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Admittedly, I have issues.
I will not pretend that it isn’t so.
Maybe it is my OCD or my occasional dyslexia but there are a few things
in life that drives me absolutely nuts. And
no, not the kind of nuts where I am only mildly irritated. It drives me the
kind of nuts where I want to take a baseball bat and pretend another human’s
head is a piñata while humming the theme song from psycho. I know it’s not normal to get this angry
about junk mail, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Mormons and 419 scam or phising emails,
but I do. I can’t help it. So this past weekend I decided to take a look
at the intolerable cruelties I am troubled with, see if my anger was justified
and whether there actually is something I can do about it.
Sunday mornings in my neighborhood seems to be the one day
of the week when Jesus seems to be missing.
Every other Sunday morning our doorbell rings. On the other side of the intercom I can usually
see two people dressed in their Sunday’s best clothes asking if we have found
Jesus. “What is he missing?” doesn’t always yield the result one would
expect and ninety present of the time it only seems to aggravate them. I have found that there is nothing worse than
an aggravated and determined Christian and “Can
we come in and talk to you about Christ?” is then also always my cue to
hang up. Sometimes they will press the
bell for up to ten minutes, sometimes they get the message and leave.
We live in South Africa and I don’t know any people who
would allow total strangers, no matter how Christian like they look, into their
homes. It’s fucking dangerous! Besides, I don’t allow any person into our
property without them being vetted or, at the very least, having done a quick background
check on them. We live in a dangerous world
and I have not upgraded our house’s security to that of a fortress only to let
two roaming recruiters for Christ come into my house only to rob and molest
me. Call me paranoid but at least my
paranoia have kept me alive for this long.
But a missing Jesus is but only one of my bothers. There is also the junk mail.
There is a reason hubby and I get our mail delivered to a PO
Box address. Just the other day I demonstrated
one of the reasons by accidentally opening up my neighbor’s bank statements. It was lying on the floor in front of our
front door. Without thinking I picked it
up, opened it and then with a shock realized it wasn’t ours. Naturally, I found myself to be in a
conundrum: Do I try and glue it close
again and drop in over their wall or do I shred it and pretend I never saw
it. I choose the latter.
Since we moved into our house we haven’t had a mailbox. We had no need for one seeing as we have a
post box, but this didn’t stop the junk mail distributers. Every day for the last two years we had junk
mail stuck in our aloe, glued to our front door, garage door and/or wall. So in an effort to stop these suburban
terrorist from defacing our property’s façade, hubby and I bought a mailbox and
spray painted it a bright red and secured it prominently to our front
wall. You would have to be blind not to
see it. This, I thought, would solve all
our junk mail problems. I could not have
been more wrong.
Our fabulous mailbox have been on our wall for less than 48
hours and already we have had junk mail taped to it, stuffed underneath our door
and glued to our wall. The fuckers seem
to be making a conscious effort to stuff and stick their junk shit everywhere
except in our fucking mailbox. I swear
they do this on purpose to drive me crazy, and it is working!
Junk mail and its aversion to mailboxes is one thing, but
when I open my email and find that I have won the UK lottery for the infinite time,
some princess needs help getting her fortune, my unexpected inheritance from a
relative I didn’t know I had, the poor Russian who is stuck on the
international space station because they can’t afford to bring him back or the
unexpected deposit into my account at a bank I don’t even bank with, I want to
We all know these emails are scams. We all know to delete them and not open up
the links that are contained in them. We
all know this, but yet everyday people all over the world fall for them and
lately it feels like every 419 scammer got hold of my email address. I have replied to a couple of them mostly
using really fowl language that would make my mom blush, but when I heard of
the poor Russian stuck on the international space station I was particularly
amused, so I wrote them back.
In my response email I expressed my concern for the Russian,
who had been on the space station for well over a year, and my concerns over his
mental and physical health. I offered to
send him a care package whenever they launched another supply rocket up
there. I even suggested some possible
ways to get him back which included stealing a spacesuit, thermal parachute, oxygen
tanks and a fishing boat. It wasn’t even
a day before the Russian’s benefactor mailed me back saying that they need to
raise $13 million to secure his save return, so I offered to give them $13.13
and some Farmville cash. Needless to say
they never mailed me back.
