Klere Koop Saam Zeo

So kom die dag dan nou toe ook wat ek klere moet koop vir werk. Ja button up shirts en sulke meer corporate goetters. Kan jy dit glo. Vir die wat my nou nie ken nie, laat ek net verduidelik. Ek word omtrent nooit gesien in enige iets wat net vaag weg ‘n suite resemble nie.

Paul is mal oor daai look. Dis wat hy dra en dit werk rerig vir hom. Hy lyk baie sexy in sulk klere, maar vir my persoonlik is dit boring klere. Mense wat nie colours kan match nie en wat nie kunstig is nie, dra dit. Dis net my opienie en julle hoef nie saam te stem. Ook gaan ek jou nie haat oor jy daardie klere dra nie. Baie mense wat ek ken dra dit, en nou ek ook.

So besluit ons dan nou om Maandag aand wat verby is klere te gaan koop. Sommer daar in my Hemel, ja Canal Walk, waar my saligmaker my bank kaart is. Dan weer hy kan ook partykeer die duiwel van self wees. Maandag was so kombinasie van die twee. Alhoewel ek mal is oor shop is ek nie mal oor boring klere shop nie. Dus die verwarring met die bank kaart se naam. Plasticus Christos of Brokezebank. Maar in geval Plasticus Christos ‘n Judas op my trek en in Brokezebank in verander het ek ook my trusty TFG kaart by my.

So vaar ons winkel na winkel in op soek na 'n broekkie en hempie. Iets wat sal werk vir die corporate wêreld. Maar nou, ek is ‘n groot ou (Paul!....focus!). Ek is 1.8 meter lank en weeg amper 130kg (nie iets waar op ek trots is nie, maar ek se maar net.) Ek dra ‘n 36 denim. Vind jy nou op die Godin se groen aarde ‘n swart broek in 36 en dan wen jy sommer ook 'n vokken Toyota.

Hulle het teering rot size (dis nou n 28) en dan het hulle nice body (32) en dan Holy Fucqing Crap (dis nou n size 44).  44, weet jy hoe vokken groot is dit? EK het niks teen groot mense nie, glad nie. Het baie groot vriende, maar as jy ‘n broek so aankyk, dan kom jy agter hoe groot is 'n 44. En ek weet nie van ander mense nie, maar ek sien nie my vriende as groot nie. Hulle is amazing mense wat ek dag in en uit mee kan gesels. Maar terug na die storie.

Teering Rot

Daar sien ek toe iets wat my rerig amper in my broek laat stoelgang (Dankie Lynn-Miri). Daar is n broek in size 27. Ja in die groot mens afdeling van die mans klere. Ek kon my vokken oë nie glo nie. ‘n 27. Weet jy hoe uit geteer ‘n 27 is? Dis ‘n teering Sprinkaan (Dankie Denise), vok dis Angelina Jolie. As jy ‘n 27 is, eet net vokken iets asseblief, ‘n toebroodtjie, enige iets, maar vokken eet net.

Ek gaan nou vir n oomblik hier vulgar wees. Dit betekin ek gaan bar, ombeskof en onder die belt wees. ‘n 27. As ek mos dit in die hande moet kry, dan breek ek sy pelvis, rugraat en kakebeen.

Right, eventually toe besluit ek dat ek nooit ‘n broek gaan kry nie en dat ek nou maar net n hemp gaan soek.  Nou vir die van julle wat nou nog nooit (mense soos ek) regte werks hemde gekoop het nie, dis moer confusing. Daar is twee nommertjies op die hemp, net so onder die kraag. En nie een van hulle het enige iets te doen met s / m / l / xl nie. Nee dis nommers soos in wiskunde. Ja mens het nou deesdae n bliksemse graad nodig om ‘n hemp te kan koop. Ek weet nou nog watter nommer beteken wat nie.  Hoe de moer moet ek dit weet. Dis nie asof enige iemand dit verduidelik nie. Daar is nie instruksies nie en probeer jy ‘n winkel assistant kry in die land wat 1, sy werk geniet en 2, actually praat sodat dit nie klink asof hy besig is om in sy mond op te gooi nie.  Nou wat doen jy? Old school.

Paul meet die hemde se arms gate teen my rug en ons sien of dit gaan pas.

