Monday, 10 October 2016

Riding the Anaconda

I first published this piece on my old blog quite a few years ago asking if anyone knew who wrote it because it was anonymous. As the person who always volunteers 'out of the goodness of my heart' to look after everyone's valuables when they go on these gawd awful rides I can totally relate and I was crying with laughter while reading this! I accidentally logged into my old blog's email account and much to my surprise there was an email from the author who has agreed to join our team of Merry Misfits over here. Us South Africans have a unique way of blending English and Afrikaans and that's why I am creating a 'Saffer Style' tab for his writings...
Hope you enjoy...
GeeGee x

Riding the ANACONDA

I am a father.  So, sometimes I need to do stuff that fathers do.  In the old days, it was marbles and tolle and ketties.  Things have changed.

So, two weeks ago, the fucking bright sparks over the road here, whispered the words "GOLD REEF CITY" into my laaities ears, and what can you do?  You go to GRC.

Ok, so I checked the website... nananana, looks like piss, hier en daar n fokken ride or two, and I wanted to go down the mine.  So ek trek my plakkies aan, kam my hare, and off we go.

We got there early.  Ek kap manhaftig twee worsbroodjies weg, en n halfliter melk, and followed my son to the first ride... called Runaway Train.

We get on, and I thought these things were for kids and stuff, and off it went.  I did not like it.  It was going sideways and shit, and I was queasy when I got off.

What bothered me though was the sound coming from behind me somewhere. Dit klink soos n fokken boeing wat land.  And then I saw it.  Big signwriting... ANAFOKKENCONDA.

I had to keep face, I wear the pants in this family.  Ek maak my arms bak, en ek loop fier en regop teen die dekplank op.  Ek gaan die donner ry, what can go wrong?

There was a queue and the fuck up with that is, you can see what the thing does to people.

When it came in the second time, and a young student dude, met spiere waar ek voue het, got out, and kots oor die reling, toe weet ek, my kak is uitgeknip vir my.

Then it was our turn.  Jono chickened out, BUT my wife was checking me out. This is where you have to be nonchalant, and manly.  I kept my chin up, en my hol toegeknyp.

You get into this thing, and you hang.  The safety bar didn't want to go over my hoenderborsie, so I pulled a Ville Valo, and made myself thin, and hooked a clip too close.... I think.

KLANG KLANG KLANG KLANG.... en kom ons fok nie rond nie.... skielik is ek so bang dat ek n bliksemse nieraanval kry..... dan draai die kak ding en FOK HY NA BENEDE....MET DIE SPOED VAN N HEILIGE FOKKEN WIT ELAND.

I shit you not, forget any car, bike, plane or whatever the fuck you measure your manliness by.... it accelerated like nothing I have ever felt.  But if this wasn't enough, gaan donner die ding onderstebo met jou.  I feel the worsrolletjie.  No wait, I feel the texture of the worsrolletjie, every fucking fibre of the worsrolletjie.

Kerels, we came out that first loop met die spoed van fokken wit lig. I wanted it to stop.  I haven't prayed in 22 years.... I did then. We leveled out, and then it hit the second loop. Shorter radius than the first. Ons fok daardeur, en ek verloor my plakkie. Onderstebo, and then around 2 flat corners wa ek 10 jaar ouer word, and then....  the fucking thing corkscrewed. Klits daai fokken broodjie en die melk laat dit lyk soos daai kak wat jy oor bobotie gooi, and another, en fok dit, toe skree ek soos n Namibiese vlakte vlermuis wat se sonar gekak het.

And into the station at 200km/h, and just for shits and giggles, they stop it in 10m flat.

I just sat there.  Stunned, and my wife is oooh and aaaahing, en moet haar jags hou.

It fucked my whole day up.

~ Lokkenfekker

Wednesday, 21 September 2016


I never get involved in news, politics or anything like that because it always gives me hives but this whole Pastor Anderson thing had my blood boiling. The arrogance of this man, the hypocrisy, the blatant disregard for human life. I literally can't even. Yes, I said it. I can't even! Amongst other things this giant douche had the gall to call our beloved Archbishop Desmond Tutu 'perverted' and still thought he would be allowed a visa? How very delusional of him. So it was with absolute glee accompanied by a rather stupid happy dance that I saw social media blow up with the news that he was banned from visiting South Africa! A big fat shout out to all my friends in the LGBT community who were relentless in their quest to make sure this asshole never touched down on South African soil. You guys ROCK! 

Artwork by Riaan Jacobs 
My friend Jaco Lourens from Jockstrap posted this picture below on his Facebook page with the following caption and I think it's rather fitting "Oh honey... if you feel the need to advertise your sexuality on a t-shirt, then I think you have something to hide #StevenAnderson ?!"

What a twunt he is... Shame, there must be so many dust bunnies in his closet by now I'm amazed dude can breathe hahahahaha Honestly, I have yet to meet someone so outspokenly homophobic who isn't a closet queen who's well acquainted with glory holes. 

