Nonne op n treadmil (Virgin Active). Deel 2.

Dinge by die Gym gaan goed. Ons oeffen lekker en mens voel goed na die tyd. Nooit gedink dat dit is waar nie, maar dis werklik waar. Meeste aande wil ek net gaan dans as ons klaar is by die gym. Maar laat ek nou vir julle vertel hoe werk die gym, net sodat niemand n skok kry as hulle besluit om aan te sluit nie. Ek gaan julle vertel hoe dinge werk deur sketse van persoonlike gebeurtenisse te deel met julle.

Gym Wenk 1.

Wanneer jy by Virgin Active N1 City gaan gym, en jy is ‘n man, dan sal jy sien dat daar twee maniere is hoe om by die mans lockers uit te kom. Die een is die gewone ingang wat almal meestal gebruik. Op met een stel trappe en draai links. Loop verby die treadmills wat nou regs bo jou is an dan draai jy regs. Af met die trappe en daar is jy.

Die ander manier is om verby die swembad te loop en dan heel in die hoek is daar ‘n deur wat jy regs in draai by. En dan is jy daar. Of ek neem aan dis so maklik. Die rede hoekom ek aan neem en nie weet nie is oor ons het op dag een probeer kyk hoe werk daai ingang. Ons het by die normale ingang in gegaan vir die lockers en toe besluit ek dat ons dalk net daar deur moet loop om te sien hoe dit werk. Wat nie een van ons besef het nie is dat die swembad deur gaan ook verby die storte. So 5 meter verder, stap daar n oom verby ons. Maar as ek se hy is groot dan meen ek hy is groot. Nee nie gespierd nie. Hy is soos n hang kas gebou. Dis alles net een stuk van bo tot onder. Sonder om te stop het ek my in ‘n ander skoen size in geskrik en al grillend om gedraai en seker gemaak ek vok of. Ek was nou nog nie daar deur nie. Nee ek stort nie by die gym nie. Ja ek weet daar is moontlik mooi mans ook wat stort, maar 90% van die mans by daai gym is, soos ek, daar vir n rede. Moet my nie verkeerde verstaan nie. Ek is nie onnodig lelik nie. Ek se nie ek is mooi gebou nie. Maar ek wil nie eers myself kaal sien nie. Hoe de vok moet ek kyk na ander se jelly wat drill. Ooooo doner nee.  So dit is eintlik n dubbele wenk.

1.1 Moet nie mooi man soek by die gym nie, want daar is nie.

1.2  Vermy die storte. Ek sukkel nou nog om te slaap.

Gym Wenk 2

So gaan ek gym toe en ek is uit gekit. Ek het die Yoga broekkies in swart. Want ek wil mos nou nie loop been wys nie. Ek het t-shirts wat ek nie meer dra nie oor hulle al bietjie oud is. Nie gate of enige iets soos dit nie, net oud. Ek het n water filter bottle, by @Home gekoop, saam met my Polka-dot hand-doekkie. Ek het ook n sports alice-band in groen, wat mos nou sal seker maak dat die hare uit my gesig uit bly as ek sweet. Ek sien so paar dames wat op die masjiene is en hulle klets lekker met hulle neighbour by die masjien lanks aan.

Nie ‘n probleem nie. As hulle dit kan doen, dan kan ek mos ook. Ek en Paul kry toe nie op dag een fietse wat lanks mekaar is nie, oor die hele vokken Nothern Subburbs mos nou besluit om op ‘n Maandag te gym. So hier sit ek langs n vreemdeling. Dis so bietjie van ‘n issue vir my maar ek groet mooi want ons gaan mos nou lekker gesels terwyl ons fiets trap. Ek stel alles wat ek moet stel en begin trap toe…………………5 minute later toe loop die sweet my af. Die man lanks my praat niks want al wat hy sien wat lanks hom aangaan is n ding wat lyk of dit die fietsry marathon trap, met n gym alice-band skeef oor die kop. Hare wat ooral vas plak en my bindi wat nou teen my linker wang sit. Polke-dot is sop nat en water bottle nie groot genoeg vir al die vokken water wat ek nodig het nie.  Toe ek myself in die spieel sien wou ek myself nat pis van bang geit.

Die wenk hier is dat jy nie moet dink dat om rerig te gym gaan jou so vars soos n daisy los nie. Daai anties lieg, want nou het ek al gesien, hulle trap skaars.

