” wax, I always prefer to tend to that area myself.  As I stood in the shower inspecting myself, deciding whether I was going to go completely hairless or not, the unthinkable happened.  More grey hair!

“SON OF A BITCH!  My crotch and balls too?!!  MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!” I screamed as lightning struck (it really did and I don’t just say this for dramatic effect).  As I sat on the shower floor crying like an emotionally disturbed child while staring at my old dick and balls, all I could think about was “Do you get like a hair dye for pubic hair or will normal dye do the same thing?”  At the end I decided to shave off my pubic hair, all of my pubic hair.

I always knew this day would come, but I thought I had more time.  More time to enjoy colouring my hair out of luxury instead of necessity.  I am getting old and now for the first time there is proof.  I choose not to think about it because it upsets me too much but, in time, I guess I will accept this cruel turn of events and maybe one day I will be able to laugh about it.

Next week hubby and I are flying to Madagascar for a well-deserved island holiday; 12 lazy days of sun, sea, snorkelling, scuba diving and reading a few good books.  12 days of forgetting that we are getting old and going grey!

Till next time.

Happy holidays my dear reader.

May you have a wonderful festive season and a FABULOUS new year!

Beaten up by a Lesbian?

It has almost been two weeks since my surgery and I’m slowly awakening from my antibiotic, ant-inflammatory- and pain medication haze. I’m bruised, battered and slightly worse for wear but at least it’s all over and I can again string two coherent sentences together. The surgery went well, I’m healing and in six to eight weeks, after I have seen every hue of purple my body can produce and the swelling finally subsides, I shall be happy with the result. Plastic surgery isn’t for the faint of heart and looking back and catching unflattering glimpses of myself in the mirror it begs the question – Will I do it again?

The morning of my surgery I was a mixture of excited to finally have the source of my esthetic discontent cut out of my body and incredibly nervous to undergo twilight anesthesia. The prospect of being semi conscious while somebody takes a scalpel to your eyes is less than thrilling. Hubby and I arrived at the doctor’s office fashionably 5 minutes early and like a lamb to the slaughter I checked in. After a short but agonizing wait the surgeon fetched me from the waiting area, introduced me to the nurse that was going to assist him, made some small talk, laid me on the bed then took my arm gently placed the drip’s needle into a vain. It wasn’t long after this that things became fuzzy and my recollection of what transpired is patchy to say the least.

I do recall that at one stage I was in discomfort and after responding to the surgeon’s question to that effect things went blank again. I also recall that I was asked to open my eyes, being aware that I was being stitched up and after the surgery asking to see what had been cut out (I’m macabrely weird like that). The next memory was of us driving home and then waking up in bed. Queerly, I don’t recall ever actually being in any kind of pain. Waking up in bed realizing that the surgery was over I couldn’t resist taking a look at my face. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror I recall thinking to myself that I didn’t look that bad, I was only slightly swollen and bruised, little did I know it was about to get a great deal worse.

It wasn’t until that evening that the swelling began. My eyes swelled up like carnival balloon, went pink and then a dark purple. I looked like I was in a fight with a butch dyke and her biker friends and I had lost! For dramatic effect I was also bleeding a little from my stitches. I looked ghoulish and hubby was understandably horrified! It was a long night; I slept in the vampire position and became very familiar with the term “discomfort”. Strangely enough it didn’t physically hurt but it sure was painful to watch, so I decided to keep a photo diary of my recovery (again I’m macabrely weird like that). The next few days were spent mostly in bed and an unhealthy relationship with ice packs emerged. I was in loved my two blue frosty pads of comfort – they were my precious!

The first week of being semi immobilized vertically and socially unacceptably looking I did the only thing I could – I watched allot of television and slept. I caught up with Oprah and Ellen and watched all ten hours of the 83rd Academy Awards (E’s red carpet, the unedited award ceremony and E’s Fashion Police’s Oscar special). My sleeping pattern was noticeably screwed up and I felt jet lagged. Week two wasn’t much better but I was at least out of bed more. The main source of annoyance after the surgery strangely enough wasn’t the bruising or the swelling but those damn stitches! They itched and it drove me insane! Luckily, a week after surgery they were taken out, much to my relief, and this was also the only painful part of my plastic surgery procedure. My follow up visit was largely uneventful, I was told I’m healing great will be looking fabulous in two months time and to still take it easy for another week. But I was really getting bored at home, tired of television so I had to find something else to do.

