Thursday, February 4, 2016

Why we are dying.

I have been known to sometimes overreact when it comes to my health. Hell, I even once went to the emergency room thinking I was having a heart attack which turned out to only be indigestion. I have also mistaken the common cold for Ebola, Bird and Swine flue. There is a word for that and the word in hypochondria. I think it runs in our family. However, in our family there is one hypochondriac who is worse than I am - my sister.
My sister and I can be quite dramatic. And with dramatic I mean we can drive our husbands nuts. Look, we are not easy to live with as we probably have a defective gene that prevents us from conforming to boring social norms. Sometimes we do not act or view the world as normal people do because then life would be boring and accomplishing shit would be relatively meaningless. However, there is one area in which our eccentricity are most prevalent than others and that is our physical well being.

Both my sister and I are very familiar with Google and WebMD. The combination of which, without consulting a real doctor, are dangerous when used by us. You see both of us can easily convince ourselves that we are dying: Any ache or pain could be cancer, a headache could be a brain tumor and each cough could be a new lethal strain of the flue. And most times our worst fears are confirmed by a Google search or by WebMD because they are assholes like that.

You see Google can be very sardonic in the way it toys with one's emotions. It doesn't care if you are in the throws of a full blown panic attack about some kind of imagined disease. It doesn't cushion you when giving you bad news. It just throws it out there in its search results without giving you the contact details of the nearest hospice or psychotherapist in your area. You are diagnosed with a dreaded disease and how you take it is entirely up to you. This is not conducive to a proper and a stable state of your mental health. Also, frugality when it comes to your health is then also out of the window because when it come to your health money should not be an object.

Most recently my sister had to go for blood test. Several things were tested and in a very badly thought out move her doctor sent the test results to my hypochondriac sister. My sister went through the blood test results with a fine-tooth-comb. You can almost say she did so obsessively. Then she went on to Google and immediately had a full blown meltdown. So naturally she phoned me with the horrific news.

"I have cancer" she said in a muttered tone when I answered the phone. "I looked over my blood test results and I definitely have fucking cancer". She then went on to discuss her test results in medical jargon in which Google confirmed that she has liver cancer. Bordering on hysteria she was rambling on about other disorders her blood test results had also uncovered and we were convinced that she only had weeks to live.

After discussing her cancer and three other semi-fatal conditions she now has, I asked her what her doctor said. She then told me that she hasn't spoken to her doctor probably because her doctor did not know how to break the bad news to her. We both thought that was very unprofessional of her. It also goes against some kind of code or oath that she is not adhering to. After discussing her funeral arrangements my sister sent her doctor an email to call her urgently. If the doctor was too afraid to call her, my sister would force her.

Later that afternoon her doctor phoned and shocked my sister with the results of her blood tests. Everything was normal. She did not have cancer or any other fatal syndromes. All the results were normal for the medication she was taken. Obviously relieved she phone me back and told me that she was no longer dying but that it was a really close call. My sister is going for a colonoscopy next week to make sure she doesn't have ass cancer. Luckily she will be asleep during the entire procedure or she would bombard the doctor, preforming the procedure, with a lot of questions. Mostly about the cancer she is seeing on the screen that turns out to be shit.

Hypochondria is not a condition I wish on anybody. Thinking you are dying at least three times a year is exhausting. Having Google and WebMD toying with your emotions is even worse. But on the bright side, should either my sister or I ever contract a serious disease it will be diagnosed early. We are very in tune with our bodies that way. Well most times anyway.

Till next time.  

We won!

I am thrilled to announce that my blog won for best LGBT Blog in the 2015 South African Blog Awards. My blog has now won in this category for the second year in a row!
When the result came out I was very surprised and excited. It is a great honor to have my blog recognized in this manner by the larger South African blogging community. But most importantly I have to thank you, all my loyal readers, who took the time to vote for me. You are the best and the reason why I blog. Without you, my readers, this accolade would be meaningless. Thank you so much for the privilege to write for you and the support you give me in return. 