In all seriousness though... We've had problems in this country and awful heinous acts have been committed against the LGBT community. 'Corrective rape' where lesbians have been gang raped and tortured to death. Be-headings of drag queens. Gay bashing. Bullying of young gay people and their subsequent suicides. Just horrible things... So I'm really proud of our Government for banning this man who publicly calls for the execution of gay people. He's the epitome of evil at it's core in my opinion. I've spent more time than I should on Google looking up Pastor Asshole and I'm feeling sick at some of the things I saw that cannot be unseen. One thing I was happy to see is that fag hags are not welcome in his Church either. I would rather staple my eyelids to a table than spend 10 seconds with this psycho and his cult.  How this man, this lay preacher, has such a following literally boggles my brain. Is it all the fracking going on his his neck of the woods? Or generations of inbreeding? Did something heinous happen to him in his childhood to make him so filled with hate? Or has he just found a niche where he can take money from people who can't brain for themselves? I don't know what God he supposedly worships and apparently speaks for but it sure ain't mine. Reading about a lot of his rants I realised that there really is no reasoning with people like him. Whatever his motives may be, I highly doubt they're to save souls. 

Then the Pastor decided he's going to take his soul gathering tour or whatever the fuck he called it to Botswana. Well, Botswana didn't take very long to boot him out of the country:

I Whatsapped my friend Terry Tiger Victor from Drag Queen Headquarters  and said "Quick, most epic gay anthem ever?" and without missing a beat or asking me why he replied with "I will survive". It's the perfect song in my opinion. Even though it's about a lost love the lyrics can be applied to other issues as well. Survival bebe! The attitude being you will never break us, we will always stand up and fight. And be FABULOUS and FIERCE! 

Celebrate the Victory people!!! 

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

Friday, 9 September 2016

The 13th Floor. Life Coaching GG Style.

*Disclaimer - I have zero formal training. Unless a Doctorate from the University of Life counts*

A few years ago I was having a natter while driving with my honorary gay son and he told me that I should become a life coach. I was so taken aback that it's a good thing he was driving because I would probably have run us into a ditch. I kept my pose and asked him what on earth would make him say that. His response took me by surprise. He said it was because I helped him come out and I have a way of putting things that gets right to the point without sugarcoating and I call bullshit when I see it. And there I thought I was just a bad tempered auld bitch who is always way too blunt.

Anyway, what he said to me did make me ponder a few things. I've always considered Life Coaching to be the biggest scam out there. You pay a small fortune for someone to tell you how to live your life, usually using advice that is common fucking sense. Of course there must be exceptions but I have only ever met one Life Coach who has got an actual degree and didn't get her training off a website on the internet. In my opinion that book The Secret is no better than any other self help book out there. She has the secret all right, raking in millions off writing something that is filled with.... COMMON SENSE. Another example that irritates the living bejaysus out of me is a family I unfortunately had the displeasure of once knowing. Father's business tanked so he got certified via the internet as a life coach. That's not so bad right? Live and let live and all that shite. But he didn't leave it there. Suddenly dude was training others to be life coaches. His entire extended family are now life coaches who charge a LOT of money for their particular brand of wisdom. My personal favourite being his son who's balls hadn't even dropped properly yet, how is anyone supposed to take someone so young seriously as a life coach? Funny thing about all this is that I know exactly just how dysfunctional this family is but looking at their social media pages etc you would be excused for thinking that everything is just hunky-fucking-dory. Father is also a Life Coach at a private school where he teaches children under 12. The very thought of that makes me shudder. Who does background checks on people who work with children? Who is in charge? Who's head is going to roll when it turns into a giant clusterfuck? Someone seriously dropped the ball in this case...

So yeah, that brings me to how I personally deal with issues. It may not be to everyone's taste but it certainly works for me. It's no secret that I also come from a rather dysfunctional family and it's quite frankly a fucking miracle that I am a contributing member of society who's been happily married to the man I met when I was 13 for almost 3 decades. My issues aren't with my own little tribe, they're with others. Blood relatives and friends who I called family. People I trusted. People I would do anything for. People who turned on me, betrayed me and were then surprised when I didn't want them in my life anymore. Why the fuck would I want people I can't trust in my life? I may have become a bitch but I'm not insane. And don't even get me started on the whole forgiveness thing. To me forgiveness means letting people back into your life and there are certain individuals that will be back in my life the day I win a gold medal as an Olympic gymnast. That doesn't mean I harbor resentment, I've come to the realisation that people can't help their inherent natures and if I am angry at anyone then it's myself for not seeing through the bullshit earlier. #LoyaltyFail 

I know it's important to always keep moving forward and dwelling on the past prevents one from doing that so I don't dwell. Ever. When there is something that keeps trying to burrow it's way back into my consciousness I delegate it to what I call my 13th Floor. A place I will visit one day. Or not.  My 13th Floor is like a lot of hotels in Canada, they don't have one! It's there but it's not there. Of course there are people who get something good out of therapy and there's nothing wrong with that but personally I can't see how picking at things that happened in the past can possibly make me feel better. The only hold the past has on me is how I react to certain situations and when my knee jerk is something I'm not proud of then I make an effort to change the way I think about things. My favourite form of therapy is having a few drinks with someone I trust and having a good natter anyway. 

As humans we all have a tendency to worry too much about other people who actually have no real impact on our lives and that brings me to what is still one of my favourite lessons ever. I have mentioned it before but it needs to be in this piece. Whenever I talk to my friend Black Sam and ask him how he's doing his response is always this: "Life is good thanks Mami, my wife and children still smile when they see me so life is good." See? At the end of the day only those who are under your roof are the ones who should matter most. As long as you're happy in your own home life is good. And if you're not? Then do something about it!  