So I discovered Facebook’s Farmville, the most annoying and frustrating thing ever invented by mankind. It’s time consuming, competitive and after one week I was ready to give it up and let my little cyber farm wither and die. But at least it kept my occupied for a while. As my bruising and swelling started subsiding I ventured out of my self-imposed isolation and instead of asking hubby to get stuff from the shop I braved going out in public. My Prada sunglasses came in handy nicely hiding my now blue, green and yellow eyes. However, it is quite strange how quickly one can forget that you still look pretty bad if you don’t look at yourself in the mirror every five minutes. This little slip of the mind grossed out and shocked a few people the other day.

In the shop minding my own business I was looking for eye drops in the self medication section and was unable to find it. Being far- and near sighted at the same time and the well illuminated shelves dimmed by Prada and deep in thought I took off my sunglasses to take a better look. Not finding it, I proceeded to finish my shopping. I noticed people looking at me funny but I just thought they were all having a bad day and I ignored them. It wasn’t until I made it to the front of the checkout counter that I realized the cause of the stares. “Sir, I know it is none of my business but who did this to you?” a very concerned lady asked me. Taken aback by her frankness and realizing that my sunglasses were on my head and not on my face the only response I could think off at that moment was “Dr Paul Pienaar”. Not elaborating the lady probably left thinking my plastic surgeon beat me up and that’s fine too.

Tomorrow it will be two weeks since my surgery and I will be returning to that place that pays my bills. Most of my colleagues know what I have done and those who don’t will probably think I was either gay bashed, beaten up by a lesbian, in an abusive relationship, in a car accident or walked into a door. In retrospect I am happy that I have done this and the experience was not all that unpleasant. I’m still healing, still a bit bruised but all things considered it was worth it. I can’t wait to see the full result and patience is not one of my virtues, but alas I have no choice. Will I do this again? Ask me again in ten years and the answer will most probably be yes!

Till next time.

Lady Gaga - Born This Way

What Don’t You Like About Yourself?

In a week’s time I will be going under the knife and I am slightly nervous. You see I am getting minor elective surgery meaning that it’s not in the true medical sense “necessary” but for me it is and not because it is simply considered “de rigueur”. It’s something that has been bothering me now for years, has been getting progressively worse over time and is, to some degree, adversely affecting my self-esteem. On the eve, so to speak, of not only getting braces I’m also getting plastic surgery and now having publicly announced it, I couldn’t help but wonder why some people still view cosmetic surgery as a taboo and why people lie about it? Is it something to be ashamed off?

My loyal readers (all 10 of you) know that I started with Botox when I turned 30. It was a conscious decision I made and one I am happy with. Sure my ability to frown or look sufficiently surprised have been traded for a smooth brow with visibly absent frown lines and wrinkles; a low price to pay to keep the signs of ageing at bay as certain facial expressions are highly overrated anyway. Some may view this as vanity but I call it proactive maintenance. But for many years (the last 8 to be exact) there have been something that troubled me, something I managed to efficiently hide with the right products, sunglasses and Photoshop until recently. A month ago I decided that I had enough and made the choice to have the dark fatigue trenches under my eyes removed, surgically and permanently!

Again you may call this vanity, but allow me to explain. Twice during the last 3 years I have been asked whether somebody punched me – my dark circles under my eyes have become that bad! Until about a year ago I managed to conceal 80% of it with my special Yves Saint Laurent magic makeup combo. But I have now reached the point where trying to cover up my raccoon eyes takes me longer than shaving, getting dressed and doing my hair combined and with all that effort I now only manage to conceal about 30%.  I know I am not hideous looking but I am becoming increasingly self-conscious about it so I discussed the matter with my doctor during my last Botox treatment and she suggested surgery. Other treatments she could offer would only be temporary and the results would proof lacking to meet my expectations. So it was off to the plastic surgeon’s office.

Sitting at the cosmetic surgeon’s immaculate reception room surrounded by pictures of Grace Kelly, Mae West and Audrey Hepburn, I looked around me at the other prospective patients wondering what they wanted to have nipped, tucked or enlarged. I’m sure they were wondering the same looking at me. Eventually, my turn came and I expected the surgeon’s opening line to be “So what don’t you like about yourself?” a question I could have easily answered both literally and psychoanalytically. But he didn’t ask. Instead, I explained to him I wanted the circles under my eyes erased from my face, he listened attentively and then ushered me into the examination room where he pulled, pressed and stretched my lower eye lids while I was nervously holding a mirror in one hand. At the end of the examination we returned to his office and he proceeded to explain how this miracle surgery would occur.

