Friday, 18 December 2015

Cocktail Hour - Janis Joplin

Born Janis Lyn Joplin in Port Arthur, Texas, she always felt like an outcast and her mother was once quoted as saying that Janis was never happy with the amount of attention she received at home.  Janis, who became known as Pearl among her friends in later years, was a misfit in high school who escaped into painting and music.  From a young age Janis was obsessed with blues and styled herself as a blues heroine.  In 1963 she moved to San Francisco and around this time her drug use increased to the point that she became so skeletal that in 1965 friends threw a ‘bus fare’ party for her so that she could return home.  Back in Port Arthur she changed her lifestyle dramatically, avoiding drugs and alcohol and enrolling in University to study anthropology.  The lure of music was very strong so she would travel to Austin to perform solo over weekends and in 1965 she recorded seven studio tracks which were re-issued in 1995 labelled ‘This is Janis Joplin 1965’.  In June 1966 she was recruited to join psychedelic rock band ‘Big Brother and the Holding Company’ and she moved back to San Francisco.  She stayed clean for several weeks and made the band promise that needles would not be used in their rehearsal space or her apartment.  In August 1966 while the band were recording an album in Chicago she relapsed back into drinking.  As the band made a name for themselves over the next few years they were often referred to by the media as ‘Janis Joplin and the Big Brother Holding Company’ which caused resentment within the band, eventually leading to their split in 1968.  Joplin formed a new backup group ‘The Kozmic Blues Band’ and they reached quite a bit of success with their ‘Kozmic Blues’ album going gold, although it didn’t quite match the success of ‘Cheap Thrills’ that she recorded with the Holding Company.

Joplin was the ultimate hippie chick, embracing free love in all its forms and although she had male lovers she also had a relationship with long term friend Peggy Caserta.  Always the non-conformist she had her Porsche painted in psychedelic colours which gave purists hives, not that she gave a damn.  When Joplin was invited to perform at Woodstock in 1969 she had never heard of the festival before despite the organisers advertising her as a headlining act.  The band were flown in by helicopter and had a 10 hour wait backstage where Janis shot heroin after freaking out when she saw the massive crowds outside.  She was more comfortable playing intimate venues so when she eventually went onstage she was drunk and high and kept asking the audience if they were staying stoned.  Her voice was hoarse and wheezy and she found it hard to dance and reports say that she was very unhappy with her performance that night, so unhappy that she insisted her singing was not included in the documentary or the soundtrack album.  After the band broke up at the end of 1969 Janis went to Brazil and stopped her drug use but after returning to the US many believe it was her romantic relationship with Peggy Caserta that set her back on her path of intravenous drug use.  Caserta claimed in her book that they decided to stay away from each other in an effort to stop using heroin but despite that Janis Joplin eventually overdosed on heroin in a hotel room in October 1970.  What a waste of an amazingly gifted soul.

Janis Joplin’s tipple of choice was Southern Comfort so I've chosen a couple of recipes to share with you.


1 tot Southern Comfort
20ml lemon juice
20ml apple juice
2 teaspoons apricot jam
8 mint leaves
15ml sugar syrup
Put the ingredients in a jam jar, muddle, half fill with crushed ice, screw the jars cap on and shake.  Top up with crushed ice and garnish with a lemon wedge.


1 tot Southern Comfort
Splash of cranberry juice
Dash of Tabasco
Shake and strain into shot glass.  If like me you don’t have the patience just make a whole lot in a cocktail shaker in one go.


1 and ¼ cups Southern Comfort
5 cups cranberry juice
330ml soda water
30ml lime cordial
Mix all the ingredients in a pitcher, add ice and garnish with lime slices.

Cheers bitches!
GeeGee Curtained x

‘People, whether they like it or not, like their blues singers miserable.  They like their blues singers to die afterwards.’ ~ Janis Joplin (19 January 1943 – 4 October 1970)

Tuesday, 15 December 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.

Monday, 14 December 2015

I think I have reached a new level of tired.

