Thursday, July 10, 2014

100 Years of Gay Couples

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

Friday, June 20, 2014

In My Shoes: Stories of Youth with LGBT Parents

In My Shoes is a documentary in which fie young people who are children of LGBT parents give yo a chance to walk in their shoes - to hear their own views on marriage, making change and what it means to be a family.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

I am covered in vomit and got pooped on. This is my life now.

Tomorrow I will have been a dad for a month.  Can you believe it?  Since becoming a father I have learned a couple of things that people don’t tell you prior into entering into fatherhood:  For starters I have had to make peace with the fact that I will never be completely clean again; Doing things I did before will now take me five times longer; I had learned that I can do so many more things with one hand that I could have ever imagined; and dealing with another human being’s bodily fluids is gross but you get use it.

The first couple of weeks since bringing home our son were a huge learning curve for all of us.  Babies don’t come with instructions and they communicate with you in one of three ways – smiling and cute sounds (which is adorable and nice), crying (not so nice) and screaming (the world is ending and we will all die).  Luckily for us Michael is a relatively easy baby and he only becomes stabby when he is hungry.  Also, apparently if he doesn’t get his bottle after the first three subtle hints that he is ravenous (which I am now acutely attuned to) the apocalypse is upon us and his vocal acrobatics during the perceived end of his world is astonishingly and ear piercingly loud.

During this month I have also realized that your baby’s poop is very important.  In fact so important that it is the first thing hubby and I discuss in the morning and several times during the day.  Charming isn’t it?  You determine your baby’s general health by their amount of poop, times he pooped in a day, its color, its smell and its texture.  Frankly, this grossed me the hell out the first two week but then something miraculous happened – I started looking at his poop scientifically and then it all changed.  I no longer gag with each poopy diaper and I now can manage to mentally block out the smell.  You know that smell that can linger in your nostrils longer than it should.  Yes, that smell!

The only time I really got freaked out by poop was when I learned that projectile poop is not an urban baby legend.  It’s real people! And it is fucking disgusting!  I made this unfortunate discovery last week.  I was busy changing Michael’s nappy in which he pooped and as I was cleaning him evidently he was not quite done pooping yet.  He let out a fart that was actually a poop and it sprayed all over me.  I nearly died!  I stood there in total disbelieve and denial while holding Michael’s legs in the air with one hand, a wet wipe in the other and I was totally dumbfounded as what I was supposed to do next.

Do I finish changing Michael’s nappy while covered in shit? Or do I clean myself first and then finish changing his nappy?  It was a real profound debate I had in my head that lasted probably three minutes.  I decided that even though I wanted to throw up, felt like I was dying due to my OCD and gagging from the smell, that it would be good parenting to first finish changing Michael’s nappy before attending to myself.  I remember thinking to myself, as I was soldiering through, that nobody has ever shit on me before and I pray to God that it will never happen again.  But, we all know in all probability it will.  If poop is not bad enough vomit is worse.

I am not a fan of vomit.  This is also the reason why I will never be able to suffer from bulimia.  I don’t like to vomit.  I don’t like it when other people vomit. And most of all – I don’t like being vomited on.  It is right up there with being shit on.  Unfortunately babies vomit and in eight out of ten times Michael do it, it is on me.  People I am so over vomit right now I can’t even begin to tell you.  Apparently it is normal for babies and they out grow it.  When I asked our pediatrician exactly when this happens he told me it depends on the baby and they are all different in that regard.  Which was totally the wrong answer I was looking for and he probably saw it on my face.  Luckily Michael’s vomiting has gotten better, but it still happens every so often.  Some days are better than others.

The last important thing I learned was this morning.  Michael is on starter solids now.  In simple terms for people who don’t have kids, starter solids is basically food that has been totally transformed in a food processor from something that looks appetizing to a rather unappetizing paste like substance.  One day when you are old and toothless you will become acquainted with it.  Michael has taken to solids quite well.  After all he loves eating for which I am grateful.  However, timing when feeding your baby is very important; as a parent you need to have a crystal ball handy to be able to predict each and every eventuality before it happens while feeding your baby.