Gym Wenk 3

Nou na al die gecardio wil ek so bietjie op die weights masjiene gaan. Turns out ek kan meer handle as wat ek gedink het ek kan. Of dalk is dit oor teen daai tyd ek in elk geval nie meer vokken enige iets kon voel nie. Waar ek loop los ek n plas sweet agter. Die hare wat nie geplak is nie, staan in alle rigtings en my oulike yoga broekkie lyk of dit aan geverf is van die sweet. Waar hier gaan ek om te “tone”. Weet nie wat de vok ek wil “tone” nie, want op die punt is ek nog nie bewus van enige spiere in my liggaam nie.

Die masjiene het almal prentjies by hulle en jy kan maklik sien hoe dit werk. Wel meeste van hulle. EK klim daar in n ding in wat lyk soos iets uit Star Wars uit. Volgens die prentjies is dit maklik, volgens ervaring is dit soos om twister te speel wanneer jy dronk is met n glas wyn in die een hand en ‘n sigaret in die ander. Die ding het n lever wat jy moet stel hier by jou bene en dit lyk of of jou kniee oor n bar moet gaan en jou enkels agter ‘n volgende een. Maar nou sit ek ook nie meer op die stoel nie. Ek le so half in ‘n hoop agtertoe, met my maag wat nou onder my keel sit en my hande keer net ooral dat ek nie moet af bliksem nie. In die proses het ek natuurlik vergeet om my gewigte te stel op iets wat werk vir my. Op die stadium is dit 25kg vir my bene. Dit was op soos 5kg gewees. Ek kry die bar gedruk met my bene maar my lyf draai amper 180 grade in die process en dan hoor jy dit……. Klang……klang……..klang……..klang…….kyk almal ek is die 5kg ou. Die skool meisies kan meer as dit doen maar ek klang……klang…….klang maar voort. Daar kom een van die vloer mense wat natuurlik gebou is soos ‘n action figure en probeer om my te ontknoop. Hy kry dit reg en nou voel ek of die aarde my kan insluk.

So die laaste wenk is dan dat jy seker maak dat jy weet hoe die masjiene werk voor jy dit gebruik.

So wanneer jy weer gym toe gaan onthou die wenke.

Mwah!

Alejandro, the Hair stylist.

There is this common phenomenon in life that basically makes any gay man a hairstylist.Doesn't matter if you can or cannot cut hair. To your friends you are a stylist. Finish en klaar.

Even though my mom was a natural blond, she still used the bottle blond. You know to hide the grey and on the odd occasion i would help her to make sure she got it all covered at the back. That is when she didn't use two mirrors. I started colouring my hair fresh out of high school. So I can colour. But I have never cut hair. Ok no that’s a lie. I did cut Hobbit’s hair once. But it was done in that cheating way of cutting layers where you just brush all the hair to the front and cut a straight line. Easy.

I didn’t tell people that I cut it. It looked ok but it wasn’t professional quality. I mean what did you expect?

Sharon Stone

Anyway. My friend Mel has been talking about cutting her hair shorter. Ok lets first explain this. Mel used to have long enough hair to make a bolla and then play Patsy. I am not gonna elaborate what that means but some of you might know ;)

Then she decided that she wanted it shorter and cut it herself. She just took scissors to it and let rip. It was still hanging below her shoulders but she cut off a huge part. So this time round she decided that it’s not done and she wanted it cut off more.This is about a month later.

I suggested going to a Salon or speaking to my personal stylist (Jaun van Deventer) but she didn’t want that. She wanted something that would be liberating and free. So we spoke about it and somehow we (and by we I mean, Mel, Myself and our friend Namaqua) decided that I would cut her hair……………………..

Al-right now I need to determine what she wants her hair to look like. Yes I can’t style for shit, but I do have a logical mind...........sort of and if I can see what she wants then maybe I can figure it out in my head. So this is more or less how the conversation went;

Zeo: Ok, you need to decide what you want your hair to look like.

Mel: I don’t know, just cut it.

Zeo: Yes but like what? What do you want it to look like.

Mel: I don’t care. Whatever. Just cut

Zeo: What if it looks kak? Then what?

Mel: Then I shave it all off.