Friday, January 29, 2016

The Gay Bottom Bible

For anyone who have never bottomed before the idea can be quite intimidating. And even for those who have spent a lot of time in the "saddle" there are still a lot to know and learn. In this video YouTube celebrity Davey Wafey and vloggor Colby Melvin teamed up to create the ultimate Gay Bottom Bible. Watch and enjoy. 

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

International Holocaust Remembrance Day

The Pink Triangle Victims.
Never Forget.
In total, during the Nazi's time in power, they arrested 100 000 people for homosexuality, imprisoned half of them including up to 15 000 in concentration camps. Many of those imprisoned died, some of sickening experiments by scientists trying to find a "cure" for homosexuality.

Unfortunately, after the allied liberated the concentration camps, many of the gay people who were imprisoned were not set free. Instead they were transferred to prisons, then under the control of allied forces. Their crime, homosexuality, something outlawed before the Nazi's took power, and it remained on the statute book until 1968 in East Germany and 1969 in West Germany.

Unlike other victims of the Nazi persecution, homosexuals were not offered reparations and it took until 2002 for the German government to officially apologise for the Nazi's crimes against homosexuals.

WARNING: Graphic Images.

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Things I’ve learned in my Thirties

I am now closer to my forties than what I am to my twenties.  It is kind of depressing because I still don’t always feel or act like an adult or act my age for that matter.  In just a few years I will be forty and be expected to have gotten my shit together.  To a certain degree I am ready for it but mostly it terrifies me.  Fortysomething has always seemed so old to me especially when I was in my twenties.  But now that I am almost there myself it doesn’t seem that old anymore.  Funny how life works, isn’t it?
In the last few years of my thirties I have come to realize what an idiot I was in my twenties.  The things a twenty year old worries about are so frivolous, yet at the time these things seem so important.  There are a couple of things that I know now which I wish I had known in my twenties.  For instance, don’t worry about what people think of you.  It is exhausting and a total waste of time.  Conforming to what is expected of you slowly massacres your soul.  It’s like trying to fit into a pair of jeans that is two sizes too small for you.  Not only is it uncomfortable for you but everyone else will notice that you got fat.

In my thirties I have also come to accept that deep down I am a very neurotic person.  Instead of seeing this as a negative thing and hiding it from the world, I decided to embrace it.  After all that is a part of who I am.  I have realized and accepted that I have flaws and that it is ok.  Nobody is perfect and perfection is fundamentally boring and most certainly unattainable.  Whenever I doubt this I just remind myself that even the people who I may have thought were perfect have also had, at one time or another, raging diarrhea.  This has always made me feel better.

I wish I enjoyed being young more, having had a great metabolism and being able to eat whatever I wanted.  After I turned thirty everything went to hell:  Things started to sag, got flabby and I realized that the saying “a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips” is totally fucking true.  My thirties was also the first time in my life that I actually tried diets.  They all failed because I am a non-conformist and measuring food just seems like too much work.  Naturally, I developed body image issues as well and a strong aversion towards scales.  I also came to realize that mirrors in changing rooms are designed to shame you from all angles in the most unflattering of lighting. It's like they want you to feel bad about your body. Sadistic bastards!

I had body image issues until I finally realized and made peace with that we cannot all look like Greek Gods and that is ok as well - the world can do with more chubby people.  We stand a much better chance to survive a famine than skinny people.  That being said, it is important to accept yourself just the way you are (I once read that in a self-help book.  It sounds like bullshit but it is totally true).

In my thirties I learned not to prophesize about the future.  Shit happens and not always the way you planned it.  In my twenties I never wanted children.  Children scared me and I thought they were annoying.  I thought all babies were ugly and I considered people who brought their little brats to restaurants as just plain inconsiderate.  Well, today I am a parent and one of “those people”.  I now also bring my child to restaurants and on planes.  It’s not like I am being discourteous, it’s because I don’t have a bloody choice.  It’s not like I can leave my two year old at home alone.  Duh!  Or that there are nannies sitting next to their phones just waiting for my call and are willing to work for free.  Don’t be an asshole.  Some of us love our children, love their company and love taking them to places.  Get over it.