Ek haal so pers nommer van die rak af, mooi kleur. Dink dit lyk so bietjie groot en ek sien Paul lyk so effe benoud. So asof hy by homself dink “As daai hemp jou pas, dan sky ek jou vet gat”. Paul meet die hemp teen my en God se waarheid dit vou so om my lyfie. Ek het lanklaas so maer gevoel. Ek voel skoons of ek nou op ‘n ramp kan gaan stap.

Natuurlik dit het nie my Pitagoras hemp nommer probleem op gelos nie. So gaan ons maar van hemp na hemp en soek iets wat lyk of dit okay gaan wees. Ek dink natuurlik dit lyk soos ‘n een man tent, maar Paul probeer hard om my gerus te stel. Ek gaan daarna, na die pas kamer toe.

Hulle is besig om Edgars oor te doen en die pas kamers is nou klaar, Dit het so 70’s retro vibe. Dis nice. Heilige Gees maar dis groot. Hoeveel spasie het mens nou rerig nodig om n hemp en of broek aan te pas? Dis so groot soos my vokken badkamer. Die hele cast van BelAmi kan hulle volgende movie daar skiet. (kom ons kyk wie gaan daai reference kry).

Dis ek op die stadium, maar watch this space.

Ek het toe ook eventually 3 hemde gekry. Kannie glo hoe duur so 'n boring stuk lap is nie, maar ok. Ek moet dit mos nou he, so wat kan man maak. Gelukkig was die skoenne koop maklik gewees. As daar mos nou een iets is wat ek ken, dan is dit skoenne koop. Het ook my eerste rooi paar skoenne gekoop. Hoer rooi. Ek love dit! Stunning!

Wel die einde van die storie kom neer dat ek lyk nou nie meer soos iets wat deel is van ‘n proef, vir werk nie. Maar die trauma was amper net te veel vir my. Die punt is, julle vroue het dit soveel makliker as mans. Julle het ‘n verskeidenheid van dinge wat julle kan dra. Rok of Romp of Broek of Leggings en amper alles is aanvaarbaar vir werk. Volgende keer as jy wat vrou is kla oor klere koop, dink aan jou arme man wat dalk ‘n 36 broek dra. Want geen vokken winkel het daai size nie. Ek het eventually een gekry, maar ek gaan nie se waar nie. Dan verloor ek my enigste plek om ‘n broek te koop.So nice is ek nogal nie.

Lekker koop.

xxx

Wedding Planner

Three things, all of you know about me by now.

1 That I am a poof. That means I am gay

2 That I am a Pagan

3 That I recently (on the 13^th of July 2013) got married

So keeping that in mind I want to tell you a little about arranging our magickal day. The planning wasn’t at all as easy as what it might have seemed. This entry is not so much about our wedding as what it is about when it comes to planning a wedding in general. But especially planning a wedding while keeping point 1 and 2 in mind.

You might think that 1 and 2 is not needed to be kept in mind but let me just tell you. They are important.

Every step, everyone that you hire, every venue that you visit, everything will be impacted by these details. Our wedding (or Handfasting as it is called in Paganism) and reception was both held at the same venue.  A beautiful hall in Milnerton. The dance floor steps down from the rest of the hall in a kind of oval shape. The ceremony was held on the dance floor and after that the floor was cleared for the dancing. Beautiful drapes and fairy lights adorned the pillars. The ceremony was openly Pagan and a blind man could see the just about pornographic gay statue on the altar, oh not to mention the two Grooms.

I am telling you this all for a reason. You have to understand that the caterer, as well as the cash bar and the DJ had to set up before the time so that they do not interrupt the ceremony. The wedding started at 17:00. Guests started to arrive by 16:00 (some a little earlier even). The caterer, bar and DJ had to be set up by the time that the guests arrived. Thankfully this was all done successfully. The catering staff, bar staff and DJ was thus going to be there for the ceremony as well. Not to mention the photographer and video camera person.

Everyone we hired had to be aware of the fact that this was a gay Pagan wedding. Not because we are over the top screaming queens, but for practical reasons.  Now thankfully we had no issue at all with any of this but can you imagine your caterer shows up and the in mid ceremony realizes what is going on. Let’s say your caterer is a serious Bible basher. Can you imagine the scene that will be caused. I imagine it to be something like this.

Caterer: This is so beautiful. (just realize that the caterer is standing on side just observing and obviously talking while the Priestess is doing her thing to the lovely couple)

Priestess: We are here to join these to souls together.

Caterer: Sjoe the Bride looks butch,, lets not judge.

Priestess: We your friends and family are here to witness your vows.

