Mother Nature I Curse You!

It’s that time of year.  Animals are fornicating and plants are procreating and nature’s debauchery that is called spring is fucking with my allergies.  Each year for a full six weeks I walk around wishing that gasmasks were in fashion and that I could wear one everywhere I go.  But this would not be socially acceptable and would most probably freak people out, so I have to settle for antihistamines, a nose spray and eye drops.  I now know how drug addicts must feel, instead of getting withdrawals if I don’t take my drugs I get blood shot eyes, sinus and persistent sneezing which I am convinced kills brain cells.  Mother Nature can be such a bitch and this is why I hate spring.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that spring hails a farewell to winter, the fact that my garden seem to come alive with new flowers and that the dullness of winter is replaced with vibrant new greenery.  I also love the sweet perfume of jasmine and purple rain that permeates the air in my garden and watching bees gorge themselves on pollen and nectar.  But what I love about spring is also the things that literally make me feel like I want to die.  You see I have severe allergies.  The kind of allergies that could justify me being encased in a bubble filled with purified air and that is medically sterile.  I am allergic to just about everything except cats.  Ok, so I lie.  I am a little allergic to cats too and we have five.

Spring is the one time of year that my medical aid must think that I am a total hypochondriac, with on average about 3-5 doctor visit during this time every year.  You see when my allergies flare up it does so epically.  I look and feel like death warmed up with eyes so red it looks like I partied hard the previous night and that I smoked a whole case load of marijuana.  My voice goes and my nose start running like it’s preparing for a marathon.  It also usually doesn’t stop there.  Every year I get an eye infection which is referred to as chronic allergy related pinkeye and when I am really lucky I will also get an ear infection.  This year I had both twice and spring is not even really in full swing yet.

In an effort to at least try and make our house on the inside tolerable for me I bought an air purifier.  It’s a machine that sucks in air then takes out all the impurities such as dust and pollen and also kills any germs and bacteria that floats around and then blows out the clean air.  You can also add special concentrated extracts into the water that smells nice and helps you to relax.  I guess it is doing its job because neither hubby nor I have been sick since I bought it, but I suspect I need an industrial sized one to completely get rid of my allergies and make our house on the inside 100% pollen free.  Things have gotten so bad that if you stand outside in the garden you can physically see the pollen floating around in the air and it is making my bronchi and corneas shit themselves.

When we were house hunting we had very specific requirements, one of them being that the property should have no grass.  You see I am allergic to grass and we didn’t want to spend our weekends having to mow the lawn.  Life is too short the waste it behind a lawnmower where as you could rather spend it with a cocktail in the pool.  We also had a list of trees and plants, which we at that time, knew I was allergic too.  So when we found our house it “semi” fit the bill and we then proceeded to address the “semi” part and did some renovations.  The one thing we however neglected to research was some of the plants that were already in our garden and some of the trees and hedges of our neighbors.  So came spring, that first year we lived in the house, and I was unpleasantly caught off guard and found myself to be a whimpering snot filled ruby red eyed hot mess.  I was at ground zero of a pollen explosion of mammoth proportions.  It was like the Hiroshima and Nagasaki of allergy and pollen hell, and I was trapped in the middle!

It’s embarrassing having to go to work looking like you washed your eyes out with acid, having sneezing attacks that last longer than 45 seconds and having been blessed by more people in one day than a visitor to Vatican City.  It’s embarrassing having to stand nervously in line at the pharmacy looking like a meth addict waiting to get your allergy alleviating drugs.  But I have no choice.  I love our house and we still owe a shit load of money on the bond so we need to stay.  It’s also not like I can tell my neighbors to cut down their trees and remove certain hedges just because I am seriously allergic to them.  So, I do the only thing I can.  For six weeks every year I curse Mother Nature and call her things that’s not becoming of a lady.  But the bitch doesn’t listen and clearly she doesn’t care.  If only rapid weight loss was also a side effect of severe allergies, maybe all this suffering would be worth something.  But instead I have to diet AND suffer from allergies.  Gawd I hate spring!

Till next time.

Panic Attack!