You must be able to predict when your baby will be sticking his hands in his mouth while he has food in it and prevent him from doing that.  If you don’t there will be a mess.  You have to know when you look away for a split second that your baby will stick his hands in his plate and rub sweet potato purity all over his face and clothes.  If you don’t there will be an early bath and wardrobe change.  And like what happened to me this morning you have to be able to predict when your baby is going to sneeze while his mouth is full of food.  If you don’t you, your baby and everything around you will be covered in a carrot and mince puree.  Lovely, and then not only will there be two wardrobe changes but cleaning as well.

I cannot believe I have been a dad for a month already.  It is a lot of work, it’s messy work and physical work.  I have almost lost 5kg as a result.  But that being said it is extremely rewarding work and not a day goes by that I don’t look at Michael with total amazement and pure joy.  Not a day goes by that I am not in total awe of this little human and the blessing he is.  Being a dad is awesome.  Except when it is not, you know that 2% of the time when you are pooped and vomited on.

Till next time.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

The Price of Admission

Pretending that your spouse isn't annoying is the "Price of Admission" you have to pay for a long term relationship.  Just ask my long suffering hubby of 16 years. I am annoying as hell. 

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

If Gay Guys said the shit Straight People say to us...

Daniel-Ryan Spaulding is a Comedian based in Europe, exploring gender, sexuality, culture, stereotypes & identity. For More Videos & Tour Dates this Summer: @dr_spaulding SUBSCRIBE to the Channel & Join Facebook Fan Page:

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

I have been a dad for a week and nobody died

Today a week ago our lives were permanently changed forever, for the better.  Last week this time we were in Cape Town to fetch our son.  After ten months of waiting we finally reached the final stage of our adoption journey and it was both thrilling and petrifying at the same time.  Thrilling because we finally got to meet our son and bring him home and petrifying because we had no clue what the hell we were doing.

One thing I realized last week was that when you are travelling with a baby is that people at airports are so much nicer to you.  As most of you know airport security and I have no love for each other; mainly because I am always treated like a suicide bomber or drug mule by them.  But last week was completely different.  I managed to board the flight with things airport security is convinced can bring down a plane: deodorant, nail clippers and four bottles exceeding the liquid limit.

Also, I set off each and every metal detector and nobody molested me with that frisking business.  When security wanted to question me about the said contraband which their x-ray machine picked up I just said “Shsss… my baby is sleeping” and I was let go and not taken into a brightly lit back room and stripped searched as I have become accustomed to.

On our flight back with Michael I was a bit worried.  I have always been one of those people who got annoyed when people board one of my flights with a baby.  Now I have become one of those people.  I was concerned that with the change of air pressure with the ascent and descent that his ears would hurt and that he would cry.  Then that I would cry and that the cabin crew would have to take both of us to the back of the plane and drug us while hubby pretends not to know who we are.  Luckily this didn’t happen.  Michael drank his bottle on takeoff and slept like the angel he is through the duration of the flight.

We couldn’t believe our luck with our son.  He was so well behaved and once we got home we gave him his last bottle before bedtime and decided to bath him.  That is when all hell broke loose.  We apparently bathed him wrong and he threw a tantrum the likes I have not seen since Cher announced that she was retiring from touring.  He screamed and he was only 2% bathed before we abandoned the idea completely, dried him off, dressed him in a cute onesie and settled him to bed.  He gave us both a look that I could swear meant “What. The. Fuck. You have no idea what you are doing?” and he was right.
The next day the Kangaroo mom phoned me and told me that our bath was probably not hot enough and that we should act with more determination when we bath him.  Her advice worked and our boy now loves bath time.  The Kangaroo mom also gave us a schedule.  Being OCD and suffering from anxiety I LOVE schedules, lists and order in general.  It makes me feel safe and this is what separates us from the animals.  Our son seems to agree with me on this.  Or at least he did until Sunday.

I was told some time ago that babies can be assholes sometimes.  They just are and there is nothing that you can do about it.  I never believed this until Sunday morning.  Everything went well until around 8am that morning.  Michael decided to cry for no reason.  He didn’t have a wind, dirty nappy, was hungry, tired or was being snagged by his clothes.  He was crying which later turned into full out screaming.  He screamed for a full hour, eight minutes and twenty five seconds.  He was being an asshole and we all needed a hug after because he freaked us the fuck out and whatever it was that he cried/screamed about was out of his system.  Also, he gave me three new grey hairs because of it.  Luckily we have not had a similar dramatic performance of “I am screaming because I can” since from him.