The one thing I did right in my twenties, that I have never regretted, was meeting my husband.  We were so young when we first started dating and this year will be our eighteen year anniversary.  However, one thing my twenty year old self did not know, at the time, was that making a relationship work takes a lot of work.  I will not lie and say that it has been sunshine and roses all these eighteen years, because it was not.  That shit only happens in fairy tales and movies.  When you meet “the one” you must be willing to suck it up through the tough times in order to reap the rewards during the good times.

In my thirties I have come to realize that marital spats become less of a “who will win the fight” and more of a negotiation.  You learn to pick your battles.  Neither one of us are screamers and we tend to resolve our differences in a more mature manner – through passive aggression, as it should be.  We would do this until the other one eventually catches the hint and asks “what is bothering you?” and then we will have a discussion.  However, sometimes the issues are more complex than just the habitual non-compliance with filling empty ice trays or the inability to close drawers.  For instance, when it comes to religion we differ fundamentally and eventually agreed to disagree.  Also, my views on religion are the correct ones and hubby's views are wrong.  Just saying.

Lastly, in my thirties I have come to realize what is truly important in life.  I am sure this will mature even more as I grow older.  I no longer have time to indulge in bullshit if it interferes with my happiness and/or that of my husband and my son.  I have learned that being happy is a choice.  If you allow negative people into your life and invite them to stay or dwell in the past you erode away your own joy.  Sometimes you just need to move on and not look back.  Sometimes all you need to do is focus on your priorities and your future.  In my twenties I was incapable of doing this and I wish I had this realization sooner.  I am now closer to forty than what I am to twenty.  And thank god I am.

Until next time.

Monday, January 18, 2016

Conversations that make me sound crazy

Sometimes I have awkward conversations with friends that makes me sound crazy. This one is about our chickens:

Me: So our garden service informed me via sms that they quit.

Friend: How professional of them.

Me: I know right. And that right after I sms'd them to be careful because we have chickens now.

Friend: Maybe they have a chicken phobia.

Me: Bastards! Now we have to get a gardener who isn't afraid of chickens. I mean really. Who the fuck is scared of chickens?

Friend: Your chickens are cute. Not threatening at all.

Me: I know. I still don't get why people are scared of chickens. Especially two hens who I saved from a rapist rooster who tried to pull out their feathers.

Friend: A rapist rooster?

Me: Yes. They have been through so much already and now they also get discriminated against by people with chicken phobias.

Friend: Shame man. That's a tough life.

Me: I am serious! They are also even too scared to lay eggs. I would be too if I lived in constant fear of being raped and plucked. But now when the one hen lays eggs she makes this agonizing sounds. Think it is stretching her pooper of vagina. I don't know chicken anatomy at all.

Friend: You do have a point.

Me: I think they suffer from PTSD. Are there therapists who specialize in chickens? Like a chicken whisperer?

Friend: Only you would ask me that.

Me: There should be if there are dog and cat therapists. Or are chickens too low on the food chain for psychotherapy? They have feelings too you know.

Friend: If you find one I need one too. Long story.

Me: PTSD is tough on chickens. Especially ones who apparently are "scaring" people away from working in our garden.

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

All I Want For Christmas Is You.

Steve Grand romances a scruffy babe in this new music video "All I want for Christmas is you".

This song is also available HERE.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

An Unconventional Lesson in Anal Sex.

Oddly, there seem to be a couple of evangelist pastors out there who allegedly are experts on gay male sex. I kid you not.  Apparently they seem to know a great deal more about gay sex than what the average homosexual does.  Especially surprising to me is the resilience the male sphincter muscle (aka your asshole muscle) has according to them.  Apparently you can shove a whole baseball bat up there, your iPhone and a gerbil.  No wonder so many people get rectal exams in prison:  You never know what they could manage to smuggle in there; it could be anything from a nail file to a ladder.   Reflecting on some past comments of a certain Pastor Patrick Wooden I could not help but wonder, have we gay guys even begin to explore the wonderland that are our rectums.
Pastor Wooden seems very preoccupied with gay male genitalia the and male anus.  After all it is in that general area where we like to keep things neat, tidy and in some cases bleached and pierced.  But, in Wooden’s defense, the anus is a wonderful organ.  It is resilient and can stretch when needed.  And the best of all you don’t even have to be gay to have experience this phenomena.  Straight people can experience this too.  I'm speaking to all those straight guys out there who like it when their girlfriends stick her fingers up their ass. You know who you are!  And I know that you are worried and wondering about being fingered and if that makes you gay.  The answer is no, it makes you ass bi-curious. But it's not just through sex and ass play when you can experience this.  Normal bodily functions also helps you experience the elasticity of your sphincter muscle more frequently than what you may think. 