The 'Eh!' Face

So it was decided. I would just cut. Somehow, it must have been my boyish charm, I got her to Google “short female hairstyles”, which I corrected to “curly short female hairstyles” Obviously we get millions of results and then I ask her which ones she likes, she pulls a Paul on me and says: “Eh!” 

That by the way is International Paul language for answering any question where he has options.

“Would you like coffee or tea?”……….”Eh!”

“Which movie would you like to watch?”……….”Eh!”

“Which shoes do you think will go with this outfit?”……….”Eh!”

So everyone around me has kind of now learned how to apply the “Eh!” But you have to pull the face that goes with it. Its like I am surrounded by many of Paul. Back to the story.

So come Monday night we decide to cut Mel’s hair. I decide on a look that is a mix between Sharon Stone and Meg Ryan. We move the chair into position, get the scissors and comb and most importantly our friends Namaqua and Marlboro. Mel goes to wet her hair and then comes to sit on the chair in front of me. I am slightly nervous. Even though she doesn’t mind that it comes out a huge fucq up, I mind. As I comb her hair out I realize that I have no fucqing idea what I am doing. A nervous giggle escapes my mouth and my hands shale a little. I know how I would feel if someone just fucqs up my hair.

Meg Ryan

As my giggle escapes Mel asks what that was for. I confess that I have no fucqing idea what I am doing. Nadda. She tells me to just cut. I gather all my strength from my Solar Plexus Chakra and pray that some ascended master guides my hands……….I should have been more specific as to which ascended master. Cuz I got one that suffered from Parkinson's and has no hand eye co-ordination.

Well I started cutting. Hair was flying in all directions and it got shorter and shorter, in an attempt to get it as straight as possible. 

I cant remember who said what but all I know is I was hysterical. I could not cut any more. I was laughing so much. My stomach pained I was really beside myself.

Now Mel has short hair, that doesn’t look that kak if you ask me. She kept on telling people her personal stylist did it and his name is Alejandro. Every time she says it to someone, and I hear, want to pee myself laughing. Of course no one gets why I laugh. It’s not perfect and it doesn’t look anything like what I had in mind, but its there!

Mwah!

Nonne op n treadmil (Virgin Active). Deel 1.

My hele lewe lank is ek een van daai moer wetters wat lag vir mense wat 'n tight schedule het by die gym. Dis mos so aaklige plek met mense wat spiere het en gans te veel are in hulle kop. Jy gaan soontoe elke dag om jouself in die 3 miljoen spieëls te admireer en verder drink jy rou eiers met water, melk en een of ander exotic wurm se uitskeidings. Hmmmm heuning van die Gode.

So middel laas jaar begin ek agter kom dat ek agtervolg word. Ooral waar ek gaan sien ek so nou en dan ‘n glimpse van iemand groot wat my volg. Maak nie saak waar ek is nie. Tot ek een middag in Canal Walk loop en toe ek so verby Foschini stap, sien ek my stalker weerkaats in die glas ruite. Die toe al die tyd my eie ass! Dis skaal het dit later bevestig.

Zeo the Hut

So nou wat gaan ek doen oor die feit dat ek elke dag meer en meer soos Jabba the Hut begin lyk? My voete raak al droër wanneer ek stort en ek is uit asem uit wanneer ek sit en niks doen nie. As ek beweeg voel ek my hart klop in my hol so benoud raak dit en ek draai skuins by stroke verby. So ek weet ek moet iets doen……en dit was dan nou ook die probleem.

Een môre in ‘n oomblik van nugter wees en swakheid, besluit ek toe mos nou dat ek by die gym gaan aansluit. Ek……..gym……..daardie twee woorde lyk sommer verkeerde saam in een sin. Kinders reg oor die wêreld het nou pas spontaan begin huil. Nonne en priesters bid hard oor hulle Bybels. Honde tjank in tale wat net Naomi kan verstaan, en sy praat terug. Die see vlak styg en selfs God besluit dat nou het hy alles gehoor.

Maar daar gaan ek gym toe om uit te vind hoe die storie werk. Paul is saam want dié het besluit dat hierdie stink kak idée van my eintlik die beste een is. Dis ‘n Saterdag middag en die gym is redelik leeg. Meestal mense wat daar moet wees oor hulle juis soos ek lyk. Sommige is so effe erger selfs. Ek voel goed. So asof ek nie meer nodig het om hier te wees nie en Paul moet my by die hekkie in forseer want ek was mos nou klaar hier. Daar moet ons wag vir ‘n knaap met die naam van Jason.

