When a Pussy Attacks

If you landed on my blog through a Google search expecting vaginas you should be ashamed of yourself. This blog post is not about the pussies you wanted to see. Also, there is just one photo of a pussy in this blog post and it is the one you see below. But I digress...

My husband and I share our house with three pussies. They are furry, sometimes cuddly but beneath their angelic and sweat demeanor there lurks a malevolent darkside. A darkside so iniquitous and vicious it’s best strangers approach our kitties with the utmost caution or face the dreadful consequence – being mauled! You see our furry critters are emotional unstable and dangerous little souls and every now and again their tempers and tantrums take me by surprise and I am left wondering, why do I share my house killers.

Our most notorious cat of the three is aptly named Killer Pussy. She is a savagely cruel killer. Remorseless, villainous and diabolical she saunters through our estate seeking out her victims. She has no particular preference, if it has a heartbeat she will kill it. She will also eat anything she can lay her little paws. Sometimes it is disgusting as we often find dismembered body parts strewn throughout our house. She leaves this as warnings to us not to fuck with her. It's a not so subtle threat really.

Her absolute favorite snack, apart from freshly killed meat, is a vitamin and catnip enrich cat treat which she gets every afternoon. I think she likes it because the catnip gets her high. She does have a bit of a drug problem but refuse to go to AA. So when the treats got finished, a couple of weeks ago, and the shops ran out of stock our little pussy was not amused! This sparked a tantrum as only a cat can do. All you cat owners out there can probably relate.

Killer Pussy was clearly going through catnip withdrawals and clearly needed to go to rehab but we could not afford it. Also, there are no catnip rehab facilities anywhere in the world which is a travesty.  Getting back to the point, Killer Pussy ignored us, she would sit in the corner of the bedroom sulking, scratch us when we picked her up and when her passive aggression failed to yield the desired result she went to Plan B – breaking stuff. Two broken plates, a torn curtain and a punctured pool lillo later, the shops eventually acquired her favorite treat just in the nick of time, as I suspect Plan C would have involved murder by suffocation followed by her eating our faces.

Killer Pussy's favorite activities, apart from sleeping, are plotting and scheming about how to break into our pantry (the food room as she calls it), furthering her nuclear ambitions, continuing her ill-suited affair with Kim Yong Un and setting her plan for world domination into motion. (If you failed to follow the last few sentences I don't blame you. For it to make sense you really should like her fan page. She is kinda famous on Facebook and Twitter. Just saying.)

Fur Monster was one of our oldest cats and she didn't like strangers and despised children (little humans). The fact that she was barren for so long and struggled to have kittens of her own may have something to do with her hatred of offspring. Whenever we receive visitors we always had to warn the guests of her violent disposition. Many children have been emotionally and physically scarred by her and many adults have too, with my late mom included.

A few years ago Fur Monster’s sister had kittens and my mom and her housekeeper wanted to see the litter/kindle. They went into my garden cottage while I was out. They didn’t make it past the kitchen. Fur Monster and her sister Sly Monster cornered them and held them hostage, literally, in my kitchen for well over an hour. Eventually I received a hysterical call from my mom saying “Your cats have attacked me! I’m in your kitchen! Can’t. Get. Out!!! Oh dear God have mercy!!! H E L P MEEE!!!” and in the background I could hear the housekeeper praying "Jesus, Mary and Joseph" and the cats hissing and growling. Careful hostage negations followed and both my mom and the housekeeper were released bruised, bleeding, traumatized and forever fearful. Fur Monster passed away two years ago and her ashes are kept in my study along with that of her sister - Sly Monster. I am now a collector of cat ashes as a true cat "lady" should be.

Cute Monster is the middle child and the fruit of Fur Monster’s loins. She’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic and the only thing she does well is eat, fart and sleep. She has never mastered the art of tree climbing and is still trying to learn how to play but without any notable success or improvement. The one skill she recently acquired is the much envied skill of paw-to-paw combat.