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

This song has been stuck in my head for days and I think it may have inspired this post which is VERY different from my usual shit hahaha

Thursday, 8 September 2016

Dear Pastor Anderson

With all your hate filled views:
I don't condone violence but gays should be executed
 and your wife calling all Africans animals:
Wife of homophobic US pastor slams SA blogger over IVF
 why on earth are you so determined to visit a country you are not welcome in? Maybe you should both get one of these to shut you the fuck up.

Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Cocktail Hour - Mae West

Born Mary Jane West she was an actress, playwright, singer and screenwriter known for her bawdy double entendres and long career in Vaudeville.  Mae was an open supporter of gay rights and was once sentenced to 10 days in prison for ‘corrupting the morals of the youth’.  A true Diva, she refused to wear the prison issue knickers and wore her own silk panties while serving time.  Mae dined with the warden and his wife and was given 2 days off her sentence for good behaviour.  Ms West thrived on giving the censors hives and a lot of her work was banned, most notably her play entitled ‘The Drag’ which dealt with homosexuality and which she called one of her comedy-drama’s of life.  Although Mae was an early supporter of the women’s liberation movement, she was not a feminist and was dubbed the ‘queen of camp’.  Unapologetically outrageous, Mae loved men and had many boyfriends in her lifetime.  Although Mae was married a couple of times she once remarked that ‘marriage is a great institution, I’m just not ready for an institution yet’.  A tiny woman at only 5ft tall she was a real spitfire who lived by her own rules and when the management of her apartment building objected to her African-American lover - boxer Gorilla Jones - visiting her, she solved the problem by buying the building.  She lived in the penthouse apartment with her last lover who was 30 years her junior and cared for her until her death at the age of 87.  

Mae had a couple of interesting effects on pop culture.  Her lips were immortalised in one of the most popular objects of the surrealist movement – The Mae West Lips Sofa created by Salvador Dali in 1938 and during World War II life vests were dubbed ‘Mae Wests’, partly as rhyming slang and partly because they resembled her torso when inflated.

Although Mae was often labelled a good time girl and a brazen hussy she was not much of a drinker and her home bar was stocked with her favourite ice cream sodas.  When she did have a drink she insisted it was Champagne – as befits any sex symbol worth her salt... I'm using my top 3 Champagne cocktails – my personal preference is either Bollinger or Veuve Clicquot but sparkling wine will do in a pinch.  Please don’t call it Champagne though, that’s sacrilege!  As with any Champagne cocktail, pour the other ingredients into the glass first then top with Champagne.  Don’t stir as it will cause a mess, besides – the bubbles do it for you.

Blushing Bride

This beautiful blush coloured cocktail is perfect for toasting a newlywed couple.  It’s also very easy to make and serve to a large party.

1 tot peach schnapps
1 tot grenadine
Pour into a flute and top up with Champagne


The Mimosa is a delightful and simple cocktail that is perfect for a lazy brunch.  You can vary the recipe a little by adding a splash of grenadine or a little cognac.

½ tot triple sec
1 ½ tots fresh orange juice
Pour into a flute, top with Champagne and garnish with an orange slice.

Fruity Champagne Punch

Few things are more festive than a nice Champagne punch.  It would be fine to substitute a good Cava or Prosecco in this case.  You can also be less rigid on the amounts used here and just go by your own personal taste.

1 ½ cups chilled Champagne
1 ½ cups chilled lemonade
3 tots chilled vodka
3 tots Malibu coconut liqueur
1 lime, thinly sliced
100 g frozen raspberries
½ cup fresh granadilla pulp
Combine all the ingredients in a large jug, add ice cubes and serve.

‘When I’m good I’m very good but when I’m bad, I’m better’
~ Mae West 
(August 17, 1893 - November 22, 1980)

Cheers Bitches!

GeeGee Curtained x

Monday, 16 May 2016

The Soundtrack Of My Life

*Self indulgent post alert!!*... and also because I am still on weekend brain and procrastinating! Mondays are bleh.

The other day my son came to me and asked me to make him a list of songs that I feel everyone should have in their collection because he wants to 'download them for posterity' hehehehe He also wanted to know which songs inspired me through my life... Pondering this I have noticed that each different chapter of my life had more than one anthem but instead of putting ALLLLLL of them down I will do my best to only choose one. It's going to be pretty tough methinks but my son will get the entire list of songs I think are epic. Songs by artists like Rodriguez, Cat Stevens, Leonard Cohen, Elton John, Guns 'n Roses, Lenny Kravitz, Led Zeppelin...

The first one absolutely has to be 'I Can See Clearly Now' by Johnny Nash. My late Oumie told me that I would walk around the garden singing it to myself when I was about 3 years old and to this day I get a feeling of comfort mixed with a touch of melancholy whenever I hear it. 