The circles under my eyes are due to fat glands pressing on the veins under my eyes and this is causing blood to accumulate resulting in its dark appearance. The grotesque effect is further exacerbated by loose skin. The fix, cut out the fat glands and tighten the skin. The catch, the procedure will take 60 to 90 minutes and will be done while I am awake! I will be connected to a drip and administrated a drug called Dormican and then given a local aesthetic. The Dormican will make me sleepy, relaxed and erase all memory of the procedure and when I eventually come too, I will be safely nuzzled in my own bed at home. It sounds freaky I know, but as I was explained this method is becoming more popular for this type of procedure as well as liposuction, nose jobs and a few other surgeries as it’s less traumatic on your body, recovery time is quicker and coincidentally it’s also cheaper. So convinced that if other people have made it through having their eyelids cut open while semi-conscious, didn’t go crazy or sued him (I Googled and Hello Peter’d him after the consultation), I would be fine too. So I scheduled my nip and tuck for next week Wednesday, I have made peace with the fact that it’s going to happen, but I am still shit scared.

Not many people will readily admit getting Botox or are open about getting cosmetic surgery. Writing this blog post I’m also not convinced I’m doing the right thing to so publicly admitting to what I’m planning on having done. But I decided to be open and honest about it. Why start lying to my readers now? The worst that can happen is that people will think I’m vain, superficial, self-obsessed, narcissistic and preoccupied with my appearance and they’d be right, to some degree, all bloggers are some of these things that’s why we blog after all. But in all honesty, I believe that if you don’t like something about yourself, if there is something you can fix that will make you feel better, then why not do something about it? I am going to; I’m not going to lie about it and I will not be ashamed of it. After all I’m doing this for myself with realistic expectations. I’m not expecting a 100% improvement; at this point I’ll be happy with 50%.

Horrific News

This week I heard the three words I hoped never to hear again. They bring back painful memories both literally and figuratively. Memories of embarrassment, inability to eat certain foods, one week in every six weeks of physical pain, wax, chapped lips and having to accessorize my fag bag with toothpicks, a tooth brush and toothpaste. This week I was told “You need braces” again and I almost died! I had braces before and never thought I’d see the day that I had to go back to that, but alas I have no choice.

You see this week I went for my regular teeth cleaning and checkup at the Dentist. Admittedly the Dentist is not my most favorite medical practitioner to see, hence my obsession with my dental health. I have never had a cavity in my whole life and I never plan to experience the horror of being inflicted on a root canel. To avoid the dental drill I brush my teeth twice, sometimes more, a day and floss and do everything I can to keep my gums and teeth healthy. So with this week’s visit I wasn’t expecting any bad news or nasty surprises and that is the thing with optimism and expectations - neither have ever served me well.

Towards the end of what was a rather uncomfortable teeth cleaning session my Dentist, the genius that he is, decided to compare my current X-Rays with that of my previous visits and discovered something ominous. He doubled check the X-Rays and with an alarmed expression checked my mouth and said “I don’t think you are going to like what I am about to tell you” and he was right I didn’t and I proceeded to throw a hissy fit and almost broke down crying. “Braces! Really?! I’m turning 34 this year I can’t be wearing no God Damn BRACES!” are just a few boorish things that flew out of my mouth. After I dropped a few more F-bombs, he managed to calm me down.

“It’s not that bad” he said “There are many adults that get braces these days, it’s almost fashionable”. Yea right, braces at my age is hardly a fashion statement and besides that they will clash with all my outfits! Apparently I am experiencing what they call an “Orthodontic Relapse”, which is just a nice way of saying you are fucked for two years and if you’re single you will stay that way!  There was no good news that day, my teeth are moving again and they will not stop by themselves and, whether I liked it or not, if I ever want to smile again on a photo I would have to get fucking braces.

Quite depressed I arrived home and started to Google braces. These days you get invisible ones that you can remove for eating and for other things that requires an unoccupied mouth, but they are expensive and knowing myself I’d probably not wear them 80% of the time which defies their purpose. You also get porcelain ones that are less noticeable and could be a more viable solution. However, they break easily and due to their fragility could increase your braces hell by double. So the most viable option is the standard metal mouth braces which one can brighten up with colorful rubber bands giving you a pretty scary rainbow smile – come on let us all jump with joy!

I’m still depressed and is looking forward to my first appointment at the Orthodontist on 3 February at 2:30pm with the contempt and enthusiasm it deserves. I’ll be 36 when my braces come off, that’s four years from 40! For the next two years I’ll be getting my braces adjusted next to 13 year old kids, be eating corn on the cob with a knife and fork, not be able to smile after eating lunch or dinner because there will be food that needs to be dislodged and my personal favorite - I’ll be setting off metal detectors at airports. All fabulous things I have to look forward too. The only upside to this is the fact that I will definitely lose weight.