It seems 2015 was the year that whipped past me, hit me in the head with a crowbar and was chuckling as I was left behind to bleed to death. It was the year of introspection and unfortunately a few hard truths had to be digested by my brain.
I am a fan of the term (or used to be): "Everyone has a bit of good within them". It seems that Murphy and a few other characters like Satan has made me re-evaluate what this saying means to me. It now reads: "Everyone has a little good within them... when it suits them and if they need anything from you".
It is sad that I am only realizing it this late in life and I know there are exceptions. But I was a blind fool to believe everyone just had good intentions and life was sunshine and roses. I guess that would be why my previous girlfriend thought it would be fun to leave me 100 grand in debt. It was because I was a gullible, stupid, feet of the ground fool. Ten years later and I am almost done. The last remnants of one account is being paid off. While I am very grateful I was able to do this, albeit over 10 years, I have this deep dark resentment living in my belly. Every now and again it flares into an uncontrollable rage. I nurture the rage because it will ensure I never make that mistake ever again.
People and girlfriends don't always have your best interests at heart. They will break and mould you into which ever version of you they like (and suits them) best. Again there are exceptions. But I am now able to look and mostly identify when I need to exclude a person from my life. Don't be scared to delete people from your life. Everyone is not for you, as you are not for everyone. It does not make you a bad person, it makes you strong enough to realize who to let go.
eople who do not contribute positively can keep left, thanks.
That being said, I am still learning and I hope that whatever life has in store for me, that I am able to buckle up and ride it out like a boss.
And again, if I can ever just give you one tip, never take a loan on your name when your girlfriends credit rating is bad or her salary is not enough. Stand up for yourself even if she calls you a bitch.

Thursday, 10 December 2015

Why I don't do bush

A few months ago my Gentledyke and her wife came to visit and talk turned to camping and so on. I chipped in and nipped any ideas of a camping weekend in the bud when I said I don't do bush and Gentledyke's wife asked me why. I never got a chance to tell her the story because as so often is wont to happen when you put Hubs and Gentledyke in a room together, especially if you add a few drinks to the mix, things got rather ribald and they immediately started ribbing me about another kind of bush and it all went a bit downhill from there.  Seeing as one of my co-conspirators co-bloggers Pierre wrote about camping when nature hates you  I thought I would share an old piece of mine as well. You know, to explain why despite the fact that I live in Africa, I absolutely abhor being 'out there'... I do think Pierre's misadventures in nature beats mine hands down though! 

When we got back to South Africa after living in the concrete jungle called Barcelona for 2 years Hubs wanted to spend some time in the bush. Knowing that I don't do camping after the one time we went when we were teenagers and I had to bathe in an ice cold stream he booked 3 nights for us in a 4 star resort near the Kruger National Park. What he refrained from telling me was that it was a tented camp. A fucking tented camp!! I nearly had a shit fit when we arrived after a 5 hour drive and I saw our 'luxury accommodations'. Yes, the tents were on stilts. Yes, they had fully functional bathrooms and the rooms looked nice enough if you had a thing for pink. Yes, the duvets were goose down and snuggly. But. It's still a fucking tent! Even the bloody bar was in a tree. 

It was with much trepidation that I went up the wooden steps into our tent and I was right to feel that way. I hadn't even put my bags down before I saw a HUGE spider with all 200 of its eyes glowing like something in a horror movie on the canvas ceiling above the bed. Clearly that was me and I legged it back to the car. 3 staff members, two ladders, a metal bucket and a broom later they managed to remove it and after having 5 vodka's in the tree to calm my nerves I went back to our 'room'. Long stories but suffice to say that I will only ever go back if Hell does indeed freeze over. Leopard tracks right outside the tent? Are you kidding me? I had visions of being pulled off the loo by a leopard with my knickers around my ankles in the middle of the night – not the best or most ladylike way to iron one’s wings. If leopards can climb trees they can certainly climb stairs so all the assurances in the world didn't make a smidgen of a difference to my abject horror at the situation I found myself in.

We also went on a night game drive in an open vehicle and the ranger managed to get us stuck in the middle of a pride of lions. When the male charged us and the ranger said with pure undiluted panic in his voice that we must shine our torches at it and shout? Jaysusmaryandjoseph. I tell you Butterflies, I have never felt fear like I did that day with my son sitting between me and a charging lion. In my panic to get to him my foot got stuck under the seat in front of me but thankfully the lion turned around before I dislocated something trying to get to my child. While all this was going on Hubs was trying to out stare a lioness on his side of the vehicle – further proof that we really are Yin and Yang. I'm shitting myself and the man is in a staring contest with a lioness that was close enough to touch. After that monumental fuckup and also getting us stuck in the middle of a herd of wildebeest the ranger got news that there was another pride or troupe or whatever of some more wildlife. I was not very popular with the rest of the guests when I said I can see it all in a book thankyouverymuch and would like to go back to camp. I got my way - I can throw a mad tantrum that would put a 2 year old to shame when necessity dictates and as far as I was concerned it really was a necessity to get back to the tree bar as fast as possible.