It may come as a surprise to some people but I actually have a real job.  You know the kind that pays the bills.  Seeing as I have never made any money from blogging and probably never will, I do need something that can sustain my and hubby’s “lavish” lifestyle.  But in the real world all is not always sunshine and roses and of late things have been rather (how should I put it) stressful in my work environment.  The fact that I also had to visit the dentist once a week for the last three weeks and having had to get two filling and a root canal also did not contribute to alleviate my stress levels.  All of this then also contributed to me having my first serious panic attack on Monday and it was not pretty.  It was not pretty at all!

Those who know me well understand that August is never a good month for me.  It seems that each year shit goes down in the month of August and bad things happen.  Being a professional sailor down the river of denial, I usually ignore unpleasant things until it goes away (I have learned this skill from my cats, they are fucking good at it.)  But denial can only work up to a point.  You see even when I am under a fuck load of stress I usually have the ability to suppress it and I also don’t really ever get seriously angry about anything.  I call this having excellent coping mechanisms and vodka.  Unfortunately, the human body is a mean bitch and sometimes when you try and lie to yourself, particularly about stress, the bitch gives you a reality check and it’s normally not pleasant.  And this is exactly what happened to me.

On Monday our new security company’s representative came to my office in order for me to sign some papers.  I fired our previous security company and it’s a long story.  While in this meeting all was going well up on to five minutes into it.  As unexpectedly as a crack whore appearing in a dark alley it hit me.  I started feeling woozy, my heart began beating rapidly, I could not breath, I started shaking like a Parkinson patient, sweating and I literally felt like I was going to die.  All this in front of a complete stranger who sat there looking at me horrified.  I was having a full blown panic attack and I was desperately trying to keep things together and look normal.  “Are you ok?” the guy asked me looking all concerned.  “Yes… I am fine” I lied.  After about three minutes I realized there was no use trying to fight the panic attack and I eventually said “I’m having a panic attack, I need a few minutes.  Don’t judge me!”

The panic attack lasted a good ten minutes and it was terrifying.  Having one in the privacy of your own office, house or car is fine, but having one in front of a complete stranger in the voyeur of your office with people walking past rates right up there on the embarrassment scale with shitting your own pants.  So, I phoned my doctor and scheduled an appointment.  This guy has been my on-and-off physician for well over ten years and he knows me and some of my embarrassing medical issues well, and I trust him.  Sitting in his consulting room I remember thinking “What. The. Fuck?!  I have worked undercover where I almost got killed and I didn’t have panic attacks then.  Why the hell is this happening to me now?!”  The doctor then proceed to explain that if you suppress stress for too long eventually your body will rebel and it does this normally by stomach ulcers and panic attacks.  With my blood pressure having been 173/135 I could have had a heart attack.  Or like I like to call it - a myocardial infarction due to bullshit overload.

The doctor proceeded to tell me that having panic attacks while under extreme stress is nothing to be ashamed off and he prescribed me some “happy” and “don’t give a fuck” pills.  So the next day I was as chilled out as a stoner at a Bob Marley concert.  It was nice working at the office all mellowed out, having the world seem like I was a couple seconds behind it and driving to work thinking that all taxi drivers are such great drivers.  But, unfortunately my little piece of medicated nirvana was not to last long.  Timing is everything and never let anyone tell you any different.  This counts for both good and bad things.  You see after what can be described as a rather uneventful day I arrived home and went about my normal routine of being a domestic diva.  I fed the cats and tortoise, began with the laundry and prepared dinner.  Then it happened, some asshole on Facebook told me that I should slit my wrists.

Being quite use to receiving hate mail I am not normally too phased by it.  Mostly they have strong religious undertones to them, tell me that I am going to hell and even that they wish that I would get AIDS and die.  Surprisingly, I have also received my fair share of hate mails from disgruntled queer folks, so I really thought that I have seen it all.  I was wrong.  This fucktard took hate mail to a whole other level.  This sad queen wrote I should slit my wrists, or if I don’t want to do that he will give me a toaster to throw into my bath because he would love to see me drown in my own piss and shit.  How fucked up must one person be to say or write something like that to another person?  Suicide is no fucking laughing matter and if this is the type of fantasies this guy is having there must be something seriously wrong in his pathetic little head.  It really upset me and this psycho’s timing really sucked.  All I have to say to that man is FUCK YOU! (Clearly my happy pills are not strong enough to deal with certain fuckwads)

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

Till next time.

Facebook thinks I’m a Pornographer!