In primary school I started doing modern dancing. It was very popular in the late 70's/early 80's! I loved every single thing about it. Every. Single. Thing. Besides, I was way too much of a tomboy to even think of doing ballet like most other little girls. One of the dances we were taught was the epic one from  the movie Flashdance, 'What a Feeling' and every time I hear it I wish I could still do it. I would probably break a hip now if I attempted it hahaha #AgingSucks At the time I also used to go ice skating at our local rink in town once or twice a week and whenever they played it I would try and emulate the bits from the video. It's a miracle I never broke a limb. 

I met Hubs in high school when I was 13 and he was 15 and about a year or so later the movie 'Highlander' came out. We went to watch it and I was completely bowled away by the soundtrack! I'm sure I heard Queen before then but that soundtrack made me an instant fan for life. 'Princes of The Universe' was unlike anything I had heard before and Freddie Mercury became a god in my eyes. 

In high school I was the poster child for "Rebel without a clue" (naturally I blame Hubs, I was a straight A student until I met him, one of those nerds who would get a merit badge for academics every term) and spent far more time than I should have at our local night club, Jacqueline's. I was way too young to be there but Hubs and I never got stopped at the door, so technically it's on them right? They had an afternoon session on Saturdays for 'teenyboppers' but I wouldn't be caught dead there! I mean really, you couldn't even buy beer. It was around that time Madonna released her first album and I was hooked! The movie 'Desperately Seeking Susan' came out and that's when my inner dufus got wings. 'Into the Groove' was my song back then. I would spend hours getting my look just right before heading to the club, copied the dance, everything. But the absolute worst *cringe* moment thinking back was that I would also turn the hand dryer in the bathroom upside down to dry my hair and underarms like she did in the movie. All the while thinking I was super cool! #TeenageFails

When Hubs was dispatched to the Angolan border just after we got married he told me on his first pass home that the very first night he arrived there he was lying on top of the barracks roof with his Parabat buddies passing a blunt around and they had a tape deck up there with them. He says that almost at the exact time 'No Woman No Cry' by Bob Marley started playing mortars started flying above them in the night sky and every time he hears it he gets catapulted back in time to that moment. I can't even begin to imagine what a mind fuck that must have been for a 19 year old boy from the suburbs! As a 16 year old bride it made a huge impression on me and that's why I chose it for this particular chapter. The almost 2 years I was alone while my husband did his duty to God and Country. 

Shortly after Hubs got back from the army we moved into our first flat. It was a block away from Pretoria Central Station and the area was a bit erm... dodgy. nasty, trashy, dirty, slummy, urban. It's faaaar worse now but back then it was more entertaining to hang over the balcony watching the people than watching telly. We were young, very young, and having that sort of freedom we really didn't pay much mind to those who were horrified at where we chose to live. It's not like we had a budget for much better though, our only furniture when we first moved in was a mattress on the floor and 2 fold up garden chairs. What made it very convenient was the fact that the local weed dealer plied his trade on the corner so scoring was no problem. What? I've never been secretive about the fact that I used to smoke enough weed to make Bob Marley proud! Anyway, I seriously digress. One night in said flat we had a bunch of friends over and we all got stoned out of our minds. 'Purple Rain' by Prince started playing and I was so stoned and just so into it that it honestly felt like I was right there on the stage with him. It was awesome. 2 weeks later I found out I was pregnant and I spent the next almost 9 months having nightmares about my baby being born with an extra limb or something. Apart from an attempt that ended with me hitting my head on the edge of the toilet seat a few years ago the night that was playing was the last time I got stoned but I have always loved that song. I loved it so much that I used to play it to my pregnant belly every day. My son can't stand it though so go figure! Maybe I overdid it hahahaha When I was about 4 months pregnant Hubs slipped in a hobo's pee on the stairs and that was it. We moved right away! Childhood was officially over. 

Flash forward a couple of years to when Hubs and I were both working full time jobs and with a toddler and all the responsibility that comes with taking care of your own selves life could be a bit on the dismal side sometimes. Especially when one had to be up at 5am every morning to go to a job you absolutely hated! Most of our friends were still living it up without a care in the world while pretending to study on their parents' dime and since neither of us was born with a silver spoon and since we didn't have anything remotely resembling a safety net we had no choice. I don't know if it was the moon or what but some days the drudgery of it all really got to me and I had a few go-to songs that I would play before my day started. To help me sack the fuck up! There are quite a few but this one was the best of all, P.M. Dawn 'Gotta Be Movin' Up'. I STILL play this sometimes because quitting is not an option. Ever! 

When I told Hubs about it he told me that he would play 'Bat Out of Hell' by Meatloaf in the car on the way to work every morning to pump him up for the day. Funny thing is that we both had songs to boost us but never discussed it until recently. Maybe we both thought that we each had enough on our own plates to deal with so we decided to self motivate in our own way :) #Love 

When our son was 5 years old we were both earning very good salaries but living past each other because of brutal work hours so we decided it wasn't worth it and we relocated to Cape Town. We packed our kid and whatever possessions we could fit into the car and left. It was the best thing we could ever have done. Terrifying but liberating at the same time. We literally started over. Our first place there was a tiny furnished garden flat in Glencairn and life was beautifully simple. I discovered my inner hippy and my days were spent combing the beach with my son and watching the sun set over the ocean every night while Hubs and I either drank wine or Irish Coffee. Weekends were spent visiting the local library, nearby parks and also hunting for mussels at Misty Cliffs which we would braai in the garden on Saturday nights. At the time Hubs was working for a start-up company who were supplying wine on tap machines to local bars and restaurants so we had a constant supply of red wine and ice cold white wine on tap. The flatlet didn't come with a telly but it had a stereo and we played a LOT of Scrabble. We were poor yet rich, if you get my drift. My son says that when he thinks of those laid back days he thinks of Crash Test Dummies because I would play it often and his favourite song from back then is 'God Shuffled His Feet'. So, a no brainer then that this is the song I choose for that particular chapter.

