Pay it Forward - Dignity Dreams

I met Daniella Argento on FB a couple of months ago and the more we communicate the more I like her. There are 2 reasons I asked Dani if I could share this post; firstly because even though I have met many trans people I have never really felt comfortable asking questions to help me understand the trans community and the daily challenges they face because one always worries that the questions will be stupid insulting arbitrary. Dani has answered all my questions with absolute grace and I feel a lot more educated now. I have become an avid follower of her blog and I feel it's important for anyone who is trans or cisgender as well as those who love and support them to head on over to Daniella's Ramblings  and/or find her on Twitter: @DaniArgTG Daniella writes with compassion as well as a healthy dose of humour, which is right up my alley.  The second reason is because I am a big believer in charity and this particular charity is one that resonates. Thank you again to Daniella for allowing me to use her piece.

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

Living the Dream, Dignity Assured

By Daniella Argento

I came across an amazing charity about a year ago. The charity is called Dignity Dreams and they do amazing work for underprivileged girls and women in South Africa. The charity recently turned three years old and we went to their birthday party. I will tell you all about it, but first a bit about Dignity Dreams.

As you may know South Africa has one of the worst Gini coefficients in the world and we have very real issues with poverty in South Africa. Many girls (and women) simply have no access to sanitary pads and therefore miss days of school and work every month. This ensures that they do not excel at school, fall behind their peers (entrenching inequality) and that women earn less and lack job security. Some people are unable to afford underwear let alone disposable sanitary pads. Here is where Dignity Dreams comes in.

Founded by the amazing Sandra Millar, Dignity Dreams believes that 'entering womanhood should be a time of joy and celebration – not a time of shame. No Girl should have to use newspaper, socks, rags,or simply miss school during her menstrual cycle.' Dignity Dreams also believes in empowering women through skills development and economic activity. They have therefore set up an amazing programme whereby women are trained to make washable and reusable pads which are then bought by donors and then distributed to needy children. Each pack comes with a few sets of pads and panties ensuring that there is always one in use, one being laundered and one ready for use. This sets up a wonderful system of training, entrepreneurship and positive results for the beneficiaries. It also ensures that manufacturing resources meet the needs of people in an efficient manner with little wastage, ensuring efficiency through out the value chain.

Each set is actually really cheap at just R150 (less than US$10) per pack so if you want to do some good in the world please feel free to donate to Dignity Dreams. Details can be found on their webpage. Or you can get details from the image below:

I am fortunate enough to know one of the Dignity Dreams board members, Sharon Gordon. She knows that we are always on the lookout for different, safe and accepting places to go and she also knows (I think) that I am a firm believer in what Dignity Dreams stands for. She therefore invited me to Dignity Dreams' third birthday party. I discussed with my wife and she said that it would be great to attend. She is also a big fan of Dignity Dreams and we were eager to support them. We also thought it would be good to let the rest of the transgender community know that there was a group of people who were very supportive and accepting of us (people do not usually invite you to their events if they do not want you there and I know Sharon is very supportive of our community) so I publicised the event as I could through my social media networks*. Sadly, only one other friend (Jenny Elwood) could make it on the night but we did not let that deter us.

The party was billed as a 'pub nite' and was held at a venue called Journeys. we had never been there before so were a little unsure of how to dress. I decided that it would be best to dress down a little and not be too glam so I went with my red butterfly blouse, black skater girl skirt and black platforms. My wife went with a black mini, stilettos and  a black blouse. I did wonder exactly who was the tranny in the relationship!

Sadly I only realised the label shining through the skirt when we were already at the venue... Oh well you live and learn.

We set off for the venue a little early as we were unsure of exactly how long it would take to get there. As it turned out we arrived about twenty minutes early. But Sandra and a few of her fellow board members were already there. They were very friendly and welcomed us and invited us to join them straight away. Sandra made sure we had no problems with the reception (we had pre-paid for our tickets) and generally ensured we felt at ease. All the people at the party thus far were women and we were chatting away asking about each other and it felt really good to be accepted as one of the girls. One of the women quickly ascertained that she and my wife had attended the same high school (though not at the same time) and they had a good laugh about some of the teachers they recalled.