Oops I did it again.  This week Facebook blocked me for 24 hours. This is their version of sending you to the corner for being a very naughty boy.  Apparently, some fucktard reported a certain photo which I uploaded to my fan page resulting in the gods at Facebook thinking that I am a “pornographer”.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my porn just as much as the next fag, but there’s a time and a place for porn and Facebook is not the place for it.  Besides who goes onto Facebook armed with lube and tissues ready to molest themselves?  Not me, that’s why we have Tumblr.  But I digress…

As you know I have made some enemies through the couple of years that I have been blogging (3 years to be exact).  Having enemies and people who hate you isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  I take it as a sign that I am doing something right and sometimes their hate mails are seriously funny, especially the ones that like quoting Leviticus.  But every so often one of those people does something that seriously inconveniences me.  Sometimes they report me to Facebook and on occasion I am punished for it like the dirty bad boy that I am.  In the last 3 years I have been banned from Facebook twice, have been blocked 7 times and even received an email from Facebook accusing me of Hate Speech.

Now we all know there are some seriously fucked up people on Facebook and I have blogged about this before.  Those folks who are offended by the world, lives in a bubble of ignorance and waves around their intolerance as if it is an Olympic event.  It really is a pity that their profiles don’t come with a mandatory idiot warning and that there isn’t a Facebook app that can block them outright.  But the world needs idiots and whether we like it or not – they are here to stay.  Besides if there weren’t any idiots who would we laugh at?

With my latest incident on Facebook I have come to the conclusion that maybe some folks need to download themselves a sense of humor.  Because whoever got offended by a naked man’s butt cheeks and is incapable of thinking that the “offensive” picture is funny needs to go on some strong medication.  Have these people not seen some of the really nasty shit other people upload to Facebook?

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

Gay & Fabulous

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

When Your Worst Fear Comes True

My worst fear is about to come true.  No, not the one where I am eaten alive by a great white shark, or the one where I have to base jump off a large building or the one where I have to give a speech in front of a thousand people and once on the podium I realize I forgot my speech.  No, this is so much worse than that and it sends petrified shivers down my spine and makes me want to scream crying “Why me?  WHY ME?!”  You see, after thirty something years of flawless dental care, having never had a single cavity and after 16 months of orthodontic hell, this week I learned that I need to get a fucking root canal.  And I am terrified!

I have always been proud of myself for my very exemplary dental care.  I brush my teeth two to three times a day, floss more frequently than a crack whore gets laid and have my teeth professionally cleaned every three to six months.  The reason I think I have been so meticulous in caring for my teeth is the fact that, deep down, I am scared of dentists.  Ever since I can remember the weird sounds echoing from the dentist chair into the waiting area had me breaking out in a cold sweat, had me clenching my fists so hard that my knuckles went white and caused me to develop a weird facial tick every time I walk through a dentist’s door.  The sound of drilling gives me nightmares and I have always vowed that I would never ever have a cavity or any dental issue that require the dentist to drill holes into any of my teeth.  But alas you don’t always get what you want and sometimes nightmares come true.  Life is a bitch like that.

Last week after my braces came off my orthodontist (Dr Antoinette du Toit) checked my teeth.  After the cement was removed and some of my teeth were reshaped it appeared as if some of my teeth got damaged and needed to be fixed.  She also noticed that I had four teeth that were about to form cavities and she referred me to her daughter, who is a dentist, to get fillings for those identified teeth as a proactive and preemptive fuck you to tooth decay.  Having never had a cavity in my life (I do feel that I cannot emphasize this enough) I was understandably nervous to get fillings.  I knew that there would be drilling involved and I needed to prepare myself mentally.  So I did what any self-respecting homosexual would do – I took a tranquilizer before my appointment.

Arriving at Dr Roos’s practice (I have threatened that I would blog about her so she can’t fuck anything up) the receptionist could tell that I was nervous as all hell.  I was trembling like a caffeine addict at a decaf convention.  After scribbling down some of my details in my rather illegible handwriting I was ushered into the exam room, sat down on the chair and possibly told Dr Roos ten times that I was nervous.  So she looked at me and said “Everybody hates dentists and everybody is nervous, so don’t worry about it I won’t hurt you”.  This was then affirmed by her assistant and I was promised that I wouldn’t feel a thing.  I didn’t believe either of them and I was wondering whether they had any restraining straps hidden in the room somewhere because I was convinced that they may have to tie me down at some point.