Caterer: Weird that they both wearing the same suit kind of thing, let not judge

Priestess: John and David do you come here out……

Caterer: SODOM, GEMORA!!! (at this point she whips out a bible and screams)

Can you imagine the scene. You have to inform the people that you will be working with on your BIG day about what they should and can expect. You don’t want scene’s that could have been avoided. Rather struggle to find the correct bar, that will be sensitive to all of your needs, instead of having a freak out at your wedding. Can you imagine the Bartender is a homophobe and just refuses to serve the happy couple because he thinks that handing them a drink will make him catch the gay virus and turn him. Or worse, they pack up and leave because they are offended by your ways.

Again, thankfully none of that happened to us. We had the most amazing crew on the day that made everything perfect.

For us the BIG disaster happened two weeks before the wedding when someone broke into our home and stole our wedding rings (among other things). We re-ordered our rings, but they were not in time for the wedding. Yes we were crushed, devastated, broken, but it was important to remember that even though the rings were beautiful, they were but a small part of the day. We used other rings for the day and in the mean time our rings have arrived again. We exchanged rings in a Full Moon ritual on Monday night.

When the poop does strike the fan with regards to your wedding planning, just try to remember that freaking out won’t solve it. Planning the wedding (that is if you are not using  planner) is supposed to be fun and a time of bonding for you and your partner. Paul and I did everything together. All the choices were made by the both of us and everything to do with the wedding was because both of us wanted it to that way.

Okay I am going to admit that I did have professional help. About a year or two before we got married I bought a book on how to plan a gay wedding. I read this book cover to cover. A lot of the advise I didn’t use and some I did, but it helped us. Mel can vouch for me when I say the book is full of post-it’s, to remind me of things. The book is ‘A Very Pink Wedding’ by Nicola Hill

Paul jokes (sometimes I am not so sure if he is joking) and tells people that they should rather elope, as it is easier than planning a wedding. He asked me in the week if I would do it again if we had a choice. Naturally my response was “yes I would do it again” as stressing and time consuming as what it was, I would do it again. It was a wedding straight out of a Disney movie.

xxx

How Paul Fits In - Part 6

It is almost a year since I last wrote about how Paul and I got together.  Originally I didn’t want to continue with the story as I thought that the idea was only to write about how we got together. But even Disney makes movies to show you what happens to the happy couple once they end up being together. So here we go.

We left the story where on a very teary Sunday afternoon, Paul left to go back to his terrible job in Burgersfort. He worked for a woman that worked him to the bone and to this day I would still LOVE to meet her to give her a small piece if my mind.

--Driekie, don’t ever mess with a Scorpio’s lover, just some useless info. --

In Burgersfort he had to work out a 2 weeks notice, which I still thought was kak, but he being the sweet nice man that he is, still did it. The problem is that this turned into a month. A month……the longest fucqing month of my life. Of course after he worked out his month he went back to his Parents house in Bethal and there he was for about a two weeks to pack his stuff. In this time period I remember mailing his mother and referring to his parents as Mr and Mrs Joubert. Today his mother is my mommy as well and Mr. Joubert is the only real Dad I have ever had. I love them to bits. Back to the story though.

As you can imagine by this time I lost hope. In my fucqed up mind I thought he was only going to be gone for two weeks. I don’t know why I thought that, but that is what I thought. And every day longer than those initial two weeks that he worked in Burgersfort, started to maybe sound like him making excuses so that he doesn’t have to move down. When he eventually told me that he was at his parents house I told him that I wont bother him there, as it is important that he spends time with them, cuz Goddess alone knows when he will see them again. (Thankfully he didn’t have to wait too long as they came to visit. But that is still to come in the story) If he wanted to speak to me while in Bethal, he had to contact me.

I remember that he didn’t contact me nearly as much as what I wanted him too and this of course made me loose hope even more. I was convinced that he played me for a fool and that I wouldn’t see him again. I was hurt, but more than that I was angry with myself. I had become that thing that I warned people not to become when you Internet date. Whenever he phoned, my heart still leapt. It couldn’t do anything else as I was truly in love with this man. Yes that quickly. I was never a believer in love at first sight until Paul. So I was never rude to him over the phone, but skeptical.

Then one fateful day he phoned me to give me a date. A date that he will be at Cape Town International Airport. Now I will admit that I was in two minds at this point.

Firstly, I was over the moon and for all those that know me from then, you will remember that I started counting the days on Facebook as part of my status.