Seeing as she doesn’t know how to play nicely she settled for second best – fighting. She picks fights with her mother, her aunt and her adopted sister and she usually loses. Did I mention she isn't that bright? Every other day all hell would breaks loose in our house and it’s a cacophony of hissing, growling, screaming with fur and pot plants flying everywhere. Breaking up a pussy orgy of violence is near impossible and after two prior attempts and some loss of blood later, hubby and I decided to leave them to sort out their own shit. If it involves violence so be it! Most things can be resolved with some gratuitous violence anyway. Just look at America liberating countries through war. So why should our cats be any different.

Apart from eating and shitting in the garden the only thing our pussies enjoy doing together, as a family, is kill things. This is where our youngest comes in Lover Pussy.  And as his name suggests he is a gentle soul and is more a lover than a fighter.  However, he loves hunting and he's fiercely good at it.  He also usually leads the family hunt.  Like a ruthless pride of lions (which I swear they think they are) they stalk their prey on the African plains that is our garden. Many a bird, lizard, moth, butterfly and lady bird family have been broken up at the claws of our feline predators. So when a flock of weaver birds decided our leopard tree was the perfect spot for them to raise their families their fate was sealed unbeknownst to them and the bodies started to piled up!

Last Saturday we experienced the worst massacre since bloodshed Wednesday of 8 May 2007. It started at roughly noon. I heard a commotion in our back garden and didn’t pay it much attention until the commotion made its way to under the dining room table. Killer Pussy caught a juvenile weaver bird and was busy interrogating and torturing the poor thing North Korea Style, while the other two Monsters were watching. I tried to save the bird but Killer Pussy would have none of that and ran outside. We intercepted at the pool and I tried to pry the screaming bird from her fangs but she refused to loosen her grip and punctured two of my fingers.  I considered getting a tetanus shot but then realized the hospital would asked too many uncomfortable questions so I took my chances.

As I realized that the soon to be dead bird was doomed anyway and feeling like a horrible human being I let the murder continue. In the lounge I was close to tears as I heard the bird's screams become fainter as the minutes passed. The bird’s parents, family and neighbors all tried to save its life, but one-by-one they too were killed. At sunset the screaming stopped and our backyard was a scene of utter horror and devastation. There are now only four weaver birds and eight eerily empty nests left. Every day and every night our monsters patrol the leopard tree and soon the surviving weaver birds will be no more. They will be murdered in cold blood and we would have to watch and listen. Clarice have the lambs stop screaming? 

Sharing our home with temper tantrum prone killers, admittedly is not always fun. Especially when you need to clean up their crime scenes. But even though I sometimes pitch up for work with arms, legs and hands looking like I shoved them into the blender, I love my little monsters dearly and can’t imagine my life without them. Our backyard may be littered with the skeletal remains of countless avian victims, the bird population on the plains of Africa may be living in fear but my pussies are a delight to have and one day, maybe just one day, the birds will stop screaming.

You can like Killer Pussy's Facebook Fan Page by clicking HERE.

Till next time.

Cocktail Hour - Brenda Fassie

Born the youngest of 9 children in Langa, Cape Town, Ous Brenda's father died when she was 2 and she started singing for tourists to earn money and by the age of 5 she had her first band called the ‘Tiny Tots’.  At 16 she left for Soweto to seek her fortune and her break came when she was signed to fill in when one of the singers in the band ‘Joy’ went on maternity leave.  

Paradise Road

After her contract expired she formed ‘Brenda and the Big Dudes’ and their breakout hit single ‘Weekend Special’ became the fastest selling record at the time.  Affectionately known as Ma Brrr by her fans, the pint sized singer was known for her outrageous antics and anti-establishment attitude and kept us all highly entertained with the stories that would hit the tabloids of the drama in her personal life, most notably her drug and alcohol abuse and her bisexuality.  The unofficial voice of the townships, her songs often resonated with the sadness and despair found there.  She had a son in 1989 by a fellow Big Dudes musician and had a short lived marriage in 1989, divorcing in 1991.  Around this time she became addicted to cocaine and in 1995 she was discovered in a hotel room with the body of her lesbian lover who had overdosed.  She went to rehab and got her career back on track, with Time magazine publishing an article about her in 2001, citing her as the Madonna of the Townships.  She still had drug problems and returned to rehab about 30 times or so.  On 26 April 2004 she was rushed to hospital for what the press was told was a massive asthma attack that caused cardiac arrest and although doctors resuscitated her she slipped into a coma.  Fans held vigil outside the hospital for 2 weeks until she died on 9 May.  At her autopsy it came to light that it was a drug overdose that caused her cardiac arrest and it was believed that the crack cocaine she smoked that night was laced with rat poison.  Her son Bongani sang ‘I’m So Sorry’ on the soundtrack to the Academy Award winning movie ‘Tsotsi’ and dedicated it to his mother.  During her lifetime Brenda recorded many award winning albums and also contributed to albums released by Mandoza, Miriam Makeba and Harry Belafonte.