I was glad I had gone with the outfit I had chosen. Most of the other guests were casually dressed and the venue was very nice, but a touch on the informal side.

By now, some more guests had arrived but we frankly felt very comfortable sitting and talking to our new acquaintances. I honestly cannot say whether I was 'passing'  or not, but frankly I did not care. A man came up to our table and asked how we were, if we needed anything etc. He was very charming and helpful. He addressed us as 'ladies' and I truly could not fault his behaviour: he did not misgender, he was polite and seemed genuinely concerned for our well being. A real gentleman. I later ascertained that he was the drummer in the band that was performing that  night. He also serves on the board of Dignity Dreams.

After some more chatting we decided we should go inside to the main venue as we did not want Jenny to not be able to find us. We found a table as far away from the speakers as possible and we had a few drinks. Jenny arrived and we had some time to catch up on events since we had last seen her. We then ordered some food. Jenny and my wife had the chicken nuggets, I had the chicken schnitzel. It was very good and plentiful (I could not finish mine).

Then the entertainment started. The band is called 60 Shades of Grey and they were rather good. They specialise in doing cover versions of music from the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s but they did throw in a few of their own songs as well (I think). The women we met on arrival turned out to be the party animals of the evening. They were on the dance floor very quickly and it wasn't long before I joined them. The venue was good but it was very hot and dancing made me 'glow'. We took regular breaks to replenish liquids and we also strolled outside for a bit as well to cool down. Jenny was quite the hit on the dance floor and we seemed to help keep the party going.

After the raffle and lucky dip prizes were dished out (yours truly won a compact disc, yes we still have those down here), we decided to leave as the music was tending towards slow songs and we simply feel unsure about public displays of affection when out we are out and I am dressed. It is actually quite ironic, in gay clubs we feel awkward because well, at our core we are a heterosexual couple and showing affection in a gay club may not go down well with some people who may feel that we are invading their 'safe' place. At 'straight' or vanilla events we are similarly anxious as the sight of two women slow dancing could be badly received and this may not be alleviated by knowing that one of them is a transgender woman. Please note, I am not saying that we would have been unwelcome dancing together, but this is just not something we want to test. We tend to prefer to err on the side of caution and generally believe that it is better to be more rather than less discrete. It is interesting that a lot of people who are not 'straight' feel this way. My good Twitter friend Darren Marples recently polled his followers. He asked 'as a member of the #lgbt family do you feel comfortable holding hands in public?' More than half (52%) of the respondents replied that they in fact do not feel comfortable holding hands in public. It is really quite sad that so many people feel unable to publicly express their affection (in even this very innocuous way) for their loved ones. We are fortunate in that most of the time holding hands, hugging etc in public is no problem for us, but this incident really opened our eyes to this issue. This link provides some interesting insight into this issue if you are interested in reading more. It would be nice if it were possible to just be yourself and people accepted you for who you were regardless of time and place, but we all know that no such Utopia truly exists.

Anyway we had a lovely time and really enjoyed the party. True, we did not win the handbag in the raffle (a travesty of justice if ever there was one), but we had a lovely time meeting new people, catching up with our friend and dancing to some lovely tunes. Please consider supporting Dignity Dreams, they do amazing work keeping girls in school and making a real difference in the fight against inequality in one of the world's most unequal societies. Also, if you need a band for a function consider 60 Shades of Grey. They are good musicians, entertaining, engaging and funny.

*All Gauteng based transgender people reading this, mark the date for next year. This was a very fun evening out and I firmly believe we need to get out and about in safe environments where we can destigmatise 'being transgender'. So many people are terribly uneducated about us. They seem to think that we are either all drag queens or the fetishistic crossdresser (not that there is anything wrong with either categorisation), but the truth is more varied and people revert to the stereotype in the absence of information. By getting out, meeting people and actually talking to them we spread the word of who we really are, show the world some truth and make being transgender increasingly 'normal'. Here endeth the lesson.

Monday blues, the black dog and being bummed out for days.