Secondly, I was worried. What if this was just a lie? I had been lied to many times in the past. What if this was just something to make me shut up.

Thirdly, I was fearful. What happens if this man moves down to Cape Town for me and we clash terribly?

All of this, and more, raced through my mind. Somehow I decided to stay positive. Which isn’t always easy for me, or rather wasn’t always easy for me. But with the help of my friend Skelly, it has become a breeze. So with a positive attitude I started changing the bedroom so that it not only incorporated my loves and interests, but also his. I remember buying this HUGE Japanese fan that formed part of our headboard. I went all out and wanted him to feel that it is also his room, not just mine.

Not too long after, I took a beautiful man from the Airport to our new place.

I just moved into a flat in Edgemead, our first home together. One we shared with another couple, but it didn’t matter as I had my man. I remember him sitting on the edge of the bed with his suitcase and I sat behind him, just holding him. I didn’t want to let go. I was so afraid that I would loose him for another 6 weeks, that I couldn’t let him go. I just held him. To this day I cannot be away from him for long. It drives me crazy to not be with him. I miss him so terribly. If I go to bed I have to touch him. Even if it is just my foot touching his foot, but if he is not sleeping next to me (like when I go to JHB or DBN) I struggle forever to fall asleep and I don’t have as a good nights sleep as what I have next to him. Being away from him makes me cry. Yes and that might sound pathetic and sissy-boy like. Frankly I don’t give a fucq what it sounds like.

I believe that this is all like that, due to that first night that we lived together where I could not stop holding him.

Pink Loerie

Paul and I decided to get away for a few days. We originally went to drop off Wedding invites but that didn’t quite pan out as we expected and on last minute we decided to still go. We took three friends and went to Hartenbos for the weekend. We like to take turns in taking friends there. So each person that means something to us gets to share the magick of Hartenbos with us.  Before we left I made it very clear that we have to leave Hartenbos early on Saturday morning to go to the Sedgefield Farmers Market and Knysna.

At the Market we had yummy breakfast, but me in my infinite wisdom didn’t take a single warm top with for the weekend and it was fucqing cold there at that time. So we walk around the market trying to find a top to buy. Of course I see many ones that I love but they are either too expensive or made to fit my one thigh. One size fits all, my gat. If you don’t mind looking like a Wallmart add, then yes sure, one size fits all. 

We walk past this one guy that is so loud that he has to be gay. Not that he was that loud, to be honest, but no straight guy is ever that loud. He looked at me and said “I like your broek” to which I smiled politely and said thank you. But I didn’t think anything of it. It is a nice broek! Paul made it. 

Eventually I get to a stall that has hippy like clothing that I like and there is a blue top that I like, wel mostly blue. The woman tells me: 

Photo was taken by Martyn Hill

“One size fits all”………..my gemoed sak in my skoene. 

I hear this voice, yes the same voice that liked my broek, saying that if it fits him then he gets it for free. I know I also said at the same time, something about me highly doubting that it will be one size fits all.

Of course the lovely lady who owns the stall tells me to try it on, yes hoping to make a sale. And it fits. She says that it looks good and I say it is only because I am wearing it. Next minute I hear Broeks (that’s just what I am gonna call him from now on, since I don’t know his name) saying I will have one, as he points to me. He then corrects himself and says: 

“I mean the jacket not him, …….but I will buy him too.”met so 'come to daddy smirk' op sy gesig.

I was shocked. One: he had his boyfriend with him (a very handsome Indian looking man), Two: my fiancé is standing right next to me and Three: someone actually hit on me. I think the last one shocked me the most. Here I am, Blond (since I cut off my beautiful long black hair), about 40kgs over weight (no longer fitting into my beautiful clothing), freezing my tits off, no makeup (not even eyeliner) and someone hits on me. I thought, My God what is this world coming to? But I was so shocked that all I could get out was: 

“I am extremely expensive.” I realize now, how this could have been seen as a rude remark but that is honestly not how I meant it.

Another Martyn Hill Photo

So we leave the beautiful town of Sedgefield, to go to the Beautiful town of Knysna. Only to discover that it is the Pink Loerie festival. Now I have never been to any form of gay event. Yes I went to Bronx and Clud 55 and even to the Gat Party, but never to like the Pride or something huge and expansive and parade’s and street parties.   

Oh I went to the Lady Gaga concert, which I suppose is as good as a gay pride parade. But in my young queer life, this was going to be my first parade. Anitici..............pation.