If you have ever been constipated and finally had that bowel movement that sets you free, you probably have experienced that glorious sensation.  You know that feeling when you push and push and you feel it is just too big to come out.  Finally, as the monster turd crowns and you feel like your asshole just is not big enough and about to exploded, it makes it’s way through and takes its final plunge leaving you relieved, proud and semi euphoric.  Well, gay anal sex is not completely unlike that.  Apart from the turd being a cock and instead of it coming out it goes in. I apologize for this graphic image that will now be stuck in your head for weeks to come. In my defense I did not make you read this, so technically it is your own fault. But I digress, lets get back to your asshole.

Like any good homosexual I am also partial to some ass play.  I, like some gay tops, can also be “ass curious” at times (If you don't know what that means Google will explain it to you).  But I can honestly say I have never shoved a baseball bat up my rectum nor have I attempted to insert any live stock or rodents.  Mostly, because I do not understand the logistics of it and I don’t condone animal abuse.  I mean honestly, how exactly do you force a little gerbil into a dark crevice if it doesn’t want to go in.  Doesn’t it have teeth and sharp little nails?  Or is that part of the fun?  I’m sure PETA would have a lot to say about this issue.
Inserting foreign objects into our rectums is something gay men do.  As per definition a foreign object is anything “originating elsewhere” or simply put “outside of your body”.  So it can be pretty much anything including someone else’s penis, which is predominantly what gay guys prefer.  Some gay guys are also over achievers and sometimes like to have more than one penis up their man hole.  It's true, I have seen it in gay porn.  It doesn't look comfortable at all and not something I am inclined or interesting in doing. Ever.  In my case we have a drawer in our bedroom with preferred foreign objects.  Now don't pretend to gasp for air, you know you have a secret sex drawer too. 

Our drawer contains nothing particularly out of the ordinary for a professional homosexual on the go.  We have the usual socially accepted objects, you know what I mean.  My father-in-law, a few years ago, accidentally opened this drawer thus destroying any illusions he may have had of his son and I being celibate and not engaging in anal sex.  He emerged from the ordeal pale as a ghost and dramatically quiet for the rest of that day.  He’s probably still traumatized and digesting what he had seen.  I believe that mental pictures that were inadvertently burned into his mind still haunts his dream till this day.

Using foreign objects that you can buy from any sex shop or online to enhance your sexual experience is one thing, but what if you don’t have the time or money.  Well, like any resourceful homosexual will tell you, there are a plethora of everyday household objects that you can safely use.  Let’s turn our attention to your kitchen.  Fruit and vegetables like bananas, cucumbers and carrots are perfectly safe.  You won't get any nutritional value from them but you will have fun and in some cases vegetables can be orgasmic. Just don't use them in a salad later.  That would just be gross.  Butternuts on the other hand are not safe nor are any frozen items, fish or cutlery.  The broom closet is pretty self explanatory as most closeted right wing evangelist pastors will tell you.

When it comes to the bathroom and the bedroom wardrobe it could get a little dicey.  Firstly, it is not good hygiene to insert anything into your ass that you will not be able to get out again later, having to wash your face with or have to put in your mouth.  Secondly, electrical items and anything bigger than your hand and arm could pose some serious medical repercussions and should always be used with extreme caution.  I would advice you to first consult with your physician but I can see how that conversation could be awkward.  It is also extremely important to remember that KY conducts electricity extremely well, as I can attest to from personal experience, and electrocution does not enhance an orgasm, it does quite the opposite and it's not fun nor is it sexy!