As one of my more favorite medical practitioners was injecting my annual Botox touch-ups, she said something that made sense. Vanity comes with a price, a fair share of pain and a whole lot of sacrifice. Our metamorphosis of what we want to be on the inside and outside is never complete and there are always some things we would want to change. Some things are by choice and others are not and peace should be made with that. I choose not have the ability to frown as it’s highly overrated but I don’t have a choice about the braces. With just over a week before my reunion with the Orthodontic industry I will make a concerted effort to make peace with the impending fact that I will be getting braces. Fucking braces!

Till next time.

Tommy Ryman at the Joke Joint

Lady Gaga, Adam Lambert and a Fat Fairy

This past weekend I attended a fabulous star studded birthday party and had the most fun I had in a long time. Rubbing shoulders with the likes of Lady Gaga, Adam Lambert, the Kardashians and John Galliano (to mention but a few) the evening was filled with laughter, booze and 430 paparazzi photographs. Yes as all parties go with “celebrities” the paparazzi was a tad overly eager when it came to the pictorials. And it is these pictorials that opened my eyes to a few not so small changes I urgently need to make before summer.

Saturday hubby and I attended the 40th birthday party of a very good friend of ours. It was a theme party and the brief was to come as your alter ego. Quite a challenging brief and many of the attendees were in a panic a few days prior as discovering your alter ego is more difficult than it may sound. Luckily Google, costume shops and creative makeup techniques lend a hand and came Saturday evening everyone left their homes and arrived at the venue as someone else, much to the delight of the other guests.

The guest of honor arrived as the Absence Fairy and her husband as Jack Sparrow. Other guest included Gary the Tooth Fairy, Zorro, a French Maid, a Playboy Bunny and various representatives of the Armed Forces. With a punch potent enough to be considered illegal this social lubricant did what it was intended for and the group was soon relaxed and all were in a party mood. As the drinks flowed and dancing started Gary the Tooth Fairy and his boyfriend Zorro decided to be the unofficial paparazzi for the evening. While sitting across from Adam Lambert who was gnawing at his nails like a squirrel a nut (to get the Paris Hilton nail polish off) the paparazzi was happily flashing away.

As the evening progressed the party became livelier and the flashing of cameras seemed less intimidating. To say that the guest of honor ended up dancing in the Jacuzzi should suffice in describing the extent of our inebriation, and the fact that all our shenanigans where documented by the paparazzi without any objection, at the time, should further support in this explanation. At around 2am and several coffees later hubby and I headed home and the greater part of Sunday was spent nursing our massive hangovers, swearing of tequila, absence and whatever other alcoholic beverages we have ever had in our lives.

As our heads cleared the faint memory of flashes soon stirred some concern. “Oh my God, did we do anything or were we at all embarrassing?” I worryingly asked hubby to which he responded “If we were I am sure there are pictures!!!” With great apprehension I logged onto Facebook (the portal for mass and immediate embarrassment) and to my relief at 2pm on Sunday no damning photos. Relieved I conveyed the good news to hubby and then his phone rings – it’s the Absence Fairy! “430 photos you’re kidding me, is it going onto the Internet? Oh Nooo!” was the words the almost stopped my heart.

Being pretty sure, but not convinced, that we behaved I had to wait until Monday before the first batch of party photos found their way onto Facebook. Somewhat concerned I opened the party photo album and was horrified!!! You see there are some photos that’s far worse and more embarrassing than any drunken, puking or passed out picture – there were fat photos that make me look 3 months pregnant!!!

“OK, so I haven’t been to the gym in just under a year, but I have been busy and I have had some stress and I am an emotional eater” I whispered to myself in a quivering voice with my cats staring at me with concerned eyes. Looking at some of those photos my denial that I have been packing on some winter blubber was utterly obliterated and I had to face the ugly truth – I got fat! Gaining weight is evil; it’s a gradual process of which you and those who see you often hardly notice until one day. A day your pants no longer fit, you notice a second chin instead of one, a day you see yourself in a photo that not even excessive airbrushing can fix!

With the shock of my weight gain and spring in the Southern Hemisphere of this lovely planet only 7 days away I decided to pull myself together and start a transformation. Today I had my face botoxified (again) and my frown lines filled. Saturday I will have my winter fur ripped out of their follicles and on Monday I will be returning to the palace of torture and I will be sweating and toiling my fat away until till I am ripped again. I will not be like Oprah, and this time I will keep the weight off. Now all that’s left is to get rid of the evidence of this my second fat phase.

Till next time.

ALEJANDRO PARODY! 