That night we had supper under a tree in a 'boma' and something fell on my shoulder and came slithering down my chest. I yelled like a demented djin and the whole table went flying when I jumped up frantically swatting at myself - food, crockery and cutlery rained down on all. It was a foil wrapped block of butter. Apparently there was butter balanced on my spoon and when I sat down I hit it with my elbow, flicking the butter up into the air and it landed with a thump on my shoulder. Such a commotion ensued that the kitchen staff came running to see what was attacking the camp... Not my finest moment... erm... Plus it taught me that there really is a reason for the table manners rule of no elbows on the table. The lady who runs the camp told me they had never seen anyone run up a tab like I did in that tree bar, but I’m completely unapologetic about that. When the going gets tough, the tough go drinking – in my case anyway. It also didn't help matters much that the first day we went to visit a traditional Shangaan village and every night after that I dreamt about impi with assegaai's standing over my bed, no wonder I couldn't get out of there fast enough. After we left I got a letter from the camp saying if I visit again they promise to keep the wild butter under control. Verryyyy funnyyyyy. Fat chance though, I won’t go back even if they paid me.

Fast forward a couple of years to when Hubs somehow managed to talk me into going hunting with a bunch of friends. "Don't worry babe, it's proper accommodation this time, not tents." THE LONGEST 4 DAYS OF MY LIFE FOLLOWED. Proper accommodation my ever expanding ass! It was dusk when we arrived and rounding a corner I almost walked right into a lion up on its hind legs and I suspect I pee'd a little when my legs turned to jelly. How in the blue hell was I supposed to know it was stuffed? I think stuffing animals is a horrible practice regardless of what kind of animal it is but anyway. I am very pleased that defending teasing me by pretending to kill the stuffed lion that nearly killed me and shooting at cans was the only hunting Hubs did, I'm not sure how I would have been able to look at him if he had murdered Bambi.

The chalets had thatch roofs (spider paradise!), the toilet was so high my feet didn't touch the ground making it impossible to 'hover' over - a germaphobes absolute nightmare (Hubs thought that was very funny for some reason and asked me to put my hair in pigtails) and I stressed the entire time about the reason for them being built like that, the kitchen had no glass windows - just big holes in the wall, there was a leopard prowling around and there was zero cellphone signal. I locked myself in the car with my duvet, my pillow and a book the entire time the rest of them went hunting, feeling very sorry for myself grateful for the cocoon of safety I created.

There is a sneaky picture someone took of me trying to make contact with the outside world with my phone and the abject misery on my face speaks absolute volumes. It wasn't really cold enough for the ski hat - that was in case something dropped on me out of a tree. What you can't see are the 3 layers of clothes I'm wearing, the cans of Doom in each pocket and my pants tucked into Wellington boots. I looked like a pink version of the Michelin Man but I couldn't give a damn. The very first morning when I tried to leave our chalet there were 5 enormous spiders that looked like crabs (I kid you not!) with weird hard shell bodies blocking my way to the door. After an epic battle with the Doom and every hair on my body standing on end I made it to the communal kitchen where a friend found me crying into the toast I was making for everyone when I realised I still had 3 nights left in the bowels of hell and said ‘friend’ thought that was hilarious. Motherfucker.

 Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse a woman who looked like Ma Baker came driving up with 6 of her sons in the back of a truck all carrying rifles. My first thought was "Oohhhhhh ferk, we're in for it now. These people don't kill you, they keep you..." Turned out she owned the land and came by to bring the men a baboon skull which was meant to be good luck for hunting. Euw. As much as that creeped me out I was relieved I wasn't going to be kept in a basement a la 'The Hills Have Eyes'. Sleeping sitting up with only your nose sticking out of your duvet is NOT to be recommended either, I was an exhausted wreck by the time we left. I'm very grateful for the booze we took along; I never would've made it otherwise. I've since been officially banned from any trips into the middle of nowhere - suits me just fine. I told Hubs he can drop me off at Sun City next time and pick me up on the way back. I can't guarantee the health of his credit card statement though... To me the best part of that entire trip was leaving, I was so happy I took a picture!

Unfortunately it isn't just with camping that I get accosted by nature. This lovely portrait was taken in our garden... Apparently it's a baby!!! What. The. Fuck.

I had someone flick it over the wall with a VERY long stick into the neighbour’s yard. Serves them right, they’re the embassy from some godforsaken country that hangs gay people, so part of me hopes the spider grows up fast and has a good munch on ‘His Excellency’s balls and I shall chalk it up to Karma...