My iPhone is the one item I have never considered inserting into my rectum and people who do clearly have no respect for their phones, themselves or other people and they should be ashamed of themselves!  Honestly, what if you get a very important call, a Facebook message or a tweet?  Are you going to phone, message and tweet that person back apologizing by saying “I was busy stimulating my prostate, and thank you for calling me at exactly the right time – you really hit the spot for me!  It was the best orgasm EVER! Thank you for making me cum!”  I didn't think so people.

Contemplating the good Pastor’s recent comments and especially the part about gay men’s rectums being mutilated resulting in some gay men having to walk around with butt plugs and diapers, I consulted with a medical professional.  My pharmacist told me it was bullshit!  Sure with regular abuse and inserting very large objects the sphincter muscle can get damaged and deformed over time; but for that to happen the person must have been doing some seriously fucked up shit to themselves and their assholes.  And surely this is not the norm.  To conclude, any person who walks around with a butt plug up his ass for a whole day has some serious skills and I am sure that would be dreadfully uncomfortable.  As for wearing diapers, I don't think I am into that baby fetish shit. I mean who would want to shit their pants on purpose?

Whether Pastor Patrick Wooden spoke from personal experience or secret desires, I guess we will never really know for certain.  His fascination with gay anal sex and brevity of knowledge on the subject does however slightly impress.  But, I am sad to say Pastor Patrick Wooden, there are some things gay men will not put up our asses and your dick ranks number one on that list.  Even though I do admire the fact that you are so very adventurous with your own anus, I will never be as able a power bottom as you do.  Your accomplishments are awe inspiring!

Till next time.

Friday, December 11, 2015

I fart glitter and rainbows.

As any self respecting homosexual I fart glitter and rainbows. Well, not really. However, if I did I would totally write about it in great explicit detail. Possibly also with pictures. But I don't so let me get to the real point of this post.
I am whoring myself again for votes in the South African Blog Awards for best LGBT Blog. If you have been enjoying reading my blog or are a fan on my Facebook Page I ask that you please vote for me.

Voting is easy all you have to do is CLICK ON THIS LINK, submit your email address to cast your vote. The final step is to confirm your vote with the email the awards will send you. It is that easy.

If I win I will definitely fart glitter and rainbows. Promise.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

I got pushed out of a plane once.

I jumped out of a plane once. At night! I cannot say that I enjoyed it or did it out of my own free will. I was pushed and being deathly afraid of heights I almost shit myself. This happened a few years ago and is not something I like to talk about seeing as I am still traumatized by the whole experience. It wasn't my finest hour and I lost all composure which is not something that happens often. But let me start at the beginning...
My career has been quite interesting thus far. It is by no means a career one would associate with a homosexual like me. I mean I am not butch, don't play sports (because running after balls are stupid if not attached to a man) and generally I don't like doing things that will mess up my hair. Therefore, very few people would imagine that I am good with guns and knives, got training from the military and did some work that is considered to be "dangerous".  I have always come across as unassuming which has made me very successful in what I do for a living.

That being said, it doesn't mean that I have not been terrified or considered the work that I do as the result of bad life choices. The one time I really knew that I may have made some bad career decisions was when I received training from the military.  At the time it was compulsory that I spend three months at the army. In other words I was forced into it kicking and screaming when I heard about it. I had so many questions and the same amount of serious concerns about the whole thing.

My first day there I felt completely out of place. I was surrounded by very butch guys and the women were no different. The one guy even looked like he had killed some people and liked it. I knew if the shit was to hit the fan that he would be my best option to stay alive so I immediately made friends with him. I also made friends with a few women in my group because I also knew that if the shit hits the fan that I would be able to out run them and they would serve as my human shields behind me. I know it sounds horrible but it is a survival thing.

The first two months went by without much drama. I scored at the top of my group and I was quite proud of myself. I did good academically and especially with the practical work which surprised everybody including myself. At that stage I thought it was quite easy and fell into a comfort zone. I felt like I would be able to cruise through the last month and afterwards would be able to boast about my achievements at the army. But that comfort zone was not to last and shit got real really soon after that.