Not having a clue what her favourite tipple was I asked a friend who said I should Google something called a ‘Soweto Toilet’ so I did.  And here it is... I certainly hope it tastes more appetising than it sounds!

SOWETO TOILET

1 tot Banana Liqueur

2/3 tot Amarula

1/3 tot Crème de Cacao

Pour the banana liqueur into the bottom of a shot glass then using the back of a bar spoon, slowly pour the Amarula so that it floats on top.  Before serving, slowly drip the Crème de Cacao into the shooter so that it will create a messy streak as it sinks.  Bailey’s can also be substituted for the Amarula.

The thought of that being the only drink I post this month is a bit sad, so I've made up something called a ‘Weekend Special’ that must be from very distant memories when I was a kid and dragged to Fiesta Land (common as fuck place in the North West province) every weekend to watch whichever musician groupie mother was dating at the time perform.

WEEKEND SPECIAL

2 tots or more of the cheapest brandy you can get your hands on

Appletiser

Grandpa powders or aspirin

Mix the brandy and Appletiser in a tall glass over ice and enjoy.  The grandpa powders are for the next morning, preferably with a fry-up breakfast and some Lucozade to prevent you dying from a hangover.

Ok.  Enough fooling around.  Like Ma Brrr, few things embody the Spirit of Africa like Amarula, so here’s a juicy recipe I think she would have loved.

AMARULA COLADA

2 tots Amarula

1 tot white rum

3 tots pineapple juice

1 tot coconut cream

Blend ingredients in a cocktail shaker and pour into a tall glass over crushed ice.  Garnish with a slice of pineapple and an umbrella if you’re feeling fancy.

‘I am a shocker.  I like to create controversy, it’s my trademark.’

~ Brenda Nokuzola Fassie (3 November 1964 – 9 May 2004)

Cheers Bitches!

- GGC

Weekend Special

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 flu. There is a word for that and the word is 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 is more 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 flu. 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 taking. Obviously relieved she phoned 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 performing 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.

SA Blog Awards

Much to our surprise and delight we just got notified that we won best runner up in the LGBT category of the SA Blog Awards. We are especially surprised because we have only been going for about 4 months... Many thanks to everyone who voted for us!
I have to add that even here I'm still the token straight chick, just like when I wrote for The Modern L hahahahaha Love it!
SA Blog Awards

Live well, love much, laugh often and always remember to dance!
GeeGee xx

Welcome to Fairyworld!

Seeing as I'm still on leave, I think I shall take you to one of my favourite places today...Fairyworld...no darling, it's not a new gay club in Pretoria...it's a place one can escape to in ones mind, where you can be and do what ever you please, far far away from the real world and who and what you really are. Fairyworld is a nice place to escape to every once in a while, but be careful, an extended stay there cannot possibly be healthy, and if you visit there too often, you may find yourself becoming a permanent resident there. Allow me to introduce you to some of the people that have decided to make Fairyworld their forever home:

It seems only fitting that we start our meet and greet with the Kween of Fairyworld...