Op die rooi bankie waar almal wat reeds gym na jou kyk of jy ‘n sleg stuk vark botter is wat hulle liggaampies gaan kom besoedel, daar sit en wag ons vir Jason. Ek wil amper net jammer sê vir almal. Ek voel asof ek hulle calorie loss gaan beinvloed deur vet uit te asem in hulle skoon gejikde gym. Jason kom gelukkig en ons gaan na ‘n vertrek wat bietjie meer privaat is, wel vir my.  Hier verduidelik Jason vir ons al die voordele van die gym. Met sy perfekte arms, maag, borskas en twaalf jarige vokken vel wil hy vir my preek oor hoe om goed te lyk. Hy vertel ons van die special wat aan die gaan is en dat die special toevallig die Maandag wat kom, verval. Maar ek moet sê die special is eintlik baie goed.

Presies hoe ek gevoel het.

Die knaap probeer vriendelik wees en vra ons watter tye ons gaan gym en ons verduidelik dat ons ‘n baie besige en demanding leef styl het. Hy wil weet hoekom. Ek sê hom dat ek n normale day job het en na ure gee ek klas ook. En dit is waar ek dit wou los. Maar hy moet krap en vra. “Oh, what do you teach?”

Ai…en voor ek myself kan stop, is dit uit: “I teach Meditation and Reiki and Witchrcaft.” Hy raak bleek en sit terug in sy stoel. Hy vra mooi dat ek hom asseblief nie moet curse nie. Ek probeer ‘n grap daarvan maak om die mood bietjie te lig en sê hom “Well that depends on how my gymming goes.” Toe ek sy gesigs uitdrikking sien, toe besef ek dat dit was toe nou nie iets wat die mood gelig het nie. In teen deel.

Hier sit ons dan nou, twee gays wat witchraft be-oefen in ‘n vetrek alleen saam met n straight cut boetie wat pas self amper 'n stroke gekry het. Ek dink in ‘n attempt om tussen mense te wees sê Jason dat hy ons deur die gym gaan neem sodat ons beter kan sien wat daar alles is. Dis reg, ons stem in want op daai manier sal ons mos nou nie te veel van ‘n doos van onsself maak op die eerste dag nie. Alles lyk goed…….en toe kom ons by die een Studio.  Dit lyk soos die ballet lokaal op skool maar daar is weapons of mass destruction daar binne en wat ookal hulle daar binne doen, jy kan sien dit gaan seer wees.

Hy verduidelik van al die klasse wat daar gebeur en dan gaan hy voort om te sê dat daar boot camps ook gebeur. Waar hulle nou die mense soos in die middel eeue martel om te probeer om maer te word. Hy sê toe ook dat ons lyk soos die tipe wat bootcamp sal geniet en ek dink by myself of hy weet hoe naby aan daai curse hy rerig is. Maar ek laat hom mooi verstaan dat die liggaam is nie gemaak vir bootcamp nie en ons gaan voort.

Ons bespreek dat ons die volgende dag sal kom om ons lewens weg te teken vir die special en Jason sê hy sal daar wees om ons te help. Ons moet net vir hom vra.

Die volgende dag kan Jason ons nie sien nie. Ons word gehelp deur iemand anders, Moh. ‘n Sexy mannetjie nogal. Maar van Jason is daar niks te sprake nie. Net dat hy nie sal omgee as Moh die deal close nie.

Ek weet nou nog nie of dit is oor ons gay is en of dit is oor ons hom ‘gaan toor’ nie.

Skakel weer in om verder te lees van die avonture by ‘Virgin Active’

Mwah!!

Turn the Other Cheek

In the last month or so I am gob-smacked at the amount of violence against animals. In the Second Degree class of last night, Cecilia and I spoke about this and I honestly cannot imagine what …….. rather how fucqed up you have to be, to hurt and or kill an animal. 

Chloe luv, I know you told me to keep quiet on this one as I might make a huge issue and just add fuel to the fire but I can’t. I am sorry. I am going to say it here and now and if people want to ‘de-friend’ or ‘delete’ me on BBM and Facebook and Twitter and what all for what I am going to say, then they must grow the fucq up and get a fucqing life.