As for the people looking for Jesus, I have found a
relatively easy solution. Seeing as they
pitch up only every other Sunday, I now switch off our intercom on those
days. They can ring the bell all they
want and we are none the wiser. The junk
mail and the scam emails seem to be problems that will persist. I have thought of beating the crap out of one
of those guys who clearly don’t know what mailboxes are for but I can’t afford
to get a criminal record for aggravated assault and/or attempted murder.
As for the 419 scams, I must give it to them some of their
emails are quite creative and fantastical and you have to be an idiot to fall
for them. But the world has many idiots,
and as long as they are there I guess I will keep on getting these damn emails.
There is a crazy lady who hates the gays. Her name is Jane Svoboda and she lives in Lincoln,
Nebraska. Last week she testified at a
non-discrimination ordinance meeting where she made some startling homophobic and
inaccurately graphic statements. Later
in the week it was confirmed, by Jane’s family, that she really is crazy and
suffering from schizophrenia. That being
said, I thought it appropriate to take a look at some of the statements she made
about gays and gay sex and examine whether any of these statements are indeed
Jane said that
during gay sex the penis goes into the anus, which is fairly accurate. However,
she also said that during anal intercourse the penis ruptures the intestines
and the more gay men do this the greater our chances of becoming “afatality
or a homicider”. Clearly Jane is a
size queen and have come across some monster cocks in her life. I assume this because do you
know how huge a guy’s dick would have to be to be able to rupture another guy’s
intestines? Besides KY (if used properly)
can make anything fit without rupturing the rectum, intestines or an organ. Besides I have never heard of a gay man that
has ever been fucked to death or heard of a gay man being charged with homicide
by large penis. But then again, there is
always a first time. Isn’t there Jane? But wait there’s more. Jane also had some insights into paedophilia
penises and fatal anuses, Jane went further and said that “a huge percentage of gay men in school grounds molest boys mainly
because they don’t have AIDS yet”. Why
crazy people always automatically assume that all gay men are paedophiles
boggles my mind; isn’t that solely reserved for Catholic Priests?
are those gay men who prefer to date twinks but there’s one big difference –
the twinks are of the legal age of consent.
As for the AIDS bit, these day there are many people, young and old, who
are HIV+ and you cannot assume that just because a person is young that they
are not HIV positive. Just as you cannot tell a person’s status just by looking
at them. That’s why there are condoms and
a thing called save sex. But sex with
minors isn’t the only thing troubling poor Jane, it is the sex with corpses
that really gets her blood boiling.
Jane mentioned something about the “Candida fungus that grows hugely on a corpse and that AIDS is a Candida
fungus disease”. It is true that Candida
does grow on a corpse and one of its main functions is to help with decomposition. But I don’t know any gay men, apart from Jeffrey
Dahmer that is, who have sex with decomposed corpses. Besides it being disgusting and morally wrong
it is also illegal.
Here again Jane confused homosexuality with necrophilia. Sure there are some gay men who suck in bed, just
lie there and may as well be a corpse, but they still have a pulse and are
alive and well. Rigor mortis may be a
turn on for Jane and Jeffrey, but as for the average homosexual the only body
part that we prefer to be stiff during sex is a dick, not a limb.
According to Jane, Hillary Clinton went gay in college. But don’t all straight folk do that in college
anyway? Personally, I have always
thought that Hillary would have made a very respectable power lesbian; just
look at the way she dresses and some of her hairstyles. I am also sure that she is very handy with her
tongue as it does get a lot of exercise not to mention that strong and nimble
texting fingers. But I digress…
Getting back to Jane, she said Hillary went lez because her
college didn’t have single rooms and single gender dorms. Well that doesn’t make any sense. If you are lonely in your own room in a dorm
filled with people of the same gender, wouldn’t that actually promote homosexual
experiences instead of doing the opposite?