When our son was about 10 years old Hubs got an opportunity to work in Barcelona and history repeated itself when we packed what we could take on the plane and left. I always laughed at myself when I would play this very late at night when I was rather well lubricated *ahem* and get all emotional and shit about South Africa. In retrospect I suppose that despite it being one of the best adventures of my life I felt a bit isolated and that had a lot to do with not being able to do much more than order a beer in Spanish at first! So... 'Africa' by Toto most definitely has to be on this list.

A few months after we got back from Spain my beloved Oumie died and I was broken. She was everything to me that a mother should be and more and to this day there are still times when I reach for my phone to call her. I remember her telling me when 'Holy Mother' by Pavarotti and Eric Clapton came out how much it reminded her of her own late mother and now it reminds me of her. I took a boom box to her funeral and insisted they play this loud! It's seriously one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard and just like Oumie with her mother, the part where they sing about hands always gets  me... 

About 10 years after we got back I was diagnosed with a brain tumour and this song was my anthem for months before I knew what was going on with me. Let's just say that I completely embraced my craziness and when I first heard 'Crazy' by Gnarls Barkley it promptly became my anthem. Now? It's a reminder that I'm one tough bitch! 

After my operation I was stuck on the sofa for months, safely tucked into a hazy bubble of morphine and codeine based painkillers and I honestly can't think of a better song than 'Afternoons and Coffeespoons' by Crash Test Dummies to commemorate that particular chapter. I was so far removed from my surroundings and thinking back now I don't know how I didn't really go insane. I also had bleeding on the brain and being rushed to hospital at 4am wasn't exactly what I would chalk up as a fun time. I guess that's also why I love this video, I think it's hilarious! #DarkHumour

Hubs eventually suggested I start a blog. That's when GeeGee was born and I gave my inner Drag Queen wings, especially after I loaded a whole lot of Disco songs onto my iPod and discovered 'I Love The Nightlife' by Alicia Bridges. To this day it's still the one song that I am absolutely incapable of sitting still through. The boa's have to come out! Thankfully Hubs is used to my antics so if I've embarrassed him he's been gracious enough not to say anything about it. 

Right, there are a ton of other songs and I don't know yet which one will remind me of this chapter of my life but I guess by the time this chapter is done only my son will be the recipient of it. Hopefully by then I will also have a better answer than "the 80's were a very innocent time" (insert halo caption over my head when I said that) when he asks me again one day what wisdom I can impart having lived through so many decades *cough* Cheeky little shit! 

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

Thursday, 5 May 2016

Because #tbt Dear Constant Headache

Someone asked me the other day to repost this piece that I wrote a few years ago on my old blog because it apparently helped them to deal with something similar. So I thought why not? I found it very cathartic at the time. Sort of like taking control of my fear and anxiety about having another shotgun headache that will more than likely kill me... I don't know why PTSD counseling isn't offered to people who stare death in the face medically, it really does change one. At the time of my diagnosis I joined a couple of online forums because I thought it may help me but they only ended up making me even more anxious and paranoid so I unsubscribed. Since I wrote this my constant headache isn't constant anymore, I only have the odd episode when I have too much pressure building in my head and I have no more anxiety or fear, even though I have been avoiding my annual MRI which is now about 5 years overdue hahaha. One doesn't always have control over the shitty things that life throws your way but you DO have control over how you deal with it. I know this post may offend piss many people off but if it helps even one person then it's worth it. So, here goes... #tbt !
Live well, love much, laugh often and always remember to dance!
GeeGee xx

Dear Constant Headache,
We started doing this fucked up little dance almost 5 years ago and I ignored you for months. You obviously had no idea how good I am at sailing on that river called denial which is probably why you decided to drop me like a sack of shit when I was in the shower 4 years ago with that lovely shotgun headache. Fine, so I lay there like a drowned rat for ages until the cold water woke me up and I finally dragged my wet ass to my bed, popped 6 Myprodol’s and went on with my day. There was no way in hell I was going to be found with my nekkid ass out for all to see which is why you didn’t kill me, even though you were supposed to. When they found the tumour it finally explained why my constant companion Irene was around, especially when I was having a few toots and we could entertain ourselves for hours on end. She was a crazy bitch but I loved her. Irene, rest her soul, ended her days in a medical incinerator and I was left with a very sexy titanium plate to remind me that she existed.