I think the 21st century should be renamed the "Great Depression". Not just because it seems that every country in the world is experiencing an economic melt down of sorts. No, the world is filled with sadness, the kind that sucks you into a black hole. It seems our only rescue is liking that post on Facebook. You know, the one where a baby has been boiled by her parents and covered with 90% burns on her little pink body and YOUR like will give her 1000 prayers. Now type "amen" or you are a heartless cruel bitch.
Life itself is filled with hate and cruelty. Its not new but the age of Digital has made it all the more accessible. A thousand years ago, when slaves were beaten, animals were starved and children were boiled, we all just carried on with our lives. We were oblivious to the anger and rage that fed the masters of abuse and cruelty.
Now every day my Facebook wall is filled with requests to type "amen" and ignore if you are heartless. Pictures of starving children, animals, abuse, horror, buildings being torched and people being murdered flood my eyes. Does it help to let people know just how fucked up your fellow man can be? I will let you be the judge of that. For me....not so much.

The age of Digital has vastly enhanced our lives. Or has it really? Where is the "off" switch?
We work harder than we ever used to. We are available 24/7, hunched over our smartphones. Can we bear to miss anything? 10 years ago I worked my normal hours. I was available for 9 hours, then I went home and did my own thing. I switched off. Fast forward 10 years and I am now expected to be online for my company from 6am to 10pm. I do not get over time and the world might fold in on itself if I do not acknowledge a customer within an hour between 6am and 10pm. My life revolves around work. I dream about angry customers and not helping them manage their expectations.
In-between the masses of visuals where the cruelty of mankind is highlighted, angry customers, constantly working and people speaking badly of others; there is my life. No wonder I need chemicals to try and lift the foot on top of my head trying to drown me in the excrement that is SOCIETY.
Yes, it is a bad day serotonin wise. Is it a bad life? No. Because there is happiness and some kind of hope in it all.
I just hope the switch can get flipped to "off" soon. I hope all the posts on Social Media can be scrolled past without much feelings bubbling to the top. I hope, I hope, I hope.
I guess thats what keeps us going, the hope that things will change and your fellow man is not always a monster in disguise.

Emily

No, I don't want to friend your cock

I have been on Facebook since 25 June 2007.  That is like a really serious commitment or relationship in the cyber world.  I have been on Facebook longer than most people’s relationships last; longer than what most people, including myself, stay at the same job.  Through the last nine years I had my fair share of dramas on and with Facebook. It's like having a really needy lover. I have also learned that there are seriously unstable people on Facebook who desperately need to be fucking medicated and in therapy.  They make me lean toward being a misanthropic person as I don't like to deal with fucked up people in real life nor do I want to in the cyber world. Reflecting back on my, sometimes tumultuous, relationship with Facebook I could not help but wonder, are people really as fucked up in real life as they seem to be on the internet.

During the last nine years I have been banned from Facebook twice.  Yes banned! Twice!  Coincidentally, both times were preceded by some rather disturbing hate mail I received from some fanatical religious freaks who took great umbrage at my mere existence.  These were the same assholes who, in all probability, reported me to the gods at Facebook who in return, instead of investigating the “complaints”, rather opted to disable my account.  Both times it took weeks and a torrent of emails for the Facebook gatekeepers to come to their senses and to reinstate.  It was much like being broken up with. It was horribly emotional. The most recent time they threatened to banish me was because I had too many friends.

You see, Facebook has a 5000 friend limit.  I have reached that limit a couple of times at which point I was instructed by a faceless bot message to clean up my friend list OR ELSE.  Facebook can sometimes be a very mean and domineering lover. Do you know how long it took me to scrutinize my entire friend list?  It did not take days – it took weeks!  The last time I was threatened to clean up my friend list was last year and it took me a whole week to delete just over 2000 people.  My criteria was simple:  If you don’t have a profile picture of yourself, you were unfriended.  If your name is “Gay Love”, “iFuck a Lot” or “BJ King” or anything ridiculous like that you were deleted.  And if you have your private parts as your profile picture you were unfriended.  And this leads me to my next point.  Why do some people think you are primarily on Facebook for sex?