In just about every spirituality on this planet (note I said ‘just about’) it teaches us some or other moral guideline about turning the other cheek and not doing any harm. This is of course BIG in Wicca. ‘An ye harm none, do as ye will’. So before I carry on let me just say that I am NOT a Wiccan. I call myself Pagan, eclectic. The Tradition that I run was based on eclectic teachings. It’s not that I am knocking Wicca. Not at all. I just want to clarify this for the millionth time, before people say shit like “you are such a bad Wiccan”. And people do say this. Yes, even in Wicca they judge Wiccans. But that’s not my point.

I have a huge issue with this law or rule or moral code that preaches that you must turn the other cheek when you are being wronged.

Ok so when it comes to humans I can understand this. Well to an extent at least. Someone punches you and you punch back and before we know it we have a religious war on our hands. So I can kind of understand that. But let me give you a little info here. Something that you probably didn’t know.

"Did you know that animals in South Africa are not recognized as sentient beings. This means they are classified as objects, and therefore have no rights. 

In recent times, Southern Africa has seen a huge upsurge in people involved in the animal rights movement, all calling for animals to be recognized as sentient beings. At the moment, most constitutions recognise animals as inanimate objects, incapable of feeling pain, terror or having any kind of consciousness. "

-http://www.reportacrime.co.za/OurPetition.aspx-

This is fact. I have a neighbour that beats his dogs with a sjambok. I have phoned the police about it. Oh they gave me a case number and asked me if I was willing to testify in court and I naturally agreed. Nothing ever happened. I found out why. Cuz Animals has ho rights in this country. None. Nadda. Fokkol. Animals are seen as property, no less than your furniture. I may as well have told the police that he was hitting his couch with a toilet seat. It’s the same to them. No difference at all. 

Robin after he came out of Hospital the first time

As I am sure all of you know, recently one of our cats was the victim of a Pellet gun shooting. Yes those metal pellets that they use to shoot…….fucq knows what with, was also used to shoot Robin. He has been in and out of the hospital for two weeks now and very nearly didn’t make it.Not te mention how much this is costing.

Also in this month there was that man that tied a small dogs lead to his tow-bar and proceeded to drag this doggy behind his car while he was driving.

Another incident was those boys that ripped the head off of the cat and bragged about it on photo’s. The list of these heinous acts carries on.

I will ask my question again. How fucqed up must you be to do that. How fucqed up is your life and your mind? 

What the FUCQ!!!

What gets me with this is that these animals are seen as property and has no rights. Even if they did have rights, what would happen to those people in this country? They would get a slap on the wrist? That’s it! But God forbid the person that doesn’t pay his or her TV license or talks about the presidents 6 wives. And if these animals did have rights? They can't go to a lawyer. They can't sue you for hospital damages. So what do we do?

I will tell you. You stand up for that animal. You defend it. You toss your moral laws of harm none and you find the fucqer that hurt your animal and you make sure he never hurts another animal again.

I can see some people telling me how that is the dark road and how you must not think such things. Well fucq you, no offence of course. You say that now, but what will you say when it is your animal? Your child? Cuz that is what these animals are. They are our children. So what are you going to do when some random cunt takes a Pellet gun and starts shooting your human child with metal pellets. Pellets that cause your child to be in and out of hospital for two weeks, nearly loosing his life! You still gonna turn the other cheek and pray for whomever to forgive that person, because you already have?

Not a fucq, I wont. Not in this life or any other. I will find the person or if I can't find that person, the universe knows who it is, my child knows who it is. That is all I need to curse the living shit out of that person. Drastic, yes it is! As if Shooting my boy is not drastic.

Getting back to the crux of the matter. Your animal child is the one child that will always offer you unconditional love. As a matter of fact, it is the only ‘person’ on this planet that will ALWAYS give you unconditional love. How dare you not stand up for it. How dare you not fight for it.

Have a good weekend everyone!!

Mwah!

Four and a Half Years

A few days ago, Jess, Jaun and myself started talking about men and how it is that when you are single and looking to date someone, you always seem to fall for Mr. Wrong. Well not all of us and not all the time but the majority of the time that is the case. So I wanted their perspective on that and what they think is the governing factor  that makes you decide who to date.

Now first we have to just stipulate the three categories of men, as per the two them.