R.I.P. Irene
Fuck Alone Knows - 28.08.2008

When you didn’t manage to kill me outright, you did your best to make me have a melt-down by having me diagnosed while Hubs was away on a business trip to the UK. On the plus side, once I got over the shock I was quite relieved that I wasn’t losing my mind. For months I’d felt like the song ‘Crazy’ by Gnarls Barkley was playing softly in the background while I went about my day. Waking up spooning my Doberman in his bed with no idea how I got there, going shopping and coming home empty handed having left all the packages gawd only knows where, driving over my own handbag and freaking out when someone picked it up and followed me to return it... the list goes on and on. People thought I was mad when I insisted on getting completely plastered with a few close friends before I went to hospital, but the way I saw it I was about to iron my wings and wanted to have one for the road. What a party that was!! We had so many liquid cocaine shooters our pee was blue for 2 days...

Many things are preserved in alcohol - dignity is not one of them! 

 It’s also the only time I wore all my diamond and sapphire jewellery that I still haven’t been at a fancy enough occasion to wear. So I was wearing jeans and a hoodie at the time, so fucken what. Can’t see anything wrong with that... Was I supposed to curl up in a little ball and have a pity party? Sorry!! That’s not in my nature... Hell, I even got annoyed at other people feeling sorry for me. If I’m going to buy the farm I’m going to do it with grace and I’ll be fucked if my son remembers me as a wet snivelling snot nosed heap of fear. The hardest part was being wheeled into that elevator to surgery like a lamb to slaughter and being convinced it’s the last time I’d be laying eyes on my boys. I felt like my heart was being ripped into pieces but there was no way in hell I was going to show it and I gave my husband and son a smile because that’s how I wanted them to remember me. Nobody was more surprised than I was when I woke up in ICU – even the doctor couldn’t believe that I came out of a medically induced coma but I did. Because I was being bed-bathed. With a cake of Lux soap! And one of those blue disposable kitchen cloths... ‘Nuff said!

The Bride of Frankenstein

Ok, so I survived and I don’t think you liked that very much so you decided to make me a codeine addict. Almost 9 months sitting on the sofa looking like a drooling Bride of Frankenstein with my shaved head and another 2 years of being lost in a lovely bubble of prescription drugs. You knew I wouldn’t go to rehab but you didn’t count on me going cold turkey, did you? 4 months of wanting to crawl out of my own skin but I made it. Then 3 months ago you woke me up in the middle of the night and I thought the time had finally come, the Grim Reaper was in town. What worried me the most was that I had Bridget Jones comfy knickers on (what? who sleeps in a bloody g-string??) and I hadn’t had a wax or a pedicure. Death? Nah, not so much.

Breakfast, Lunch and Supper of Champions...

I’ve bumped my head so many times you can serve soup in the dent it’s created but what’s a spaz like me to do? Walk around with a helmet on all day? My neurosurgeon said I’m never allowed to do contact sports again and the look on his face when I asked him if rough sex counts was priceless! I couldn’t resist, the poor man... Serves him right really – I mean, do I look like the type of person who does Sport?? Oh, and that fugly snow hat I have to wear in bed in the winter to keep my plate from giving me brain freeze? I’ve learnt to ROCK it you motherfucker! As far as the titanium plate itself is concerned, it's become a party trick with my son's metal detector, always good for a giggle to hear the 'shoowoong' sound it makes when we're pissed!

I know the ‘kill shot’ can come any day, any time BUT I’ve made my peace, so do your worst... Just make sure it’s fast. I’m NOT going back for more surgery. NEVER again. That’s why I’m almost a year overdue on my annual MRI, I mean what’s the point? I already got rid of everything I don’t want people to find when I’m dead, I’ve planned my memorial (my boys know who’s banned and that the pyramid of shot glasses on top of my ashes better reach the Rabbit Hole ceiling), I’ve learnt what’s important in life and I’m content.

What every Diva needs in hospital

You’ve taught me a lot Constant Headache, and I thank you for it. I know the ‘pain scale’ better than I should. A constant 3 out of 10? Bitch puuuhleeze! Is that all you got? After experiencing the loveliness called bleeding on the brain that’s nothing! You taught me that I’m tough, that I can feel like I’m bleeding from my eyeballs and still won’t give up but most importantly – you’ve put a built-in blood pressure monitor in my head which has helped me get rid of the dead weight in my life. The assholes that drained me and never gave anything back, not even loyalty, and even though it’s been hard it’s been worth it! A lot of people think I’ve become a complete bitch from hell but I couldn’t give a flying fuck through a rolling doughnut to be honest. If I’m going to die tonight or tomorrow I’m sure as hell not wasting any more time on fucktards and users. So what if I happen to be related to some of them? I’ll explain myself when I get to the pearly gates. If I go downstairs instead? They better have vodka there... and Drag Queens... and poker games, that’s all I’m saying.... And you know what? Irene might have gone up in a ball of flames but GeeGee was born out of the ashes like a motherfucking Phoenix and she’s growing on me.

So fuck you Dear Constant Headache. You're not getting the better of me, no matter how hard you try. I'm done with pills and I'm done with you. 