I must just tell you, for those that have never been to the Pink Loerie. This is not a small thing that a few moffies and dikes get together for. Nee meisie. The entire fucqing town gets involved. Its amazing to walk in a town so small and see all the pink and all the gay flags. Everyone, young and old gets into it. The solidarity was amazing. It was wow. 

We go do our shopping and a few hours later 5 very tired friends decides to just have a quick drink at a small restaurant in Knysna, before we go home. At this point not planning to stay for the parade. (Paul mentioning something about the traffic being a bitch if there is a parade)

Chaplin’s Bistro was our destination. I chose it because, to me, it was the best decorated one that I could see. They were kitted out for the Pink Loerie. So we went to go sit just to have a quick drink………………. Now anyone that knows me, should also know that when I am enjoying myself, it is never a quick drink ……………never……………..ever.

The owner of this lovely place came up to us and she told me how glamorous I looked. I was flattered and thankful. Every now and again she came to our table to chat. We (by we I mean I made Riaan do it for me) asked her for one of the chair decors as a souvenir and she happily agreed. The problem is that Riaan looked like a boring straight boy, as a matter of fact that is exactly what I called him. So the table décor became his scarf. What followed next was Paul wanting to put a fake pink rose in Kevin’s hair. But Kevin would only agree to it if we bought him a drink. You see we had to do this because in order for Getanya (Riaans girlfriend) to agree for me to go buy Riaan a toy tiara to put on, she said Kevin must put the flower in the his hair…………So I toddled across the square to the toy shop to get Riaan a tiara after ordering Kevin’s milkshake.

But alas, the toy shop had no Tiara’s. Which yes, I did kak them out for. I mean with all the Queers in town, how could they not have tiara’s. What the Fucq!! However, Zeo does not give up that easily. You all should know that by know right. So I bought him a purple tinsel wig instead. *evil laugh

What we all looked like at that point

Now you are all asking if he put it on………..come on, you should know me better than to ask that sort of question. Like he had a choice. I also bought Paul a flower necklace. So now all of us are pretty much looking like we could be in the spirit of things. Well all of us except for Riaan who looks like a really tired has been boring old porn queen drag act. But then something happened that changed Riaan’s fate. I ordered Bubbly for the table. Great for me, BAD for Riaan. Throughout all of this, Jenny (the wonderful owner of Chaplin’s) is just about kuiering with us. Pretty soon Riaan was topless and his scarf became a halter neck boob choop. My blue snood (type of scarf) came off and was magically transformed into a mini skirt for Riaan. I felt like the fairy godmother in Cinderella. I transformed a really tired has been boring old porn queen drag act into Mz. Pink Loerie. Well he wasn’t a boring straight boy anymore. Hehehehehe.

Mz. Pink Loerie and Jennie in orange

So at three we decide to go and join the crowd for the parade. Ons gaan nou parade kyk. And I have to tell you it was interesting. Some really hot boys some really old boys, some young some not so hot. Some bears and some twinks. Good Drag Queens and bad Drag Queens and lots of Drag Queens whom I would like to contact to teach them how to walk properly on heels, without letting the ankle shake that much. 

Who comes walking past us in the parade, handing out the Pink Tongue (This is a LGBT newspaper {to whom I will mail this blog}), Broeks!! I was nogal upset with him. Wants to buy me in Sedgefield, but doesn’t even offer me a spot in the parade. It is so over between us. Hehehehehehehehe ;) ag just kidding Broeks, I still luv you!

After Getanya got me a Pink Loerie T-Shirt (Please don’t ask) and Riaan got felt up by lots and lots of guys wanting his photo, yes I am being serious, we decided to go back to Hartenbos and enjoy a quiet night by the fire. 

Thank you to everyone that made my first (and hopefully not the last) Pink Loerie so memorable. Love you all

Mwah!

P.S. Yes I did buy the mostly blue top. I am wearing it in the photo!

Wedding Jitters

I have been extremely quiet lately. Wedding jitters…..I think. So I decided that I would tell you about my wedding jitters. Maybe it will somehow help me to cope with it all.

13 July 2013

Well firstly you have to understand that this is the second time I am doing this. My mother (Goddess rest her soul) was married 5 times. I am 30 and going on number two. So yes just a little freaked out about that. Paul’s parents are so wonderful together and they are first time wedders. ( I just made that phrase up. It means to still be married in your first and only marriage, that is happy.) Oh look at me rewriting the Dictionary.