During the last month we traveled to another military base and spent the week there. The base sounded interesting as they had a small air force base and we would get to blow shit up. The fact that they had a small air force base in that small town meant nothing to me until we were told that we had to do a tandem night skydive. At first I thought heard wrong and muttered "Say what now?!  You mean I have to jump out of a plane at night being bound to a person who I don't know and I am not sure I can trust?!"  To which the general looked at me disapprovingly and said in a annoyed voice "Affirmative.

At that point I was done with the army because they were all a bunch of reckless assholes with a death wish. I was not about to die in a skydiving accident and I tried my hardest to get out of it. I even faked having diarrhea. Well I wasn't faking it so much as I wishing that my nervous bowels will get me out of the whole thing. An hour before we had to jump I prayed for it to all just be a bad dream but it wasn't. I had to do the jump in order to successfully complete my training.

As I was handed my jumpsuit and other things that I needed all I could think about was how I hated my life. I stood there looked at myself and my trembling hands and thought that if I died my family would not even be able to have a open casket at my funeral. Open caskets at funerals are important to me because how else can you verify that the person is actually dead. But I digress...

I got into the plane, well more I was pushed into it. As they closed the door and we were taking off I was about to become unhinged. I was about to loose my shit and was looking for anything I could grab onto when it was my turn to plummet to my death. The guy I was to jump with saw I was nervous and then decided to make things worse by saying "Relax. Nothing bad will happen and if it does you will die quickly and not feel a thing". He then laughed and tied me to his sarcastic body. I was starting to feel violated.

When the plane door opened and the wind came rushing in I knew that I was about to die. I was third in line to be pushed out of the plane and at that point I no longer minded what people thought of me. I resorted to begging and trying to negotiate my way out of it. As the two guys in front of me plummeted from the plane I knew it was my turn. My turn to die!

I was told to cross my arms until we had cleared the plane and only then I was allowed to extend them. At that point I was already in the fetal position with my eyes closed. Much like a cat I thought that if my eyes were closed nothing will happen and what I was to experience was just a bad joke.  I was wrong. The countdown started and the bastard pushed me out of the place at the count of 2 and not 1. As I was plummeting to earth my screams were dulled by the cold air that rushed passed me. I looked like a dog sticking its head out of a car window while it speeds down the freeway. It was very unflattering and really fucked with my botox.

As the parachute opened and I was jilted upwards I panicked again as I was worried that I might be ripped from the guy I jumped with. There were more screams and I could hear the guy laughing. We floated down to the ground and when the guy said I must lift my legs up as we landed I felt the kind of relieve that I never experienced before. I got unlatched from the guy and had to sit for a few minutes as my legs were not working. The guy, whose name I never asked, said "Let's do it again" to which I responded "Go fuck yourself! I never want to see you again!"

After the skydiving experience, that almost saw me shit my pants, we were trucked back to the base. At that point I was pretty pissed off and hated the army and everyone in it. The only redeeming quality of that night was when we got to blow shit up. We had two hours of bombing stuff and being on the sharp end watching how different types of weapons and missiles do different types of damage. It was nice but did not really make up for the abuse I suffered earlier that night. As I finished my training at the military I vowed to never return. And I didn't nor do I ever plan to.

Till next time.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Time to sell your soul.

It's time to sell your soul. Don't worry, it won't hurt. Much. Also, no puppies or kittens will be harmed during this treacherous process. You know, because I sometimes love animals more than I do people because sometimes people can be assholes. And even though I am gay and am very familiar with assholes, this is not the kind I wish to explore. But I digress.
It is Blog Award Season again and my blog has again been entered for best LGBT blog. Yes, this is the same category in which I won last year and I thank you for all the votes you cast for me. This year I am asking you to vote for my blog again and let's see if we can make it a two-for-two.

So if you like my blog, or love it, or hate it, please consider voting for me.

To vote all you have to do is CLICK THIS LINK. Add your email and vote. The last step is to confirm your vote with the email that will be sent to you. The whole process takes less than a minute.

So please vote. Don't be shy. I won't judge you if you don't but my cat will because she is very judgmental and sometimes an asshole. Just saying.

Hot Weather Warning!