Is it really that strange then that I don't sit in the garden after dark? Every single room in my house has a can of Doom ready for emergencies. Sorry creepy crawlies, this is MY turf - you have the entire garden to party in and I’m prepared to give up on my plan of becoming a Buddhist if it means I can’t kill you little fuckers... I guess the fact that I wish I could live in a hermetically sealed bubble really does mean that the picture at the top is true after all... I don't really hate nature though, I just prefer to look at it all one step removed.

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

GeeGee xoxo

Wednesday, 9 December 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 military. 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 reservations 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 were 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 be 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 spend 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 wished 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 my 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 fetus 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 that's going 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.

Monday, 7 December 2015

Fucking Stalkers!!!

I seriously don’t understand people…I mean I should, considering that I spent the better part of 6 years getting a postgraduate degree on supposedly how the human mind works, but I just don’t. Maybe that’s part of the dissuasion that plummeted me onto another career path because I just don’t get people. Here’s why

Case 1: Someone close to me went through a birrova nasty breakup in October. Since then, her ex has gone full psycho…from sending up to 50 messages a day to her family, playing victim-victim with me, frantically trying to get her boss to contact him, harassing the people in her block of flats for information, trying to be buddy buddy with the people at her work, WhatsApping everyone that used to be on her contact list and even creating fake Facebook accounts so he can write nasty shit on her wall. What the fuck dude? Get over it, move on, hug a fluffy cat! Maybe if you weren’t a complete douchebag she wouldn’t have thrown your ass out, and proving that you are completely mental only proves that she made the right decision. Plus, if you’re gonna be that pathetic…why would she want you back?

Case 2 and 3 and 4: This is my own personal experience with girls who don’t quite have all their screws tightened. The first one of the was a girl I dated to spite another girl. Very mature of me, I know, but hey, I was only 23. Little did I know that this budding 20 year old was a bona fide bunny boiler in the making. Our “relationship” also didn’t end very maturely to say the least. I moved provinces, hooked up with another girl and left her ugly, creepy ass behind. In all honesty, her incessant staring at herself in the mirror and pouting while we were on the job freaked me out a little and the fact that I had to either be drunk or high off my face to touch her said enough. She then targeted my friends, trying to get her mates to beat them up at the local, trying to stir conversation with me on social media, she even went as far as to create a “I hate Lilly Lampshaded” group on facebook. I had to laugh at that one…then the middle-of-the-night breathy phone calls started, I was inundated with nude photos of her, I had people following me, and she made sure to go to places knowing I’d be there. Stalker 2 and 3 happened almost simultaneously. One was a married mother of one employee of mine, and the other the fiancĂ©e of a friend of a friend. Both of them supposedly straight. Try nekkid selfies for starters, forced and completely unwanted affection for mains and full blown emotional claptrap for dessert! Stalker three ended up in the psych ward because she “couldn’t handle the rejection” and had a breakdown. She blamed me for it and when her family and fiancĂ© started asking questions, she turned the tables and told them I was the one who wouldn’t leave her alone. Luckily I had proof which I sent to her sister-in-law and even after that the “I will always love you” messages didn’t stop. Bitch, you ain't Whitney Houston, so stop! Stalker 2, with a lot of effort, eventually disappeared. And just so you know, things got so out of hand with stalkers 1 and 3, that I had to take out interdicts to make them leave me alone.

Case 5: GeeGee’s obnoxious stalkertroll! I have had a front row seat to the almost 5 years this particular brand of crazy has been going on. This vetgat has gone to every extreme known to man to prove to the entire internet precisely how pathetic she is and that she has no life. I asked GeeGee once why she hasn't taken out a restraining order considering that she has almost 200 screenshots as proof and she said it's because restraining orders are for pussies and besides, her anger has turned into pity. This particular gutterslut often flies into a booze- and drug-fueled rage and tries to take a swat at the people who have written her low class fat arse off and it must be way too much for her black stone heart to handle. I say 'heart' because she doesn’t have much of a brain and what she did have left she probably snorted away a very long time ago. In my professional opinion, I firmly believe that she is a closet dyke that has a massive girl crush and cannot stand the fact that the object of her rejection is happily married.  Also, by her own admission, she believes in not taming one’s bush…seriously, who wants that???