The Collagen Palace

They say beauty is only skin deep and true beauty comes from the inside. However, some of us need a little help when it comes to the “skin deep” department. I have just gone for my Botox touch-up at another one of those Collagen Palaces that promise the fountain of youth with a few injections, peels, lasers and surgery. After my little procedure I left wondering why we so eagerly pursue beauty and whether I now too may have crossed the line in joined a group of people that would pay large amounts of money to cling to youth for as long as possible.
My first Botox treatment was earlier this year and as I vividly described on my blog it was a pleasant experience and the benefits aesthetically pleasing. When I was due for my touch up I decided to go to another plastic surgeon that was recommended to me by a friend. All excited I called her office and to my great disappointment the first appointment I could get was only in three months time. Being quite surprised the overly friendly and slightly annoyingly happy sounding receptionist told me they could place me on a “cancelation waiting list”. So two weeks passed before I got a call informing they had a cancellation and I could be helped the very next day.

Arriving at the surgeons offices I was amazed at the magnitude of her operation and facilities. It was a one-stop-shop where you could get anything done apart from major surgery. As one would expect from such an establishment the staff was immaculately dressed and all had a little something done from Botox, collagen to fillers. Walking towards the counter at reception I spotted the Prozac Queen who I had spoken to before. It should be illegal for one person to be so happy and I could not quite determine whether it was just her natural personality or chemically induced, either way if I had to spend a whole day with her I would be forced to staple her lips shut.
After completing the normal paper work I was escorted to the waiting area where I joined a couple of middle aged women all engrossed in the little pamphlets of the different procedures the facility offers. The conversations they had resembles that of people discussing a restaurant menu the only difference was they were discussing chemical peels, body sculpting, facelifts, Botox and vaginal rejuvenations. It seems that apart from the normal nips and tucks of ones flabby bits you can now also get a younger vagina. What will be next a testicular lift and/or penis rejuvenation? Not wanting to listen to how their privates have been tightened I decided to go for a smoke and wait for my turn at the outside coffee shop area.
When my turn came the permanently surprised looking and cheerful receptionist collected me and ushered me into the Dr’s consulting room. My face was examined, the procedure discussed and this time fillers was also introduced into my age delaying chemical recipe. I found the Dr very pleasant and genuinely sincere in her approach. After every possible frown was reproduced, my facial muscles examined and frown line inspected she took out an array of syringes and meticulously placed them on a small table next to the bed. As usual the Botox injections were relatively painless, but when it came to the fillers it was a slightly different story. The best way to describe filler injections is like being stung by a small bee with the slight burning sensation lasting only a few seconds - kind of painful but nothing that would cause a ghastly scream. The other queer thing about fillers is that you can actually feel the thin line if you stroke your finger over the treated area and this really grossed out my hubby.

During the procedure the Dr and I had a nice chat. She told me about the wide range of clients she has and to my surprise she told me of two very well known International Airlines (the names of which I will omit out a fear of being sued) sends their cabin crew to her when they are in South Africa to get Botox and fillers done. Apparently these airlines pays for the procedures and all their staff members that deal with the public are encouraged to undergo these treatments on a regular basis. It’s seems having a flawless and youthful appearance are part of their job description – what a great perk to have. We also discussed the reason people have cosmetic procedures done and from her answer I concluded everybody does it for their own personal reasons, some out of vanity and others out of necessity.
So why do I get Botox you may ask? After some pondering I realized to a certain degree vanity does play a role in my motivation, but mostly it is because if I can delay the effects of aging why not. I do take pride in my appearance. Even though of late I again gained some weight and unlike Oprah my blog readership does not increase with every pound I gain, I still take care of myself and do plan on shaking off the extra pounds and could even inject some of the fat into other parts of my body – Yes, people do that for all of those who just gasped in horror! My decision to get Botox also has a lot to do with the fact that my frown lines made me look unfriendly and every time someone bores me, talks nonsense or when I get annoyed I tend to frown betraying my concerted efforts to hide my true feelings from who ever is sitting across from me in a meeting. Another and final reason for me joining the Botox Band Wagon early is to stay away from the surgeon’s knife for as long as possible as preventative measures, in my opinion, are always the best.

After my touch-up and having had my eyes opened to the other side of cosmetic procedures I honestly don’t think I will go over board and make my visit to the youth fountain a monthly excursion. A visit once in a while (when needed) and in moderation is the healthier option for me. After all I don’t want to end up looking like some of the freaks you see on Dr 90210 or the E channel’s Top 100 Worst Plastic Surgeries. When I look into the mirror in ten years time I still want to be able to recognize the person I see looking back at me.

Till next time.

Robin Williams Plastic Surgery

DIY, A Butt-Crack and A Back Injury!