I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that place.
Even your emotions had an echo
In so much space

And when you're out there
Without care,
Yeah, I was out of touch
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough
I just knew too much

Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Possibly [radio version]
probably [album version]

And I hope that you are having the time of your life
But think twice, that's my only advice

Come on now, who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you think you are,
Ha ha ha bless your soul
You really think you're in control

Well, I think you're crazy
I think you're crazy
I think you're crazy
Just like me

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember is thinking, I want to be like them
Ever since I was little, ever since I was little it looked like fun
And it's no coincidence I've come
And I can die when I'm done

Maybe I'm crazy
Maybe you're crazy
Maybe we're crazy

Uh, uh

Wednesday, 13 April 2016

On being a baby lesbian

So, for those of you that don’t know, I’m thoroughly a 90’s kid. Born in 1990 on the dot, I’m starting to feel the fossilisation as I approach my 26th revolution around the fireball we call the Sun. Even so, I still have a lot of growing up to do. For one, I’m still sponging off my parents, but I’m trying very hard not to be a NEET.

Anyway, I have always felt this weird schism within myself regarding my age. On one hand, I feel so much older than other 20-somethings, but on the other I feel like I missed out on a lot and I’m still that awkward kid trying to figure out what to do with her rapidly pubescing body.

When I was a teenager, I was kind of a prude. A lot of that was to do with the fact that I was scared shitless of other people, and there’s not much room for experimentation with anything when you spend 8 hours a day at school and the rest locked in your room listening to Blondie and Alanis Morissette (or System of a Down when I was angry). I got drunk for the first time when I was 18, and my friend’s mom made me drink one of those big bottles of that god-awfully sweet Four Cousins rosé. My experimentation with sex involved me writing some very unrealistic naughty stories on a site I wasn’t even close to old enough to be on, legally speaking. So I was pretty much stuck in some kind of limbo some people would consider very boring until university.

That’s not to say I went completely wild like some of my friends did when they hit first year, but for once in my life I started to settle into my own skin and stopped being such a fucking stick-in-the-mud. By that time I’d just realised I’m clearly not a heterosexual – something that had been in the back of my mind since I was about 15 and couldn’t stop thinking about kissing my one friend, but was made real to me in the months leading up to Orientation Week (heh) like a very hard slap in the face when I found myself watching Imagine Me & You (Lena Headey – woof!). Most of my first year was spent pining over this girl in my English class who I eventually took on a pseudo-date only to find out she was completely straight when she kind of freaked out when she realised what I was up to. I got a few more mixed signals from her, but ultimately I avoided her after that.

When I was 21, my one friend, who has been openly gay from the time she was like 14 years old, let me join her at a gay bar she wanted to go to. It was the first time I’d (properly) set foot in a club, gay or not. I got very drunk. I was sitting chatting to my friend who messaged to check up on me as he knew it was my first club experience, when this woman came up to me and handed me her BBM pin on a scrap of paper, telling me to use it or don’t use it, before disappearing again into the ether. Long story short, she’s now my girlfriend and we’ve been together for nearly four years.

Yes, I was already 21 when I had my first kiss, when I first slept with someone, when I started my first relationship. Some people, including the wife (well, she will be my wife soon enough) tell me I’m very lucky that I haven’t ever had my heart broken and that I found my soulmate (if you believe in that – I do) right off the bat. I wouldn’t trade what I have for anything, but sometimes I wish I had been more normal when I was younger.

I still wish I was normal today, but hell – if it hasn’t happened by now it never fucking will so I may as well stop deluding myself.

I feel like I’ve been thrown in the deep end sometimes – the sex alone is confusing. How the hell am I supposed to know what I’m doing if the most intimate I’ve ever been with someone before was asking them if I could borrow their pencil and then accidentally chewing on it because I was daydreaming?

I still have a long ways to go in both the relating and the relations departments but luckily I’m a quick learner. And boy, am I learning! Luckily I have a great teacher, as well as the internet to tell me all about the myriad of things I didn’t know before. Like how much of a dork I am.

Case in point – I’m very, very curious about a vibrator – a specific vibrator, actually. It’s called the Vesper. I nearly squealed when I saw it, because I think it’s really fucking cool. Like, I need one. It is a vibrator disguised as a pendant necklace. The wife laughed hard when I first showed her pictures and didn’t see the cool factor at all. I felt a bit embarrassed, but I’m still determined to get one just so I can wear it and never show it to anyone. I probably won’t use it for anything except a subtle-ish statement to myself,  though (“I’m not a mormon”...I should have that engraved on it!), as I’m still very shy when it comes to sex and I’ve only seen vibrators before at Sexpo, and not even up close. Apparently I’m still very out of the loop when it comes to this trend of being “sexually liberated”, but hey, give me a break. I’m still only a baby lesbian!

I may be behind in a lot of ways, but I’ll say it again – the only real bummer about the way my life turned out is that I didn’t meet my girlfriend a lot sooner...

...and that I’m nearly 26 and I giggle at vibrators online and watch cooking shows obsessively instead of focussing on my academia and career because sometimes my brain just wants me to be a teenager again.

Monday, 11 April 2016

Not quite Kim Kardashians ass

I've written about Hubs before when I was a columnist for the Modern L and back then what sparked the post was all the shockhorror messages I received from readers about a certain picture of us I posted in the #throwbackthursday section. Being as obstreperous as I am obviously I posted it as a profile picture on my Facebook recently. Obviously.

This time I got a few inboxes from fb 'friends' who thought they had the 'right' to tell me off about our lack of respect. Jaysuswept, I can't even. The blatant cheek of that blows my mind. I'm undecided if it's stupidity or arrogance that gives strangers the impression that it's ok to be so fucking judgmental and preachy so maybe it's a combination of the two. I'm not writing this because I give a fuck about what people think but because I love this story so much I can tell it 2000 times and enjoy it every time. With relish and glee! It may not have broken the internet like Kim Kardashian's ass but there has been a shitload of lashback, and I love it! So here goes... 