My Facebook profile clearly states “married” under my relationship status.  Surely the people who inbox me on Facebook can’t be illiterate?  I have gotten countless messages over the years ranging from people who were soliciting sex from me, wanting to know if hubby and I were into gang bangs, asking how big my dick is, what fetishes I am into and the best ones were “ASL” (age sex location).  Now if you need to ask me that on Facebook you are either just fucking retarded or super lazy!  I mean honestly, don’t these people read your profile before sending you profanities and wanting to have carnal knowledge of your body?  If I don’t know you chances are good that I also don’t want to play occupy the anus with you especially if we are not even on the same continent. Have these people never heard about fucking Grindr?

And then there are the people on Facebook who firmly believe that their dicks are their best physical attribute.  They are so very proud of their penises that they prominently display it as their profile pictures.  Now if you invite me as a friend and all I can see is your erection that is pointing the wrong way which barely disguises your unkept bush and hairy balls, chances are good that I will not accept your request.  Chances are even better that I will report your profile to Facebook and the message you will get in your inbox from me will read “No, I don’t want to friend your cock!”  I mean seriously, would you walk around in public with your crown jewels hanging out of your pants?  Doing it on Facebook is pretty much the same thing, don’t you think? You should be ashamed of yourself and possibly be arrested or lewd and lascivious conduct. There should really be a law about stuff like this. Just saying.

But Facebook don’t just have overly horny folks on it, they also have the spammers.  You know who I am talking about.  Those people who like to post products on their timelines, obsessively tag you in photos of brands, inbox 50 people at a time with “You can win an iPhone 6S” and those folks who troll groups and pages and post links to websites ranging from pornography to dating sites.  I believe there is a special place in hell for these fucktards right next to telemarketers, homophobes, Hitler and Robert Mugabe.  I don’t know why Facebook doesn’t ban them.  Most of their profiles are fake anyway and this is why I never accept friend request from girls posing in sexy positions that have a lot of friends but never post anything on their timelines except for spam. Spam like dildos and cock rings. The latter making the song "If you like it you shoulda put a ring on it" pretty indecent. Shame on you Beyonce. Shame. On. You.

The other crowd of the people who occasionally annoy me on Facebook are the folks who clearly need to be in therapy and who are always airing all of their dirty laundry in public.  Sure sometimes it is entertaining reading their status updates in my news feed.  Following their mental meltdowns during the course of eight hours or reading how they are trying to get rid of their one night stands the next morning is quite entertaining.  But have these folks no shame?  Are they not aware that their friends are reading these status updates and are judging them?  Some days while reading my news feed on Facebook I feel so much more normal and mentally stable in comparison to some of my internet friends.  Watching their shit go down in real time feels a little voyeuristic, but hey if they post it who am I not to read it. The little melodramas is like watching a soap on television the only difference being that you can comment and engage with the characters. Not that I do that but I have been very tempted to.

Lastly, I have a certain group on Facebook which I have been trying to close down now for well over three years but with little success.  Apparently winning a war in Iraq is easier than closing down a group on Facebook.  I decided to close the group down due to spam, people using it as their personal sex hookup spot, endless “add me” posts and a few other unsavory reasons.  I have closed the wall, banned hundreds of folks and outright threatened people.  Yet, the group continues to grow and currently have well over 22 000 members.  It boggles the mind.  Why would people stay in a group where they can’t do anything?  Moreover, why the hell would anyone want to join the group either?  The group is called “Gaywarfare” but it should be called “Whores, Orgies & Spam” instead.

Yes, Facebook is filled to its cyber brim with some fucked up people.  Perhaps some folks on Facebook think that I am fucked up as well, the lord knows I too have my moments. The internet and Facebook is the one place where you can truly embrace how fucked up you really are. You can confess all your secrets to your lover called Facebook. You can tell him about all your problems and have a meltdown in front of your laptop and Facebook will comfort you. You can be a hot mess and Facebook will love you anyway. And we will all read about it and secretly judge you while liking your posts. Facebook never said he was the monogamous type. You should really have read his terms and conditions. I think all relationships should have them. If I had terms and conditions which you accepted you cannot later be all like "I did not sign up for this" because you did.