Michael is a delightful baby and is actually really easy to take care of.  I cannot believe that one can fall in love with a little human so quickly.  He has only been with us a week and I cannot imagine our lives without him.  However, I can imagine my life without another one of his weapons of mass destruction in his diapers though.  Poopy diapers are vile and I believe they are the way God punishes us for being shitty children to our parents.  What makes it worse is each time I have to change a poopy diaper and gags Michael laughs at me.  He is very proud of his poop and loves seeing me nauseous.

We are lucky that Michael sleeps through the night.  Between 7pm and 05:30am the only times he makes us get up is because he lost his gawd awful dummy.  Then we just find it, give it to him and he falls back asleep again.  The whole routine literally takes ten seconds at most.  So we are not sleep deprived at all.  However, getting out of our PJ’s before 11am is almost impossible.  I also have now for a week smelled either of sour milk due to baby vomit or Avon baby lotion and sometimes of both.  I have also gone to the shop with my shirt covered in baby vomit without noticing it or actually caring.  People who judge baby vomit stained shirts are assholes.

It is still early days of parenthood for us but thus far Michael has been a blessing and a joy.  Some nights I just sit by his cot and watch him sleep and every time he wakes up from a nap and gives me that beautiful smile of his when he sees me melts my heart.  I still find it hard to wrap my head around the fact that I am now a dad.  I am just so very surprised at how naturally it has come to me.  I mean I have always said when I was younger that I never wanted kids. And look at me now. My life feels complete and whole and we are all three tremendously happy.  Well, until the next hour long tantrum that is.

Till next time.

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

We got "The Call"

After ten months of an agonizing wait it finally happened. This week we got “The Call”. The call we were hoping and waiting for. The call that would say that our lives will now forever be changed. The call that would make hubby and I and our family so incredible happy. The call that said we are now going to be a family.
When we started on our adoption journey in August of 2013 we entered into the process being very optimistic. However, we soon learned that adoption is a very emotional process fraught with emotional pitfalls that one should navigate around with the greatest of care. I will not lie and say that the process was easy because it was not.

We have had some fights along the way. Hubby and I have fought with each other. We have fought with our social worker. We have even fought with ourselves. Mostly this happened out of sheer frustration and most of the fights hubby and I had were over stupid things that we now look back on going “What the hell was wrong with us”.

The hardest part of the adoption process is not the screening, the psychometric assessments, the interviews, home visit or panel interview. The fact that adoption is not a cheap venture was also not such an issue. The hardest part of the adoption process is, after all is said and done and you are finally declared paper pregnant, the long wait. The waiting can kill you. Or possibly drive you nuts.
We have been paper pregnant since November 2013 and to be honest very few days passed since then that I didn’t think about whether our baby was born yet. Very few conversation between hubby and I did not include the adoption in them. So we did what we could to occupy our minds. We prepared the nursery, bought all the things we could buy that we would need. We even had our baby shower in February this year.  

It was like we were psychically willing our child into this world. We dreamed about babies. We noticed the gazillions of people with babies, gay and straight, in the shops and at restaurants. Isn’t it weird how you all of a sudden see babies everywhere while you are waiting for yours? It was like we were being tortured and tormented by the universe as we were reminded around every corner of that we were waiting for.

Then on Monday, as I was heading to my Botox appointment, I got the call. Well, actually I got two. The first one was to inform me that we have a baby and the second one was to arrange for a meeting for the next day. As hubby’s Botox appointment was before mine I sent him a text that read “Wait for me outside and under NO circumstances can you leave. This is important!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hubby probably thought I discovered something about our plastic surgeon online that freaked me out. Or that I WebMD self-diagnosed myself with the Ebola Virus again. But this time it obviously was nothing like that at all. I have not self-diagnosed myself with an exotic disease in ages. As I arrived at our surgeon’s office hubby was waiting for me and was all like “Are you dying again” and I was like “We are all going to die someday. You are stuck with me and I am going to live well into my nineties and you are not allowed to die before me!

Then I told him the great news. He was in tears which also almost made me cry but I never do that in public. Very few people have ever seen me cry. Also, when I cry I prefer to do it in private as it ain’t pretty people. It’s like my gift to society. You’re welcome.