There are 3 physical conditions that I dislike: Being sick, being in pain and being immobilized! Over the weekend a personal injury that had me in pain and being semi-immobilized was an imperfect ending to a tedious week. Having hurt my back I learned 2 important things, both Murphy’s Law and Gravity can be bitches and certain DIY work around the house is best suited for those who knows what they are doing.

In our house my husband is the DIY go-to-guy, and so for a good reason – instead of fixing things around the house I tend to make things worse. So when 1 of our power sockets behind our home entertainment system decided to give problems, I decided fidget with it –always a huge error in judgment from my side. The power socket being in quite a precarious position I had to twist my body in an odd way to reach it. Instead of using common sense and moving the cabinet out of the way for easier access, the blond in me decided it’s too much of an effort and queerly enough, in my mind, not only could I reach the socket but I would be able to fix it all the while my body being contorted as if I was playing a game of twister. Needless to say, having my spine bend in this manner hurt my back and instead of fixing the power socket I blew the power switch. So now the socket was destroyed, my back was injured and my husband was extremely annoyed.

My husband being the practical one he moved away the cupboard took out his DIY gadgets and confirmed that I indeed destroyed, once again, something that could have been fixed only if I had the patience. While cursing he took the thing apart and the next day we had to buy a new power socket to replace the one I broke. The woman in the hardware store was quite intrigued by this gay couple, one being semi-immobilized & visibly in pain and the other shopping for a power socket but instead inspecting light switches (I think had we been 2 lesbians the situation would have seemed less bizarre). I recall her asking us 3 times whether we had picked the right item because after purchase they don’t give refunds. I guess I can’t blame the sales woman for being quite concerned – 2 effeminate gay boys the 1 hurt and both shopping for electrical equipment, I can just imagine what she thought had happened to my back and how it relates to our purchase. After arriving home, hubby replaced the socket and while doing so the stereotypical handyman butt-crack was clearly in my sight. Soon all electrical problems were resolved, but my back was still injured. Being a Sunday I had to wait until Monday to see the Dr.

The strange thing about hurting my back was the reactions of my friends and co-workers. For some bizarre reason all thought I had injured my back through some form of acrobatic sex with my husband over the weekend. I have no idea why that would be the 1st thought that comes to mind from people that know me, but in this instance reality was far more boring. Arriving at the Dr’s consultation room, being cranky due to the throbbing pain I was disappointment to find the waiting room quite full. There was a mother with her 2 children accompanied by their grandmother. The 2 children were behaving as if they have peeked on a sugar rush and I swear they were in serious need of Ritalin or some form of Tranquilizer. They were running around screaming, throwing tantrums and being out of control. An older lady and I caught ourselves on a couple of instances looking at these kids and then to each other, both thinking the same thing – please just get them the hell out of here! I finally lost my temper was when 1 of the kids threw me with a stuffed toy. Without thinking twice I regressed back to being a 4 year old and threw the kid back with the toy, then jumped back into adult mode and gave the kid the evil you must behave now eye brow lift which was perfected by my mother. Luckily my Botox started to ware off so I could get the eyebrow up high enough for the greatest fear impact.

After seeing my Dr I was off to the pharmacy to get my medication. It seemed everyone in my neighborhood fell sick over the weekend and I was faced with another one of my pet peeves - standing in a queue! Those 2 terrors from Dr’s consulting room were also there but this time they stayed clear of me. After the pharmacist collected all my medication he did the normal explaining how I should take it routine, ending with the words “You should probably not be operating any heavy machinery while taking these pills”. As soon as the words left his mouth and he saw my confused reaction he realized his mistake. I am no crane operator or truck driver! Being confused by what he said and having another blond moment I asked “does a BMW qualify as heavy machinery?” he paused for a moment and answered “Yes”. Promptly followed by my next question “The meds are for 5 days and I am only booked off for 2, how am I suppose to get to work for the remaining 3?” Clearly confused he thought for a few moments and answered “I don’t know” and proceeded to finish dispensing my medication while looking at me as if I just ruined his day and seeing flashing images of a BMW causing a major car pile up on the highway – and it would be his fault!

Being 2 days into my recovery, the pain has subsided largely due to the fabulous medication and tomorrow I will be attempting to drive to work. So if you see a black BMW coming your way please get out of the way! I have made a conscious decision not to attempt any future DIY work in our house and to rather have husband try and fix it – even though he mentioned on numerous occasions how he despises it! Having DIY projects pop up around our relatively old apartment every now-and-again and me being quite fond of staring at my husband’s behind while he's working on these projects the next project will be handled with greater care – I will not be tempted to fidget with anything seemingly broken again soon!