*mental note: start writing my terms and conditions*

Till next time.

When a Pussy Attacks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time.

Cocktail Hour - Brenda Fassie

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

Paradise Road

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

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

SOWETO TOILET

1 tot Banana Liqueur

2/3 tot Amarula

1/3 tot Crème de Cacao

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

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

WEEKEND SPECIAL

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

Appletiser

Grandpa powders or aspirin

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

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

AMARULA COLADA

2 tots Amarula

1 tot white rum

3 tots pineapple juice

1 tot coconut cream

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

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

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

Cheers Bitches!

- GGC

Weekend Special

Why we are dying.

I have been known to sometimes overreact when it comes to my health. Hell, I even once went to the emergency room thinking I was having a heart attack which turned out to only be indigestion. I have also mistaken the common cold for Ebola, Bird and Swine flu. There is a word for that and the word is hypochondria. I think it runs in our family. However, in our family there is one hypochondriac who is worse than I am - my sister.

My sister and I can be quite dramatic. And with dramatic I mean we can drive our husbands nuts. Look, we are not easy to live with as we probably have a defective gene that prevents us from conforming to boring social norms. Sometimes we do not act or view the world as normal people do because then life would be boring and accomplishing shit would be relatively meaningless. However, there is one area in which our eccentricity is more prevalent than others and that is our physical well being.

Both my sister and I are very familiar with Google and WebMD. The combination of which, without consulting a real doctor, are dangerous when used by us. You see both of us can easily convince ourselves that we are dying: Any ache or pain could be cancer, a headache could be a brain tumor and each cough could be a new lethal strain of the flu. And most times our worst fears are confirmed by a Google search or by WebMD because they are assholes like that.

You see Google can be very sardonic in the way it toys with one's emotions. It doesn't care if you are in the throws of a full blown panic attack about some kind of imagined disease. It doesn't cushion you when giving you bad news. It just throws it out there in its search results without giving you the contact details of the nearest hospice or psychotherapist in your area. You are diagnosed with a dreaded disease and how you take it is entirely up to you. This is not conducive to a proper and a stable state of your mental health. Also, frugality when it comes to your health is then also out of the window because when it come to your health money should not be an object.

Most recently my sister had to go for blood test. Several things were tested and in a very badly thought out move her doctor sent the test results to my hypochondriac sister. My sister went through the blood test results with a fine-tooth-comb. You can almost say she did so obsessively. Then she went on to Google and immediately had a full blown meltdown. So naturally she phoned me with the horrific news.

"I have cancer" she said in a muttered tone when I answered the phone. "I looked over my blood test results and I definitely have fucking cancer". She then went on to discuss her test results in medical jargon in which Google confirmed that she has liver cancer. Bordering on hysteria she was rambling on about other disorders her blood test results had also uncovered and we were convinced that she only had weeks to live.

After discussing her cancer and three other semi-fatal conditions she now has, I asked her what her doctor said. She then told me that she hasn't spoken to her doctor probably because her doctor did not know how to break the bad news to her. We both thought that was very unprofessional of her. It also goes against some kind of code or oath that she is not adhering to. After discussing her funeral arrangements my sister sent her doctor an email to call her urgently. If the doctor was too afraid to call her, my sister would force her.

Later that afternoon her doctor phoned and shocked my sister with the results of her blood tests. Everything was normal. She did not have cancer or any other fatal syndromes. All the results were normal for the medication she was taking. Obviously relieved she phoned me back and told me that she was no longer dying but that it was a really close call. My sister is going for a colonoscopy next week to make sure she doesn't have ass cancer. Luckily she will be asleep during the entire procedure or she would bombard the doctor performing the procedure with a lot of questions. Mostly about the cancer she is seeing on the screen that turns out to be shit.

Hypochondria is not a condition I wish on anybody. Thinking you are dying at least three times a year is exhausting. Having Google and WebMD toying with your emotions is even worse. But on the bright side, should either my sister or I ever contract a serious disease it will be diagnosed early. We are very in tune with our bodies that way. Well most times anyway.

SA Blog Awards

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

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