Gaytanks is a Boston based tongue-in-cheek brand that gives you all the attention a t-shirt can. For the boys who want to turn heads, the fun and patterned design evoke a cute gay passion into pop culture and the human body.

Made from luxurious tri-blend, Gaytanks have a wonderfully soft touch against one's skin. The fit is sexy, yet comfortable making this the perfect accessory to any pride, beach or club event.

Their latest style include the delectable "Bananas and Cherries" tank as well as the splashing "Water Me" tank.

Who can't Emojin themselves in one of these?

Gaytanks is your right to bare arms!

To buy one of these head turning tanks CLICK HERE.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Camping When Nature Hates You.

Camping is a queer concept to me.  I mean really, who in their right mind would willingly submit themselves to the elements if they are not homeless, raised by wolves or competing for a million dollars?  If humans were intended to live in the bush or mountains we would not have evolved to be able to build houses, nice hotels or invented electricity and room service.  Don’t get me wrong.  I do love to do quad biking, horse riding and I do appreciate nature’s absolute splendor.  But this doesn’t mean I want to spend a night in nature, sleep in a sleeping bag in a tent with God knows what crawling over me.  I have been camping twice in my life and this was enough times for me to realize two things:  One, I don’t like “roughing it” and two, I do NOT do camping.
About ten years ago hubby and I decided to go hiking with my sister, brother-in-law and some friends.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.  We would spend two days hiking up a mountain, walking about 10 kilometers a day (that is like 6.2).  The selling point for me was that we would not need tents as we would be sleeping in what they called “chalets” and they said there was electricity at both “camping sites”.  The only down side, I thought, was that we would need to carry everything we needed in backpacks with us.  Optimism never served well, and in this case optimism would once again dismally fail me.

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

The following day we started with the hike.  Ten kilometers is fucking far, especially if you are carrying 5kg on your back.  Needless to say I cursed a lot that first day.  My sister, the drama queen that she is, also had a complete dramatic melt down three quarters through when she had a cramp in her leg.  She was a whimpering mess and wanted to be medically evacuated off the mountain.  Needless to say that didn’t happen.  The rest of the hike she was whimpering out loud and I was crying and cursing on the inside.  Eventually, what felt like an eternity, we made it to the second camp and things only got worse from there.
Again the “camp site” was no Hilton Hotel and by all means worse than the first one, again with the outhouse, cracked walls and stretchers.  With blusters the size of plums on my feet and smelling like a funky monkey, I realized hiking was probably the worst idea I ever had.  All I wanted was to take a long hot relaxing shower.  Then came another shock.

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

On day two we hiked back to the first “camp site”, completely paranoid about snakes,  but this time I was motivated by one thing and one thing only - I wanted to get the hell out of there!  It took us about six hours to reach the “camp site” and we left immediately.  I have never gone hiking again since but I did end up going camping a couple of years later.
My parents’-in-law are avid campers.  They own a caravan and all the camping equipment one would need to survive in the event that the apocalypse should destroy all man-made structures.  They go camping often and they invite us along just as often.  I have always found creative ways to avoid camping and declining their invitations.  That was until the one day about 5 years ago when I couldn’t get out of it.

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

On arriving at the camping spot I was delighted to find that my in-laws didn’t lie.  We did indeed have our own bathroom, kitchen and there was electricity.  I needed electricity for my portable air-conditioned, inflating our double bed, electric mosquito repellent, ice machine and emergency light. Once again I have to stress that I don't do the roughing it thing. We helped the in-laws unpack and then set about pitching our tent.  Pitching a tent in your pants is one thing but pitching an actual tent is a whole different story.
Tents are complicated assholes and the instruction manuals that come with them, I firmly believe, are written by people who are high on drugs or drunk.  They make no sense.  After a struggle, some sweat and an averted mental breakdown the tent was semi decently erected.  Our bed was inflated, the air-conditioner was running and mosquitoes were fleeing.  The whole camping spot was set up and I must admit I was rather proud of myself.  Everything was done and as I was standing there admiring our handy work, I thought to myself “So now what.  We are here; we are set up, so what exactly does one do when you are camping?”  As it turns out – not much! You drink.

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

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

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

Till next time.

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