We were both overjoyed. After ten months we are finally going to be parents to a three month old little boy. As I started wrapping my brain around the idea the rest of that day I was overcome with both excitement and being utterly terrified. I mean, I have never had a baby. I have only changed a nappy once in my life and generally babies scared me. Now I am going to have one of my own. Will I even know what to do? What if I fuck up? What if I am a bad parent? Can I afford all the therapy my child may someday need because he has an eccentric dad?
After freaking out a realization hit me. We are not the first parents to go through this. All parents go through this with their first child. This is probably exactly what they must have felt like; except they are not my kind of crazy. The sense that other people before me suffered gave me a sense of relief.

Also, our son is three months old and past most of the crappy and awkward baby stuff newborns go through. He is still a baby and I am sure we will have plenty of sleepless nights ahead but I plan on savoring and enjoying every second of it. Yes, even if I am covered in baby poop at 3 o’clock in the morning and he won’t stop crying. I will so Blog and Facebook that. With pictures.

Next week we will be fetching our son and I cannot wait. After the meeting we will have this afternoon we will be booking flights as soon as we find out what our court date and time is. It is exciting times in our household. The cats and bunnies have no idea what they are in for. The whole lot of us will be sleep deprived and our little zoo is now getting a little prince. He is the blessing that we longed for. I cannot believe this is finally happening. I. Am. So. Happy.

To read more about our adoption journey click HERE

Till next time.

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

I will not suck another fag

So I am trying this again.  I have decided that I must stop smoking.  You know, because I don’t want to die.  After twenty years of smoking my lungs need a break.  I probably could pave a tar road with all the shit I have inhaled from cigarettes and I prefer not to become another one of those lung cancer statistics.  But to quit smoking is hard and thus far I have had a zero success rate with it.  Also, I now know how crack addicts must feel and it isn’t pretty people.

I remember when I first started smoking.  It wasn’t peer pressure that got me started.  It was my sister.  You see we went on holiday and my sister and I had to share a hotel room.  I was a scrawny sixteen year old at the time and it was still easy for my sister to bully me.  She is a couple of years older than I am and as strong as an ox when she wants to be.  She was secretly smoking and didn’t want my parents to find out.  Seeing as we shared a hotel room and she being a nicotine addict this obviously posed a particular set of problems for her.

Firstly, at that time I would do anything to get my sister busted and get her into trouble.  Secondly, I was really bad at keeping secrets especially when it was something juicy and about my sister.  So naturally if I caught her smoking I would take our sibling rivalry to an epic new level.  Unfortunately, my sister would have made an excellent Survivor contestant, if she liked the outdoors and being dirty and hungry that is.  She continuously outwitted, outlasted and outplayed me right through our childhood and this time would be no different.

My sister convinced me through her clever psychological trickery that only really cool people smoked.  She also did not want me to be on the outskirts of society and she wanted me to join her sistren of really hip smokers.  See how I just revived a word that was last used in the 16th century.  Sometimes I amaze myself.  Also, I want everyone to start using the word "sistren" again because it is a really cool word.  But I digress... 

Being trapped in a hotel room with my sister was a bit like being a fly in a spider web.  It was in my best psychological and physical interest to not go against her generous sisterly advice on this particular social issue.  So I conceded out of fear and started fake smoking meaning that I would only puff and not inhale the smoke.

By the end of that holiday I was addicted to nicotine and, for obvious reasons, could no longer tell on my sister for smoking.  She had successfully tricked me in keeping her secret and I had now joined her in keeping things from our parents.  Twenty years and several attempts to quit smoking later, I am still a smoker.  In the past I have tried many things to stop.  I have done the patches, the gum, medication and even once thought that I could quit cold turkey.  That did not end well.

Trying to quit anything cold turkey is like playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun.  And the gun is not pointed at your head but pointed at the heads of others.  The time I tried to quit cold turkey I became a ranging emotional bitch from hell.  I had a short fuse and was generally unpleasant to be around.  I also started to behave like that slow cousin in your family that nobody talks about.  I did not like or recognize myself, at the time, and it felt like I lost my best friend and my mind.  I managed to survive a month of not smoking and then succumbed to the demon that is nicotine again.