No one can quite remember when she arrived, just that she's never had any inclination to leave. She's earned her crown by building a media empire in her own mind and fancying herself as being the next Oprah because she interviews "celebrities". In the real world, the only "celebrities" she's ever interviewed, write for this blog, and hey, we did it for a laugh. Her so called interviews were published on a facebook group that she added unwilling members to, and the only people that seem to like it are the ten moffies who are waiting to read their own interviews or their mates interviews. Apparently, according to only herself of course, is that her "blog" was nominated for some award and that she received over 3000 votes. Voei tog...If there is an ounce of believability in that I wonder how many people fell for it, especially considering that all the 'votes' had to be sent to her own email address. Just chew on that one for a moment. She spends an exorbitant amount of time creating the smoke and mirrors, but then again, she doesn't have anything meaningful to do with her time. Truth be told, she hasn't been seen out in public in ages and that may well be because she can't find gainful employment in the real world, she's not very good looking, her choke chain is tied to mommy's apron strings and because she doesn't have very many friends in the real world. Bitch needs to get laid.Yet she still believes she runs an empire out of a mansion in Beverly hills (treinspoorhuisie on the wrong side of the east rand, with mommy of course) with her fan base of millions and in her spare time she acts as the official spokesperson of the entire LGBTI community, deciding who she can and cannot kick out of the treehouse for not playing by her rules. Ag shame...

It seems only fitting that we start our meet and greet with the undisputed messiah of Fairyworld, my very own personal nemesis, the dikgat dominee from Krugersdorp. This one fancies himself as a redeemer, an exorcist and bff of many troubled teens across the country. This one makes me laugh, a lot. According to him, having any sort of statues, figurine ornaments or tribal masks in your house is a sign of demonic possession, that only he can free you of, all gay people are going to hell unless you call upon him to cure you, and he can cure anything from alcoholism and addiction to life threatening illness and satanism with his blessings. I once took him on publicly, to which he then responded by sending me a private message to please remove my comments because it hurt his feelings. So whenever you have a porcelain poodle giving you the evil eye, pop in here for bbm pins, blessings and cheeseburgers!

 

Next mansion to your left belongs to Geegee's speshul friend and stalkertroll. She's a birrova celebrity over here, but that's just because she doesn't fucking shut up, ever. In the real world, we have a saying, empty cans make the most noise, but here in Fairyworld, one's IQ, looks, financial situation and ability to count to ten doesn't matter at all. Over here, she's the belle of the ball, but in the real world she's just shaped like a ball. She seems to be under the impression that men fall over their feet for her, but in reality it's just another meth head, too high to take more than 3 steps on his own. Her mansion is also a tiny townhouse in the slums of Cape Town and what she calls being a lady of leisure in fact means giving hand jobs for airtime so she can cause kak on the interwebs from her 90's Nokia 5110.

                            

Over to your right lives Fairyworld's very own tycoon and well respected wealthier than Donald Trump business man. Excuse his arrogance, his wealth and power seems to have gone to his head. Maybe that's why it appears to be bigger than his body. His businesses include a larger than life marketing and printing business, a restaurant worth millions and an up and coming underwear empire. He is also vegan, an animal activist and a fitness fanatic that drives a rare antique vehicle. In reality he doesn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, is unemployed, homeless and not even his own family wants him. Also, the underwear empire consists of stickmen drawings. He also looks like that red thing with the fishnet stockings in the old Powerpuff girls cartoon. Plus I'm almost 99% convinced that he's vegan because he can't afford meat. No wonder he landed up here, he has nowhere else to go.

And the last house on the right is being leased on a very permanent basis by someone that has the very unique ability to not have her shit together both here and in reality. Her moodswings are so bad, that she even turns on herself from time to time, all the while playing the victim, where everyone is out to get her, everyone does her in, and she goes all out to make it seem like she just lies there and takes it. Truth be told, she only does that in the bedroom, when one of her many male and female suitors of all ages pop in for some leg-over. She is also notoriously house-bound and spends most of her days playing succubus using various chat apps and hookup sites on her tablet to lure in new victims, that is when she's not neglecting her spawn or driving her family into bankruptcy or looking for fights with her lodgers because of her many bad habits.

It seems like global prerequisites for acquiring property in Fairyworld is to be batshit crazy, to live out your days on virtual platforms (you know, where you can capslock people to death), and most importantly to play the victim at all times, especially when you are the one always looking for shit where there isn't any. When everybody hates you, nobody loves you and you want to eat some worms, then best call up your estate agent and secure a prime spot in social media (and your own mind's) most sought after property...

That's it for today. Fairyworld has many more unusual and colorful inhabitants, but that's another story for another time. 

Cheers! 

Lilly Lampshaded