Clearly Jane has not thought this through or watched enough porn or been
in enough dorms. According to Jane dorms
can make you go gay and if you are gay chances are, according to Jane, that you
are also sadistic.
According to Jane all gays are sadistic and treasonous and
she arrived at this conclusion by looking at the Romans. When I heard this I was both flattered and
annoyed at the same time. But here again
the voices in Jane’s head got it wrong.
There are gay men who are sadistic and in the gay world we call them “Masters” and they are the “S” in S&M. This is a fetish practiced in darken
basements, attics and dodgy night clubs and are by no means a mainstream “gay thing”. There are plenty of straight folk who
practices S&M as well; haven’t one of the voices in Jane’s head read “Shades of Gray” yet?
As for the treason part of her zany speech, in history it is
true that there were some prolific homosexual spies who betrayed their
countries through espionage. In
comparison to our heterosexual counterparts the instances of gay spies are but
a drop in the proverbial bucket. Jane
also mentions Judas as another historic homosexual who betrayed Jesus. It really is a pity that there were no tabloids
back then, seeing as in the absence of a tabloid photo, leaked sex tape or the
odd masseuse filing a law suit against Judas we have no way of verifying if he
was indeed a homo.
Lastly, Jane claims that all bisexuals always become insane
and she supports this statement by saying we must read the book of Nijinsky. Who the fuck is Nijinsky, you may ask? Well, I Googled him and she must be referring
to Vaslav Nijinsky,
a Russian ballet dancer and choreographer who were also bisexual, wrote a diary and
went insane. Now, I have never quite understood
bisexuals and probably never will, but one can hardly generalize that a whole group
of people will go insane just because one individual did. That would be like saying that all bisexuals
will automatically be straight again, just like Anne Heche, if they wait long
enough for the mothership to come and fetch them.
I know I
really should not be making fun of Jane Svoboda and that mental illness is
no laughing matter. But if mentally
unstable people like Jane are allowed to vent their psychiatric delusions in a public
forum. If their caregivers don’t stop
them and it is broadcasted over YouTube, well then you are just asking for
it. What makes this worse is that there
are people on the internet that will come across her YouTube video, watch it
and who will find some resonance with what she said. In so doing, homophobia will spread and there
will be people who believe these lies. Let’s
just hope that Jane gets the help that she so clearly needs and that there are
people out there who are smart and psychologically stable enough to know the
difference between truth and fiction.
Exercise is something I view in the same light as tofu, diet
coke and rice cakes. It’s not natural. It’s not appealing and it makes me want to vomit. I don’t like to starve and I don’t like to
sweat. But when you have to bring a
certain pair of cargo pants out of retirement from the closet and a sense of
shame and guilt overwhelms you as you stare at the flab where your abs of steel
once were, a certain rude awakening happens.
Yes people, my Chinese Diet Pills are not working and I have not lost some
of my circumference. I am the gay
version of obese and I do not intend to celebrate a certain thirty something
birthday (which is just over two months
away) looking like the Michelin Man. So, I did what any self-respecting gay man
would do, I sobbed and then I went out and I bought myself a bike.
This month is our 14th anniversary. On 21 May hubby and I would have outlasted 40%
of all straight marriages and what a better way to celebrate this anniversary month
than for me to try to lose 8kg and get back into shape before my birthday. After all it is as much a gift for hubby as
it is a gift for me. Both hubby and I
deserve for my body to be close to the shape it was in when we first met. Albeit that back then I looked semi anorexic. I mean you could seriously see my hip bone
back then. So this time around my aim will be for the healthier looking version
of me 14 years ago, not anorexic looking me.
So on Monday hubby and I went shopping. Initially I decided to buy a treadmill. Sure, it’s nothing more than a hamster wheel
but I do prefer sweating, heaving and being red faced in private while watching
Chelsea Lately or listening to music. The
treadmill seemed like a much better option than jogging through the neighborhood
or running on a treadmill all lined up like a Nazi concentration camp's fitness
experiment in the gym. Then I saw how much treadmills cost.