Before the dentist started she explained to me, like I was a six year old, exactly what she was about to do.  I found it comforting and in situations like this talking to me like I am a toddler is weirdly appropriate, mainly because I was milliseconds away from running away and behaving like an emotionally disturb child who just saw Satan.  After I calmed down she started.  I was injected numerous times with anesthetic and my whole upper lip right to the tip of my nose was numb.  She repaired some teeth that was identified and did two filling and an hour later it was all done and I did not feel a thing exactly as she had promised.  Then she said “We need to talk about that one lower tooth”.  Knowing that something wasn’t quite right with it I tried to avoid the conversation completely, much like one would avoid telling your parents about when and how you lost your virginity.

But my avoidance skills and talent for sailing down the river of denial was no match for the dentist and she skillfully forced me to accept what she was saying.  That tooth is busy dying and I needed a root canal.  Apparently a root canal is done over two sessions of an hour each.  They drill into your tooth and then scrape out the nerve.  Not exactly a walk in the park or a fun visit to the petting zoo now is it?  My first reaction was to scream in my head “Motherfucking son of a bitch! Why me?! Why now?!”  After avoidance failed I went to my second defense mechanism and tried to negotiate my way out of the root canal.  But the more I tried the deeper I was drilling myself into that bloody hole of that root canal.  In the end I had to agree and I am getting the root canal next week.

Driving away from the dentist I cried.  Actually I sobbed.  I drooled too because my upper lip was still numb and just hanging there ignoring all instructions given to it from my brain.  That evening when I got home I wrapped myself in a blanket of self pity and resorted to annoy my husband to the point of him almost going crazy.  He could not understand what the big deal was and I explained why it was a big fucking deal until I was satisfied that he understood.  In reality he didn’t understand and still doesn’t.  People on Facebook also tried to better the situation.  Some said it’s painless and that I have nothing to worry about and other people said it hurt worse than child birth.  I don’t know who to believe and I guess I will have to find out for myself.

I am looking forward to this root canal as much as a death row convict is looking forward to the electric chair.  My worst fear is being realized and there is nothing I can do to stop it from happening.  If I don’t have it done the consequences could be far worse and could lead to far more horrifying problems.  So I guess I will take some prescription tranquilizers before my root canal and try and find out if my dentist has some Nitrous Oxide because I will fucking need both!  It just goes to show, no matter how well you look after your pearly whites anyone can get a cavity and some of us assholes will end up getting a root canal.  Fuck!

Till next time.

I Love Pussies and I Just Cannot Lie

My husband lives in a constant paranoid state of fear that he will get home one day to find that our property has magically transformed into a one giant petting zoo.  You see I love animals, the furrier and smaller the better.  And as some of you know (the 7 of you who read my blog regularly and those of you who are friends with me of Facebook), hubby and I currently have 5 cats and our most recent addition to our gay family is a tortoise called Irina.  Sure some people say pets are substitutes for the queers’ lack of being able to have children and maybe that’s true.  But, animals bring so much joy to your life, they are cheaper than children, don’t go through puberty and tells you that they hate you and don’t come home at 4am in the morning drunk and possibly knocked up or disappoints you by not living up to your expectations.  Pets enrich your life in so many ways and this is why I love them.

In my 30 something years on this rock I have had 4 dogs, 2 hamster, 5 chickens, a duck, a parrot, 3 love birds, 10 white doves, 2 turtles, 3 bunnies, 16 gold fish and 10 cats.  And I love(d) them all.  Last week our family got a little bigger with a tortoise that we decided to name Irina.  Irina means peace in Russian and I believe that the name suits her perfectly due to her temperament.

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

The cats hovered around Irina for days as if she was a spaceship that just landed waiting for the alien to show itself.  They were not quite sure whether Irina was friendly and mostly they could not understand why something that looks like a rock had a head, feet and a tail and could walk.  It took them a full week to get use to the idea that there was a mobile rock in the garden and that she wanted nothing to do with them.  As for Irina she also was just as intrigued by her new surroundings and one thing I have learned is that tortoises are very smart animals and curious as all hell.