When I tried to quit smoking on Champix things went a bit better apart from the fact that I almost died.  I had the worst nightmares while on that medication, it fucked up my liver and there were times that it made me ill enough not to be able to go to work.

I managed four months of not smoking on Champix but then we went on holiday to Madagascar and I fell off the wagon again, so to speak.  This is also when I contracted pneumonia and as we headed back home I went to hospital directly from the airport.  At hospital I would take off my oxygen mask to go for a smoke and when I was done I would put back the oxygen.  At least I had the good sense not to blow myself up but pneumonia and smoking – not the best combination.  Sometimes addicts do some weird shit like this.

So here I am again.  Attempt number God knows what.  This time I am staying clear of medications and I have opted to use the electronic cigarette and acupuncture to stop.  Thus far I must say it is going well.  I have cut down from forty cigarettes a day to around three a day.  Actually, the truth is I have cut down to about eight.  No, actually the real truth is I have cut down to ten.  Addicts lie.

I am very lucky to have an understanding husband who has placed no pressure on me at all to stop.  I am doing this for myself.  He doesn’t judge me when I have a cigarette from my not so secret stash and he has been very supportive.  I hope to exclusively smoke the electric cigarette (or like I fondly call it - my electric crack pie) in about a week or two.  Then I will deal with the nicotine addiction and swop the nicotine liquid for the non-nicotine one.

It has been a week since I started weaning myself off cigarettes and lo and behold, nobody has been murdered and I have not died.  Hopefully this time I will succeed in kicking this nasty ass habit and can spend the next sixty years smoke free.  And yes people, to the horror of some I plan to live well into my nineties.

I think the hardest part about quitting is not so much the nicotine addiction but the actual habit.  It is something to do with your hands and is an excuse to get out of the office for ten to fifteen minutes at a time.  However, now days smokers are banned to dodgy smoking areas and treated like lepers due to anti-smoking laws.  So it is best to just quit.  To my lungs, you’re welcome.  To the tobacco industry, I loathe all of you and you can all go fuck yourselves!  

Till next time.

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Shit gay guys say

Here is a compilation of the funniest YouTube videos about "Shit Gay Guys Say".  I promise you will have a giggle.

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Sometimes you just need to relax and say fuck it.

Being slightly OCD it is only natural that I value punctuality.  After all, this is what separates us from animals.  Well, punctuality and the ability to fly through the air at 30 000 feet at a speed of 600 mph that is.  And the fact that we can blow shit up.  So imagine my surprise when I actually managed to miss my flight yesterday even though I was at the airport four hours ahead of time.  Now you may ask yourself “How the hell did he manage to do that?”  And the answer would be rather complicated so let me explain.

Yesterday I had to fly from Cape Town back to Johannesburg.  I was in Cape Town for work and by yesterday morning I had finished what I needed to do there and decided to go to the airport early.  I had some work to do on my laptop and decided that I might as well do it at one of the airport lounges and the fact that they had free Wi-Fi would also help.

So I arrived at the airport four hours before my flight and checked in.  The lady at the check in counter looked at me funny and we had a slight altercation about my luggage.  This is totally normal as there is always some kind of issue:  If I don’t set off the metal detector then I forget that I have a knife in my hand luggage; if that doesn’t happen then my luggage is classified obese or looks suspicious for drugs.  I am used to being harassed at airports.  I have now come to expect it.

As I was busy working minding my own business about an hour before my flight, I heard an announcement.  Apparently my flight was delayed and was now to board at Gate C12.  I was a bit annoyed as I was looking forward to arriving in Johannesburg at 4pm and now I was going to be thirty minutes late.  About half an hour before my flight was due to depart I packed up my stuff and proceeded to Gate C12.

There was nobody there so I assumed the flight was delayed even further.  As my flight’s departure time neared and eventually passed I got suspicious.  I thought “What the fuck is going on?  Has it been delayed again?  But if they were boarding surely they would have been calling my name?”  Nobody called my name.  Not even once.  As I proceeded to go to the viewing deck I was also surprised that my plane was no longer on its spot on the tarmac.  It was gone.  Could it be that they left without me?