Treadmills are fucking expensive. A whole month’s salary expensive! For a brief moment while standing in the
fitness shop, with a dropped jaw, I thought maybe I wasn’t really that
fat. Love handles are just more of me to
love, right? Then I remembered the
reflection of my flab in the mirror that morning. Remembered that cellulite is not my friend. Remembered that even though chubby people
have great personalities, nobody wants to see them naked, people get nervous at
the pool if it looks like they are going to dive in and realized that economy
class seats (the class that I now have to fly due
to the economy) are small and very narrow.
I realized that I am chubby and I needed a Plan B.
On the other side of the fitness shop I spotted my Plan B – mountain bikes! Interesting, I thought. The last time I was on a bike was when I was
13. I have fond memories of my red BMX
bike and I knew that a mountain bike was my salvation from my every growing circumference,
as my Chinese pills so blatantly calls it.
Mountain bikes are expensive too, but not as expensive as hamster wheels. Besides, at least with a bike we will save money
on the power bill, as I think hamster wheels can be heavy on electricity. And bikes are greener and it will give hubby
and I something to do as a couple, let us get out of the house, get some fresh
air and get me into shape. So we went
shopping for the right bikes for us.
In a specialty bike shop I spotted the most amazing tandem
bike. It exited me in my loins and as I
was pointing it out to hubby all vivaciously, his expression was one of “Yea right.
As if we are not gay enough as it is.
Why don’t we just hang pink tassels on the handle bars, besides I would
have to do all of the peddling anyway" It may surprise you, but yes, my husband can
convey all of this in just one look, it’s a skill. With a tandem bike clearly not being a realistic option we
eventually bought two bikes that we both liked, bought pumps, helmets and all
the paraphernalia one would need to get started.
My brother-in-law graciously offered to pick the bikes up
for us as the boxes they came in would not fit in either of our cars. For some odd reason I thought that if you buy
a bike it comes fully assembled, but they don’t. You have to do it yourself and for that you
need tools. Fortunately for us,
brother-in-law has tools, lots of them and in no time at all, both our bikes
were assembled and ready to go. For the
first time in almost two decades I was about to get on a bike, and I did not
know what to expect.
Not being in any kind of shape at all, hubby and I decided
to ride around the block. It’s not a
massive distance, but we thought it would be a gentle way to ease us into
things. Little did we know, but our
block has hills and no matter which way around you go you will have an uphill
and downhill. To make matters worse is
the fact that my bike was squeaking and it sounded a lot like it was saying “you’re fat” when it squeaked. As these Queers
on Wheels made our way around the block, people stared and I was dripping with
sweat, out of breath and praying that no one recognizes me from under the
helmet and from behind my sunglasses. But
we made it! Eventually. I survived and
it wasn’t really a completely unpleasant experience. So later in the afternoon, we did it again.
The squeaking was later discovered to be the rear brake pads
and our hairstylist, who had to see the bikes for himself, quickly identified
the problem and the bike now no longer squeaks and calls me fat. Hubby and I decided to ride around the block every
day, each day venturing a little further as our fitness levels increases. There are a lot of bike trails in and around
our town and when we feel ready and know that we will not risk a heart attack
we will start exploring them too. It’s something
constructive to do on a Sunday and much healthier than lying on the couch in
front of the television eating crisps.
Exercise is never fun, but in the absence of a miracle pill
that burns fat and turns chocolate or Hägan-Dazs ice cream into cellulite
burning treats, it is unfortunately something I will have to do. I know many people buy bikes with the full
intention of exercising and that many of these bikes either end up as clothing
racks or dust collectors in their garages, and many people think this is
exactly what’s going to happen to ours.
But I do like a challenge and I do like proving people wrong. So take that flab, I will paddle my little
gay legs off around my little neighborhood and by the 1st of July, I
will have shed those excess 8kgs and be able to retire those pair of cargo pants
back to its spot of shame in the closet!
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