Till next time!

Kathy Griffin - She'll Cut A Bitch

I never did mind the little things!

This past week I realized I received my Botox treatment in the nick of time, as life’s “little” annoyances definitely would have aged me prematurely. During the last 7 days I endured stress ranging from what most would view as mundane to quite significant. First my Facebook account was disabled without warning, secondly a family member ran into trouble in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and thirdly I am in the process of changing jobs.

The combination of all three had had me experience emotions ranging from anger, frustration, irritation, stress, fear to relieve. Not all these issues are resolved at present, but it had me appreciate what is really important in life!

My Facebook account was disabled on Wednesday last week. No warning messages, no explanation nothing! One day I had over 4000 friends and a fan page for my blog with 1200 fans and the next day all traces of my being was erased. It’s as if I no longer existed! Quite a few people noticed my mysterious disappearance, which made me feel kind of blessed – at least some people noticed and missed me! To me it felt like Facebook’s Super Nanny ordered me to take a time-out and go sit on the naughty chair without explaining to me what I did wrong. What makes it worse is the fact that they are also not communicating with me, and I am getting the silent treatment as well!

Oh the horror of being excommunicated from a cyber community! The shame… The isolation...

All 4000 of friends disappeared somewhere into cyberspace and I have no means of contacting them – it’s like I died a cyber death! They really should establish a Cyber Obituary for people who have experienced the same thing. At least then your friends will know of your untimely cyber demise.

The frustration of trying to contact a company that only choose to communicate with their clients through e-mails, had me yearning for the days when one could actually speak to a human being instead of getting automated responses by bots, with impersonal replies and no speedy resolution. At least some of my friends decided to take action and have e-mailed the Facebook Black Hole of Appeals and if I am lucky someone will eventually read 1 of these e-mails and reinstate my account. In the mean time I'm in exile from Facebook, isolated and forced to interact with my friends in the real world - which isn’t such a bad thing but is hell on my phone bill! The Facebook drama has taught me the value of true friendship and to never put all your eggs in 1 basket (one social networking webpage). Currently, I am suffering from Facebook withdrawal symptoms and I am wondering whether there are any support groups that I can join!

“Hello my name is Pierre and I am an Excommunicated Facebook Addict!”

Over the weekend we learned that the patriarch of our family ran into trouble in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). He was being held “hostage” there and was unable to return to South Africa. This made my Facebook woes seem quite insignificant! If there is one place in the world you never want to run into trouble it is an African country! I don’t know how many people have ever tried to contact an attaché of an Embassy or a Consulate over a weekend – it’s almost next to impossible! Being the persistent bitch that I am, and dealing well with multi-tasking, trouble shooting and getting things done I managed to get hold of someone on Sunday. The person was quite shocked that our family member was told that the Embassy could not assist him because his problem was not of a political nature. So on Monday someone was fired from the embassy, and I am sure that individual will take greater care in future not to make reckless statements due to laziness and/or apathy. We were lucky that the Embassy took swift action and secured our patriarch's safe return. The whole experience was stressful and the fear and uncertainty of having a family member in a dire situation in a foreign country and the sense of helplessness one experience is difficult to describe. It is also peculiar how one learns to what extend you will go to protect those you love when they are in danger!

They say the death of a loved one, divorce, relocating and changing jobs are the top 4 most stressful things a person can experience. I can honestly say that this is the truth. I have lived through all of these experiences apart from divorce. Currently being in the process of changing jobs for the second time in 2 years I must admit I find the process taxing.

Negotiations, paperwork, meetings, getting signatures, and dealing with Human Resource Departments are getting to point where I want to scream ENOUGH ALREADY!!!! At this stage I just want to pack my little cardboard box with my little private nick-knacks and move offices! Unfortunately, like most things in my work environment, things happen at a snails pace testing my patience. I have tried working on this virtue they call “patience”, which I seem not to have, by growing bonsai trees and orchids. The bonsai trees have died and the orchids refuse to flower! I have made peace with the fact that my career transition will take time, so I will wait impatiently for all the red tape to be completed, and grind my teeth with every delay and bare it!

With the past 7 days and the associated dramas I have come to realize that there is no use in sweating the small stuff. In life you will experience a crisis from time-to-time, some significant others mundane. Your attitude in dealing with each little blow life deals you greatly will determine the general outcome. There is a line in a movie that has become a motto for me during trying times that say “I never did mind the little things”. The most important things in my life, which I have gained greater appreciation for this week are: The safety of my loved ones; having true friends; being healthy; and being fortunate enough to have a job and being able to live a comfortable life. Everything else is just a bonus – the cherry on the cake! I urge all of us to have a good look at our own life and list all the things that we deem most important - I am sure the list will open up all our eyes as to what truly is important in life.