Most tortoises tend to hibernate during winter and Irina’s species is one of them.  So when I brought her home I expected her to do just that but clearly she had other plans.  You see, Irina took it upon herself to explore our whole garden.  Not a single inch of it have not been inspected by her.  Anyone who says tortoises are slow clearly has never seen one move and Irina is a sprinter of note.  Another talent she has is that of camouflage and hiding.  Every afternoon I have to go into the foliage of our garden, Indiana Jones style, to look for her to make sure she’s still there and that she is ok.  On two occasions I failed to find her and being the fatalist that I am I was convinced a bird of prey snatched her from our garden and that she ended up being either breakfast, lunch or dinner in a tree somewhere.  Luckily I was wrong.

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

He also lacks the grace of his feline sisters and has the ability to walk and then just drop on the floor most times in not so flattering or gracious positions or postures.  Many a morning you can literally see how he is walking around the house looking for something naughty to do.  Most mornings he is destructively successful.  Another thing about Boris is his inability to do anything quietly and you can hear him approaching from a mile away through things crashing to the floor, his stomping and meowing.  Recently he discovered that there is a cat game app on iPad that’s fun and that it doesn’t take too much physical effort, seeing as he is the laziest cat I have ever had.

Yes, you read correctly.  There are apps for cats on iPad.  I also didn’t believe it when I first heard about it, but they do exist and cats love playing with them.  The one game our 5 pussies enjoy the most is a mouse that runs around on the screen which they can catch by stepping on it.  When stepped on, the mouse makes a squeaking sound and every “catch” is recorded in the individual cat’s score.  Currently Boris is 35 points ahead of Katija (meaning Pure in Russian aka Killer Pussy and FYI, she has a Facebook Fan Page), who clearly prefers catching live prey but finds the artificial mouse good mental practice.  She approaches the game like an Olympian who’s trying the get psyched up for a race.  She’s totally focused, determined and scarily accurate, whereas Boris will rather lie next to the iPad and randomly catch the mouse every time it passes by him which makes his score all the more amazing.

When Boris first arrived home the other four pussies wanted nothing to do with him.  It took some time and a lot of cat psychology to successfully assimilate him into the family.  You’d be amazed by how just changing the way you feed them (creating a fluid hierarchy) and the way in which you greet them changes their attitudes towards each other.  It took 3 months to get the other pussies to accept him and now he and Killer Pussy are best mates and occasionally, when Boris feels up to it, killing partners.  I have also noticed how Killer Pussy encourages Boris to be naughty to her great amusement especially when he gets into trouble.  Not that much unlike how human siblings behave.

Yes, I love animals and I especially love my pussies.  I cannot lie.  There is not a day that goes by without them blessing us with a cuddle or a giggle or two.  Sure our pussies can be destructive and have been the cause of a great many pot plant fatalities and many mornings waking up with a house full of feathers and a few bird corpses.  But I would not want it any other way.  Irina is still new to the family but if my experience and memory of my previous tortoise serves me right, she will be just as amusing and a joy in our garden.  I am slowly but surely building up my petting zoo and as such hubby’s fear is completely justified (but don’t tell him).  Now, apart from our 5 pussies and 1 tortoise we only need a giant bunny, a donkey and a pony.

Till next time.

20 Questions I Have

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

How long is "finger-length"?

Do therapists get to write off tissues?

Do they make mood ring sunglasses?

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

When did happy become the new sad?

Are child pageants just kid drag?

How long do you boil mustard to get the gas?

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

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

On average, which profession has the largest sized heads?

Are any cats allergic to people?

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

How much widescreen is too much widescreen?

Is it normal to have a tongue phobia?

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

What liquid do they use to test gallons of hats?

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

Do fireworks contribute to global warming?

Are there tame wildfires?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

Nothing Can Tear Us Apart - Uncensored

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Can and does Wes forgive ‘Tonio?   

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

   

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

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

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

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

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

     Oh, shit. 

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

     And without warning, ‘Tonio did just that! 

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

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

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

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

     I was in freakin’ sexual overload!

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

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

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

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

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

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

     He got an intriguing surprise!

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

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

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

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

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

     "Gotta have ya right now, baybee!"

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

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

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

     "Are ya okay, baybee?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Oh shyit, baybee--I gotta cum!"

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

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

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

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

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

Mandela Day

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

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

I Am Not Dead Yet!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

Religion: The Horrors, Ignorance & Homophobia

For The Bible Tells Me So (2007)

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

The Christian Exploitation of Homophobia for Cash

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.