1. The Nice Guy

This is the man that will do anything for you. He will treat you like a Queen and make your every day as special as what he can. He will never lift a hand or raise his voice. He will always be there for you no matter what happens. In short he is a spineless doormat.

2. The Bad Boy

Everyone likes him and wants to be with him. He might not always be the sexiest man around but he is risqué and takes chances. You know he will break your heart. You know he will cheat on you and he might even abuse you and its gonna hurt like hell when he dumps you.

3. The Perfect Man

This type of man is a gentle mixture of both of the above categories. He allows you to have your own life and freedom with your own friends and you can do what you like. To a point. Then he lets you know he is not happy. He pretty much knows how to control his partner so that you don’t get completely out of hand and even though he gives you freedom he is not a spineless doormat. But this man apparently does not exist according to Jess and Jaun.

For the remainder of this blog I will refer to each type of man as number 1, 2 or 3. I wanted to know from them why it is that even when you know that it is gonna end badly with 2, you still go for him. Yes I understand that no one want to date a wimp either.

Personally I believe that 3 is real and that I have a 3.

Yes I am the luckiest boy alive.

You see Paul pretty much just goes with whatever. The best way I can describe the two of us is the following.

Vivi Abbott Walker

I am Vivi Abbott Walker and he is Shepard James ‘Shep’ Walker. For those of you that has watched ‘Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood’ you will understand. For those that has not watched it, let me explain. 

I am  a crazy bitch that flies off the handle. I get bright ideas in the middle of the night, and then it has to be done then. I am impulsive like you have never seen. If I wanna do something, I will do it now. If I want something, then I want it now! Its not that I am spoilt. We grew up very poor, my mama did not have a lot te give as we grew up. But that is probably why I am this way. Paul on the other hand just lets me do whatever the fucq I want to.Of course the fact that he movie plays off in the south of America with that wonderful Louisiana accent, does help. I just love that Southern accent.

Shep Walker

And then when ever I step over that line of ‘now you have gone too far’ he just makes it very clear that it wont carry on. Don’t get me wrong. I push my luck and see how far I can push it, but the fact that he does step in and take charge is really so very sexy. I also know that if the shit does hit the fan and I cannot (for which ever reason) be the control freak that I normally am, he will take charge and sort things out. I have to be honest that it is such an awesome feeling to know that I am taken care of.

Today we are together for four and a half years. I remember the day that we met at Cape Town International Airport. I was so nervous that he wouldn’t like me. My Bethal guy. We have been through so much together and we have faced every obstacle head on, always holding hands. One of the best things about our relationship is the fact that we can talk. About serious things and just weird shit. We laugh at each other and when he laughs that dimple shows. That dimple that won my heart.

Four and a half years later and my tummy still does flip flops when we kiss. My leg still lifts a little off of the ground. He still has  the most beautiful face I have ever seen. He is still the one that makes my heart race at speeds that I didn’t think is possible and I still think that the best way to sleep is in his arm. There is no better pillow in the world.

A lot of people thinks that it is fucqed up, but when he phones me, there is a personalized ringtone just for him. I got it from Star Trek and will post the video here. And as corny or stupid as what it may sound. It is still the truth.

I look forward to the 13^th of July when we get Handfasted and after that I look forward to the rest of my life!!

Mwah!!

P.S. In my mind, I typed this blog in a Southern accent. Wonder how many of yall read it like that? 

How old are your looks?

As many of you will know, I changed my Profile picture a few days ago. On just about every sight. Well almost every one.

Paul thinks that the new picture is very sexy and I got a few good responses from some lovely people on Facebook. But since it is my new picture, everywhere, one of my very good friends on bbm told me that I look wise on that picture. He said it looks like that picture belongs on the back cover of a spell book. Like the author photo. My friend Jess seems to agree with him. Saying that the photo says: “Yes you should buy this book, cuz it is the best”

As you know I have transformed from a 20something year old to my big 3-0. And part of that transition is me trying to figure things out in my head as to what is suitable for 30 and what should left to the follies of youth?

For Example: I recently, in the past three weeks, wanted to cut my beautiful long hair off. Short back and sides. Thinking that I don’t want to be one of those older men that you see on the road and then gril cuz all you can think is “Jesus just do something with that hair you old fucq.” But then enough people reassured me that my hair is really amazing and that I shouldn’t worry about cutting. Even Jaun says that my long hair is so perfectly Zeo, but he still thinks that the condition of my hair is kak. Hey he is the stylist and last night he worked wonders on this head. I feel so much fresher. I have Cher hair! But lets get back to the point here.