If someone doesn’t want you, leave them alone, get on with your life. Breakups happen, move the fuck on. There is nothing more pathetic than pining over someone that would rather put a campfire out with their face than look at yours! And why would you want to be around someone that feels that way anyway?

I think I’ve made my point. 

Sunday, 6 December 2015

On being a casual linguist

Disclaimer: For some reason this is what my muse decided it wanted to share - have at it: 

I love languages. It's a passion not so many people share, but I always have - although at first my fascination was limited to my glorious mother tongue, English, I quickly started deciding what other languages I wanted to learn. At the moment I'm only fluent in English and Afrikaans, and my Japanese is not too shabby, but I also know some French, German and Latin.

Languages just make sense to me. They are so intricate, but so much fun to decode; and if you start with one that's considered difficult, it's not so difficult to find your footing in a new one. Language has always been another kind of mathematics to me. Maybe the reason I enjoyed Trigonometry so much at school was because working out those equations was like conjugating verbs. When I got to university, I already knew I was signing up for Latin. It landed up being my second subject for my final year, along with Psychology which I had initially intended to pursue further (I didn't - I chose a language-based field in the end).

 Latin taught me a lot. How to change my thinking from the Germanic grammars of English and Afrikaans. How to think about the functions of words differently; how to think in a new language. I relate everything back to Latin now; I've even used Latin terminology to help me understand the way Japanese grammar works. It's a bit archaic to shove everything into a Latin model; but it's easy to see why they did - it works. Latin also created a nice bridge to other languages for me - I get French, even if I can't spell its ridiculous words sometimes. I can even understand about 60% of the conversation when my girlfriend is speaking Portuguese.

I decided on Latin for two reasons: I was heavily influenced by the Asterix comics via my dad when I was growing up, and I wanted to start making a conlang. What's a conlang? It's a constructed language. Think JRR Tolkien's Elvish, or Star Trek's Klingon.

Or, if you're like this ex-coworker of mine, Game of Thrones' Dothraki. This coworker is permanently crawling out from under new rocks. Despite having read The Lord of the Rings and watched the movies numerous times, being a self-proclaimed Trekkie and my telling her about the world of conlangs, she didn't know people could invent new languages and she insisted that the makers of Game of Thrones were so revolutionary - "Who would have thought to make a whole new language for a series?!"

Bitch, please - even Disney has done it:

Then again, given that she thought Japan was part of China when she wanted to go teach there, and didn't know the difference between a passport and a visa (at age 28), I guess I can't be cross with her that Game of Thrones was her whole life. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. By the way, she is the sole reason I point-blank refuse to watch that show. I don't need to, since she never shuts up about it and I already know every episode in detail...

But, I digress. I wanted to make a conlang that was a new Romantic language (Protip: Romantic means it's derived from the language the Romans spoke, not that they are made for wooing people. Have you ever listened to French properly? What an ugly-sounding language...). I thought it would be a cool challenge. One of my friends, who is also quite obsessed with languages, even tried to collaborate with me on making a conlang; but we didn't know where to start and it kind of fell aside. Now we both know quite a bit of Latin and Japanese and bits and pieces of other languages instead.

Latin was my second linguistic love after English, until I really started paying attention to the actual Japanese language when watching the handful of anime that I watched. And it was again so different, so interesting - and when I started learning it properly, I fell a love-hate relationship. What a beautiful, different, and intensely frustrating language - there are always a million ways to say the same thing, becoming increasingly complicated depending on the nuances - an artefact of Japanese culture where you can never just call a spade a spade. I've been studying Japanese a little over 4 years (not very intensely), and it's been a wild ride. I can't wait to learn more.

I already have two more languages on my list, but for once I want to make sure I master my current language before I move on, so when I'm much more confident in my Japanese and maybe move it from a C language to a B language; I will start on Mandarin Chinese or Portugese. Hey, if I have a Portugese surname one day, I should at least be able to speak it!

Wednesday, 25 November 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 miles a day.  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.

On arriving on the Friday, the first “camping site” was basically a room with a questionable roof on it, 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 number two, was to go in there, hold my breath and pray that the whole thing didn’t cave in while I was in there.  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.  “No hot water, no indoor toilet, no indoor shower, no electricity.  Why the fuck did I do this to myself?” I remember screaming.  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, completely paranoid about snakes, to the first “camp site” 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 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 to me.  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.  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 things 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!

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 honey” I mumbled to which hubby mumbled back “Stop what?

Just then the tickling went down my chin, down my neck and into my shirt.  I woke up, reached for my flash light opened my 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.  

Till next time.