Hubs and I got married in 1988 and fought tooth and nail to get permission. I was 16 and he was 19 so I guess we were rather fortunate to get away with it but when it comes to me, I can ‘outstubborn’ a donkey. I blatantly refused to attend school and announced that they may as well sign the papers so that I could get a job and become a contributing member of society. Many family members thought it was a shotgun wedding and I’m happy to say we disappointed the hell out of the gossipmongers when our son only came along in 1990. One family member didn’t attend because “they don’t waste time going to weddings of marriages that won’t last” (#inyourface #fuckyouverymuch #28yearslater). The reason we got married was because Hubs was doing his National Service at the time and his army pay would double (from R200 to R400 a month lololol) and the added bonus was that I would be emancipated from my parents. On our wedding day my father-in-law brought the woman who was the cause of his marriage disintegrating along and it completely spoiled the day for my late mother-in-law – it was her only son’s wedding day and what was meant to be a special day was completely ruined for her. We were furious at the cheek and blatant disrespect, especially considering the fact that they weren’t divorced yet and we vowed to get revenge for the humiliation my mother-in-law suffered by her husband parading his mistress in all our faces. At least everyone could see just how common the she-devil was when she put a cigarette out in her cake. Oh, and our wedding gift from them and the only contribution my father-in-law made towards the wedding? A miniature bottle of J.C. Le Roux sparkling wine with 2 champagne glasses which was a corporate gift from the company she worked for. Luckily for them we were so tired and hungover from the night before that we both almost passed out in the church while the minister was rambling on so we didn’t have the energy to start a fight.

3 days after we were married Hubs was dispatched to Oshakati on the Angolan border to do his ‘job’ in the Special Forces (fuck me, he was sex on legs in that uniform!) and our only contact was via letters and the odd phone call. Flash forward about 8 months and father-in-law and the she-devil announce they are getting married. I wasn't invited and Hubs would have been perfectly fine not attending but father-in-law went to great lengths to arrange a special pass for Hubs so he had no choice, not that I was complaining about finally seeing him again and getting my much needed dose of man! A HUGE deal was made out of the impending nuptials; dresses and suits were tailor-made, the church was decorated to the nines with great big floral arrangements, a limo bedecked in miles of ribbon was hired to take the blushing bride to the church… Such a fat broo-ha-ha that there were relatives and friends flying in from all across the globe… You get the picture. Maybe it's just me but how very fucking pathetic, ridiculous, laughable...   

Hubs told me that I had better come with him, especially since I was his wife now and who was I to refuse? Noddafuck were we going to waste money better spent on a good jol (or several) on an evening dress and a suit so Hubs and I decided to wear the kind of clothes we were usually seen in at our favourite haunts at the time; Jacqueline’s Discotheque, Nightshift, Pig & Whistle and Club Equusite (a local gay club we would frequent, which may explain the gay rumours that were flying around back then). The family all congregated at their house first and watching the wedding video afterwards it gave us much pleasure to see the bride spotting us on her way to the limo, she went pale and shouted “Oh my GOD!” We couldn’t hear the rest because the cameraman had panned to what she was looking at and it was me getting out of our car.

We took our sweet time getting to the church and waited until we saw the bridal limo pull up outside before we went in. The church was packed to the rafters with wedding guests and we sauntered down the aisle as slowly as we could while adding a bit of a strut to our walk, right up to the front pew - just to make extra sure everyone got a very good look at us. When the wedding march started and the she-devil came down the aisle with her bridal flotilla in tow the gasps and whispers were still echoing through the church. REEE-SULT! There is also not a single picture with us in it that she doesn’t have a thunderous look on her face *cackle* At some point during the evenings’ reception Hubs’ favourite aunt who had flown in from the USA reached up and grabbed him by the collar from her tiny height of 4ft5 and raged “How DARE you disrespect your father like this?” Instead of bursting her bubble by telling her exactly why, we decided our point had been more than made and we headed off to one of our haunts which I mentioned above and partied until the sun came up. Hell, we didn’t even have to go home and change! We reminisced about it again the other day and decided that in retrospect we are not sorry; in fact, we would do it again, without a doubt! Hubs also pointed out that the balloons behind the she-devil's head look very much like a giant blue dildo. Quite fitting really, especially considering what a giant twunt she was.

We are very used to being gossiped about and often have a good chuckle about the incredibly imaginative and highly entertaining stories that invariably filter back to us and if we ever gave a damn about what other people think or choose to believe we would hardly have a moment’s peace, so we don’t. It never ceases to amaze me though that people tend to jump on a bandwagon without knowing the truth behind things, which is why I cleared this particular little issue up. That and the fact that it’s one of my favourite stories, hands down! When my late mother-in-law heard about what we had done she was thrilled, especially at knowing how her son and his wife had stood up for her, albeit in a very passive aggressive way. She never got enough of asking us to describe it all in detail hehehe 

Hubs dedicated this song to me years ago and I can't think of a better song to end this post off with. 

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