The first response if you Google Images "wise man"

When I was told that I look wise I have to admit that I was immediately insulted. I thought, fucq you. Who you calling old? Gandalf the fucqing Grey looks wise, are you telling me I look like him? My gat in ‘n complete krul getrek. Let me explain this to the younger kids. As you reach 30 and you realize that you are getting older, it is going to become more and more important for you to look good, attractive, sexy even hot. Why? Cuz if you are good looking, that’s just about all you have left. I am not talking about personality. A stranger on the street does not see your personality as you walk by, they only see what you look like, and you don’t want to be between 80 and biltong and then also look like a bokkom. So I can understand why people have work done. I would also.

Because what I look like is rather important to me, (I don’t mean the fact that I dress like some form of experiment, I mean my face) I was insulted to be called wise. I know it wasn’t meant as an insult. It was sincere and a compliment, well coming from him.

But in my mind the following happened as I started to analyse this

I wonder if anyone (other than Paul) looks at my photo’s and goes “Grrrrrr, yum yum, vir jou sal ek sat naai.” Not that I necessarily want anyone to do that to me. It is just a concern I have and it made me think about where does sexy end and wise begin. I thought that if a man under 60 looks wise then there is something seriously wrong. Wise begins at 60, not 30. I think 30 should be the age of sexy. 20 is hot, 40 should be handsome and good looking and 50 must then be distinguished. Then again look at Sean Connery. He is older than God and he is very attractive.

Is what your body looks like as a man (because it is different for men) the deciding factor as to, in what age category you fall when it comes to looks? I mean simply that, what is the criteria for being sexy? Is there one? I don’t believe that it lies in the eye of the beholder. In today’s age the beholder has been brainwashed and mindfucqed by the media. Is it a specific look or hair style or does it run hand in hand with the trends of the season.

Its taken me 5 years, roughly, to realize that I am not as ugly as sin. I am serious. For all my joking about how sexy I am, I actually have a very low self-esteem when it comes to my looks. So five years and one abusive ex later, I am finally at the point where I at least think that I am good looking. I might not be the hottest thing on the block but I’ve still got it. Granted I got a little too much, but that is why I started gym now. And then I get told I look wise, which in my mind means old. I was hoping that, that photo would be considered sexy!

When I reached this point My mind went into overdrive.

Can a man of 30 and older, the average man, still look sexy? Can I still look sexy? Which again brought me to what is sexy?

I still don’t know. But let me tell you what I decided. That I am a sexy man who happens to look wise as well. My style is my own and I have always dressed a bit…………oddly. I am sure as shit not gonna change who I am to become sexy as per the opinion of the media corrupted human race that thinks that 1.Justin Bieber is a boy and can sing, 2. Put Twiggy on the map for her gorgeous body and 3. Killed just about every person that preached love and freedom.

In closing, Fucq what those people think. I think I am fucqing spectacular, and soon, thanx to Jess, Jaun, Bronwyn and Paul I will be pissing and shitting glitter. That’s how fabulous I am sweety darling. 

My husband thinks I am sexy and still gets turned on when I walk into a room. That is after all the two most important opinions. Remember that. Cuz that is my lesson here. It is only your opinion and the opinion of your loving partner (not an abusive cunt, but a loving partner) that ultimately counts. Be proud and SHINE!!!!

Mwah!!!!

The scariest and most liberating!

Coming out is one of the most liberating things that can happen in the life of gay person. It doesn’t have to be an announcement on the 7 O’ Clock news or anything as serious as that. Telling someone, anyone, a stranger, allows you to breathe again. 

Why?

I cannot speak for all homosexual people or even for all gay men, but for me personally coming out was the scariest thing I have ever had to do. In everyday life, very little scares me. My siblings and I have a standard saying that goes: “My mother didn’t raise scaredy-cat children.” Or in Afrikaans, as we say it: “My ma het nie bang kinders groot gemaak nie.” I will face just about any danger head on, but this was something I did not bargain on.