I promptly went to information and was told that my flight had indeed left.  Without me!  Now I had to go and get my ticket transferred to the next available flight.  I could feel a panic attack looming but decided to just stay calm, compose myself and that it was not the end of the world.  I have never missed a flight in my life and was mortified that my once clean record had now been stained, especially since I had been at the airport for four hours now.

As I proceeded to the flight controller counter I immediately thought about my luggage.  Where was it?  Was it on the plane?  Has it been molested?  Will I ever see it again?  If it is broken into will that person judge me?

As I got to the front of the counter I told the lady about my predicament.  She got on the phone, bashed away on her keyboard and then looked at me with concern.  “It seems that there is a problem.  According to my computer you boarded the flight, so why are you standing here?” she said while giving herself unsightly frown lines.  “Well, I don’t know.  I am not on that flight” I replied sarcastically.

Apparently there was another passenger booked on the same flight who had the same name and surname as mine and they checked off the wrong person.  As if this was not bad enough there was a problem with our luggage as well.

I was told that they kept my luggage onboard the plane and had bumped his luggage off.  So my luggage would arrive in Johannesburg two hours before me and his two hours after him.  “Well isn’t this just great.  You know this is how planes blow up, don’t you?!  Aren’t you supposed to match passengers to their luggage?!  Just wait until the terrorists discover this loophole.  It will be 9/11 all over again” I screamed.  Softly.  As I didn’t want to get arrested and I really wanted to make my next flight.

Eventually I made it onto the next flight, dripping with sweat and smelling like a funky monkey.  Seeing as I was a last minute addition to the flight I was banished to the very back of the plane where all the degenerates who have punctuality issues are seated.  And to make matters worse I had the middle seat.

As I sat down the person to my left was some kind of far right Afrikaner bearded man in kaki clothes and to my right was a nice Indian lady.  I apologized to the lady about my odor and told her I just had a very rough day.  I did not apologize to the kaki bearded man.  All three of us were reading.  I was reading Chelsea Handler’s Uganda Be Kidding Me, the lady was reading 50 Shades of Gray and the kaki bearded man was reading some book on Siener van Rensburg (a right wing profit).  This made me rather paranoid.

The flight was rather uneventful as we did not crash or go missing.  Our pilot was a rugged, tall and a ridiculously good looking man.  The only problem was that he was finger fucking his iPhone before and after the flight.  Possibly also during the flight as it is apparently not necessary to tell people to fasten their seatbelts when there is severe turbulence, which we had!  But I forgave him because he was gorgeous.

After arriving in Johannesburg I immediately went to the baggage claims counter.  Also there was a young woman who lost her glasses.  They are still missing.  There was also a woman who just flew in from Washington DC on a Delta Air flight who lost her blood pressure medication on the plane.  Her description of what she kept them in was rather vague and she may have suffered a stroke since.  We should all really pray for her as she seemed really distressed.

Eventually, I was reunited with my luggage and it is a miracle that nothing was missing from it.  Well, actually the only things they could steal from it were dirty laundry, my toiletries and prescription medication that would not even make them high.

I arrived home last night just after 7pm; meaning that I was technically in transit for six hours instead of three.  This was the first flight I have ever missed and it was not even my own fault.  How was I supposed to know that there were two Gate C12’s and that some other person on the same flight shared my name?

I am however impressed with myself for not having had a panic attack, breaking down falling on the ground crying like an emotionally disturbed child and for keeping my shit together.  Sometimes you just need to relax and say fuck it.  This is what I did and it really helped.  I however still hate airports.

Till next time.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Why Oscar Pistorius is screwed.

Like so many people I am following the Oscar Pistorius murder trial.  I mean it has its own 24 hour channel on television and has its own Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts.  There are also live video and audio streams.  And no matter where you go or what you do Oscar is there.  If he sobs or vomits in court it trends on Twitter.  When he covers his ears it immediately gets hundreds of likes on Instagram.  Phrases like “I put it to you” and “my lady” have also even made it into our pop culture.  The Oscar Pistorius trial has infiltrated our daily lives on so many levels and has piqued our macabre interests.  But one thing we tend to forget is that no matter what happens with this trial Oscar Pistorius is screwed either way.
Look, I will be the first to admit that the events that transpired on the morning of 14 February 2013 are tragic.  Reeve Steenkamp died and the only two people who really know exactly what happened that morning are Reeva and Oscar.  And Reeva is dead and the veracity of Oscar’s version of events is questionable at best.