Till next time!

Vidur Kapur

Botoxified

Every so often we find ourselves looking in the mirror and some of us find something small that we would like to change. For some people it’s their nose, others their teeth, wrinkles, sagging eyes, breasts or cheeks. Very few of us actually do something about it. Maybe it’s due to the cost associated with fixing our little flaws or maybe because some are ashamed. This week I decided to fix a little flaw I had, and decided to undergo a small and relatively painless cosmetic procedure. This experience had me question myself regarding vanity, whether I should be ashamed of having taken the next step to slowing the ageing process or whether I should stand up and be proud of it.

Now, I am no stranger to the world of cosmetic procedures, as I have had 1 yearly cosmetic touch-up ritual: For the past 5 years I have been bleaching my teeth, as being a smoker and having pearly whites are mutually exclusive. I have never been ashamed of bleaching my teeth as it's common practice amongst many of my peers. However, once it comes to having more cosmetic work done it starts becoming controversial - especially if you are only 31 years old! Being gay, and admittedly fighting the good fight against ageing, I have long ago begun researching non-invasive anti-ageing procedures but it’s only recently that I decided to take the next step to what, in my mind, I perceived to be total vanity!

For a long time I have been considering Botox but have always been too scared to go, as I have seen the pictures of the horror stories – and I didn’t want to be one of those expressionless monsters! Unfortunately, I have a tendency to frown upon a lot of things – literally! I frown when I am tired, when people annoy me, when I am angry, when people bore me, when I am pensive and when I am stressed. All this frowning has culminated in 2 very distinct and unflattering frown lines between my eyebrows and 2 very pronounced lines on my forehead. These combinations of frown lines not only make me look older but also have the tendency to make me look unfriendly. So after my husband politely told me to stop frowning while I was watching a documentary on television, I unconsciously made up my mind about fixing this behavioral pattern.

As I became more vocal on the subject matter of Botox in my social circle the Botox Closet opened and a few of my closeted Botox friends revealed themselves. I was amazed, as I never suspected any of them of having had it done. I always thought all Botoxians looked like Nicole Kidman! I was pleasantly surprised to find my friends still able to express emotions adequately and they all have a distinct refreshed and rested look. So I had to get their doctor’s number!

Calling up the plastic surgeon, his secretary answered and I requested an appointment. She asked me what it was for, and in a shy voice I answered “It’s for Botox” (expecting some kind of surprised response which luckily didn’t materialize). It’s astonishing how many times I changed my mind about showing up for my appointment. Even on my way to the Dr I found myself questioning my motive for getting the procedure done, questioning myself about issues of vanity and whether I was still too young to start down this, what I had convinced myself as being, a slippery path to cosmetic addiction.

I mustered the courage to make it to the consultation room and soon found myself face-to-face with myself holding a mirror explaining to the Dr where my flaws were. He had me frown over and over again, while making several markings on my forehead. I was visibly nervous, not so much of the needles and what lay ahead, but because I feared something going wrong (in my mind images of Michael Jackson flashed before my eyes). The Dr reassured me that there were minimal risks and that the procedure is safe. After I was satisfied, he started the injections; all the while explaining to me exactly what he was doing, being compassionate and even cracking a joke here and there. The procedure was relatively pain free and lasted only 20 minutes. When the procedure was concluded I was told that the full effect will only start revealing itself within 3 to 7 days.

As the hours and days past I started to see the results. My husband was the 1st to notice that I looked less stressed (even though I wasn’t). The frown lines slowly started to disappear as the targeted muscles started to respond to the treatment. It’s a weird sensation when the Botox starts working, as you do not feel numb but your ability to frown as before slowly disappears. I found myself in a heated argument with a colleague shortly after the treatment and a bystander later commented that I sounded angrier than I looked during the altercation – that’s when I realized I did the right thing getting Botox! Why should life’s little annoyances age me prematurely?

Having now graduated from bleaching my teeth to getting Botox I must admit I am not ashamed of either cosmetic procedure. Having small little touch ups done fixing small flaws may be considered vanity by some. However, having had it done I am pleased with the results and look and feel great. Anyone who considers having any cosmetic procedure done should do their research well before hand, to prevent becoming one of those horror pictures. We all sometimes look in the mirror and some of us find something small that we would like to change. I have come to the conclusion, that if you have the means to change what you don’t like don’t let fear or pride prevent you from doing so, whether it’s a cosmetic procedure or any other life change!

Till next time!

Were The World Mine