I had just been divorced, yes from a woman, whom I owe a debt of gratitude. Do we still get along today? NO!!!! Most of our marriage together was loveless and abusive in ways that I do not care to express here. She made the divorce, as with our marriage, as messy as possible and of course allowing everything to be about her only. I could write a book on those six years alone, but no one would believe me in any way since she has the ability to appear like such a wonderful woman who has been wronged by life. But even though my hatred for her is fast, she was still the one that orchestrated me getting kissed by a guy at a club for the first time. For some reason she always wanted me to kiss a guy and even finger me during sex, but I always stopped her from doing so. Then that one night at the club she managed to get a guy to kiss me, well not kiss me. Pin me to the wall of the dance floor and snogg the living shit out of me, is more like it. In the divorce she said that I cheated on her, that night at the club. Be that as it may, I realized there and then that kissing a guy is sooooo much better. No offence ladies! I have had my share of women in my life. Hell I have had about two men’s share of women, but that night I knew that my live was about to change! 4 Months later I was single and ready to explore the world of men. I had a hot little body back then and I loved to love men. I was like a wild animal released from a cage and I knew that some or other time someone would find out. I had to tell my house mate first. A wonderful woman named Lindy Tuck, and someone, whom even though we have drifted apart, I still love with all my heart. Lindy was her normal loving self and didn’t make any issue about anything. To everyone else I said that I think I am bi-sexual but would like to explore. Time went on and soon I think the cat completely fucqed out of the bag. I was terrified that my siblings would hate me. And up until three months ago I was convinced that my brother did hate me and wanted nothing to do with me. I was angry with him and wanted to confront him, but maybe it is a good thing I didn’t. Thankfully everyone else was completely supportive.

You must understand. I wasn’t a kid when this happened. I wasn’t 15 or 16 and had to cope with just the irresponsible life of a teen. I was in my twenties, my mother had just passed away, I got divorced and lost just about everything material that I had, including every single bed that I had in a fully furnished three bedroom house. I had nothing and here I stood the chance that I might loose my loved ones as well.  I was terrified.

A few months after I met Paul and everyone obviously knew about me being gay, my phone at work wrang and it was my biological father. I am just gonna call him Pierre, which is his name. I cannot call him dad or pa or anything of the sort cuz he was never one to me. He would appear and dissapear at certain intervals in life and although I am sure he is a good man, he was never a good father to me. Besides I would not dare get in the way of his wonderful relationship with his second son. The everything in his life.

He wanted my ex’s telephone number and when I asked him why he said it was to discuss a rumour he had heard. I told him that he will have to be more specific than that, as even back then there were a lot of rumours about me. People seemed to always love to gossip about me. What he said next shocked me to shit. I didn’t expect it from him. And even though he was never a huge player in my emotional life there was still some part of me that realized that I am his flesh and blood. I hoped that somewhere in some world that would still mean something. But it didn’t.

Gay hate speech, it's sick

I was told in no uncertain terms that he heard I was a moffie (English: faggot) and that because of that I will always be a fucq-up and will never be worth nothing more than a bum on the street. He carried on insulting me for a good ten minutes, until I eventually very calmly said; “no one speaks to me like that” and I hung up the phone. 

As a kid I was teased by my sibling for being gay and a 'moffie' and it is only when Pierre said those things to me that all of those insults came back to me. They were and still are like lashes that fell on my back from a salted whip. Today the welts remain but I wear them proudly. Pierre’s wife contacted me a month ago. She wanted to know if they can visit and attempt to get Pierre to meet with me. This is not the first time after that telephone incident where I have tried to speak to him about having some sort of a relationship. But as always he didn’t show and he clearly is not interested. I have finally grown to accept what my Mother use to tell me: “The only thing you can rely upon with him is the fact that you cannot rely on him.”

So I do not care if he reads this blog or if some he knows shows it to him. I do not really care if it even hurts him to read the truth.

But I didn’t write this blog to gain sympathy or “shames” or anything like that, I wrote this blog to make you understand, that coming out is the scariest thing that your loved one can do. And how you react to it can and will have a lasting impact on their lives. In extreme cases the impact has caused suicide, hate speech which led to manslaughter and mutilation. You may not agree with being gay but your loved one is not asking you to be their lover, they are simply asking you to understand and accept that this is what life is about, to them. It doesn’t change him or her in any way. I am still the person I was before I came out. Remember, a hug is one of the most powerful tools in this world and can go a long way!

Mwah!