Oscar’s defense is making him out to be a pussy.  When Barry Roux put it to one of the witnesses that Oscar screams like a woman when he is scared, it caused even some on his own defense team to struggle not to laugh.  This also led to the meme that went viral that read “What if I put it to you that when my cat gets scared he barks like a dog”.
Before this happened I must be honest and admit that I didn’t even know who Reeva Steenkamp was.  It is sad to think that she had to die horribly before she became world famous.  I’m sure this was not part of her ten year plan nor was killing her in Oscar’s either.

There are many people speculating about Oscar’s guilt or innocence and I for one will not tender my personal opinion on this in a public forum.  It would be irresponsible as it is too soon in the trial to make any predictions.  However, one thing is certain – Oscar is guilty of murder.  Whether he is found guilty of premeditated murder or culpable homicide the fact stands that he shot and killed Reeva.  Nothing in this world will change that.  Whether he killed her in a fit of rage or accidentally, she is dead and this will follow him around for the rest of his life.  He will always be known as the Olympian who shot and killed his girlfriend.

Oscar’s career is over, sponsors will not touch him and even if he walks away from this it would take a miracle for him to revive his career that he destroyed with four gunshots on Valentine’s Day in 2013.  As the world watches the graphic crime scene photos and imagines how terrified Reeva must have been in that toilet cubical that morning; the terrible pain she must have been in and the undignified manner in which she died; it is hard to believe that he will find any forgiveness anytime soon.
Emotional tears, vomiting in court and retching may have worked to win over a jury elsewhere but this will have no effect on the judge and assessors in his trial here is South Africa.  Some members of the public may feel some sympathy for him as he breaks down in court, but skeptics like me still speculate if this is due to him suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, extreme guilt or if it is remorse.  Only Oscar will be able to answer this.

There have also been numerous jokes about this murder on the internet.  Some jokes are quite funny and others are more distasteful and disrespectful.  Also having a dark sense of humor and having a tendency to laugh at my own private jokes my husband caught me last week laughing while I was in the shower.  He asked me what was so funny but I was rather hesitant to tell him.

You see, while I was in the shower I imagined what the scene must have looked like that morning:  Oscar on his stumps running into the bathroom, all angry or scared and then firing off the shots.  I found that mental image extremely funny but then immediately felt guilty for laughing.  Naturally hubby did not find this funny as he doesn’t always approve of my sense of humor.  Sometimes I don’t either.
My husband and my father-in-law refuse to follow the trial and I think they are missing out.  I mean honestly, how can you be angry or happy with the verdict if you didn’t follow the trial?  How do you have small talk with people in awkward social situations if you cannot comment on the goings on of that week’s trial?  This is our OJ Simpson and if you don’t follow it you will miss out on catchy phrases like “If the gloves don’t fit you must acquit” from the OJ trial.  I will be very pissed off if the only catch phrase we are going to get from Oscar’s trial is “I put it to you”.

At this stage of the trial I have many questions about what happened.  I want to know why Reeva was still in the clothes she arrived in when she was shot that morning even though she brought an overnight bag with her; what was found on the iPhones and iPads; why their phones were in the bathroom; why he carried Reeva downstairs; why Oscar didn’t phone an ambulance; did they have a fight before he shot her; if he truly thought there was an intruder why did he not wake Reeva up, is that not normally the first thing a reasonable person would do; and if the bathroom light was on when he shot Reeva why did he choose to conceal that fact.
To be honest, I think by the time we get close to the end of this trial everyone who has followed it will be suffering from Oscar fatigue.  Many people would have learned a great deal about how the South African court system works and how it is not glamorous and that real life forensic police work is nothing like the CSI you see on television.

But that being said, it remains tragic.  A woman who very few people knew of is now dead and famous for all the wrong reasons.  The once proud son of South Africa is now a fallen hero with very little chance of redemption.  Even though many of Oscar’s fans will still love and support him no matter what, he is screwed either way.  Oscar is now a murderer.  Oscar is that guy who killed his girlfriend.  This is how he will be remembered and there is very little that he can now do to change that.

Till next time.
Related Posts with Thumbnails