How many people can say that they are still first time wedders? But taking it further, I am Paul’s first relationship. Not his first sex (skank has had a few shags before me and I constantly reminding him that any bitch before me was a mistake) but his first relationship……ever.  Now how many people do you know that is still first wedders with their first time partner….yea suddenly it seems all a bit unreal doesn’t it.

But like any little girl (who the fucq am I kidding), I have been planning my BIG day for a long time. You know all of that is actually a lie, but I have been imagining what it would be like to plan a wedding where I actually have a say in what is happening. Pretty unreal I know. And what is great is that Paul is letting me run with the ideas. Yes I run everything past him first and if doesn’t like it then we don’t do it. Even the designs on the invites. But I feel like I am planning the fairytale wedding and he is just cool with it, His same calm self. 

“When a prince meets another prince and they fall in love they have the ability to live happily ever after. First they gotta see who is the top and who is the bottom and if there is a versatile in one of them. It helps if they both have nice asses and crotches. Eye candy is always good. Of course there is also.....you know what let me just say that gay relationships are fucqing difficult.”

Side tracking way too much!Hmmmm nice crotch......

Most of the things are done. It is just all the small things now that we are trying to sort out and then putting all of those small things together to make our magickal day work. Oh and the be damned cash bar! I am at wits end between them and Govermunt. Jirre.

So far, everyone but Mirelle (and what does she know with her hillbilly pallet), loves the invites. We worked very hard on them and it seems that everyone liked them. Yes I know that it is not about the people and that it is only about Paul and myself coming together, but you don’t want anyone to look at the invites and be as judgemental as what I know I can be. “Oh my god, this looks cheap and home made. Could they not at least just have cut straight. This is tacky.”

Yes those are things that I would say. Yes I am judgemental and superficial and sometimes plastic. One of my gay friends told me that it is a fags prerogative to be like that. I have embraced it. The first rule of magick is “Know Thyself”  :)

I will admit and have to give it to him. Paul, as I have stated may times before, is King of Procrastination. No one can procrastinate like he can. Well apparently his dad can and that is where Paul gets it from, but that is gossip between me and my Bethal Mommy.

But while planning the Wedding he has been on the ball. He really has amazed me and shown me that he can do things quickly. Yes this might come to bite him in the ass later on, but we will deal with that later, when it happens, hehehehehehe.

Right now our main concern is getting someone to make the cake for us at a price that we can afford. Getting enough carpets and pillows and finalizing the Table Décor. Of course we still have to find the perfect ribbon to use to tie our hands with as well. It has to be perfect and not just any old piece of shit.  But that is pretty much all in my area of influence. Paul’s biggest task is to sort the bar people out and then we need to write the ritual and get a rehearsal in before the time as well. Did I mention we have two months and 10 days before the BIG DAY?!

Oh I almost forgot. So far we are getting married wearing only a jacket and shoes. The rest of our outfits also still has to be done. Is it any wonder as to why I am freaking out just a little bit here?

Again, I know that the day is not about everyone else. I know it is only about us and that we should enjoy this planning process. Yes even though I agree with all of that, I still want this day to be just about as close to perfect as what it can possibly be. It is going to be THE event of the year.

I am trying to think of my vows and what it is that I will say to Paul in ritual. I cannot think of one solid explanation that could ever encompass just how much, how deeply and how truly I love him. He is my entire world and without him I don’t want anything anymore. Nothing is worth it, if I cant share it with him…..Oooohhh that was good, let me remember that for when I do write my vows.

makes a mental note

Not that mental notes help, considering how mental I am. Yes by mental I do mean completely and utterly fucqed in the head. But I have to tell you that being psycho does have it’s advantages and can be a lot of fun.

Well I am gonna try to write more and not let the Wedding give me jitters anymore. Till we chat again.

Mwah!

Benefit of Living in the Country - Number 3 (Boo-ing Iron)

I was too young  to know anything about politics and procedures. Least of all the politics of those that did not affect me. It is only as I grew up, that I started taking an interest in it. Especially in the monarchy of the United Kingdom. From there I started doing my own reading up on affairs that took my interest.

13 October 1925 - 08 April 2013

Baroness Margaret Thatcher

On the 17^th of April in the year of 2013, we the people buried on of the most well known women ever to have lived. Baroness Margaret Thatcher. She served as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom from 1979 to 1990. The longest serving Prime Minister of the 20^th Century and to date the only female one. A soviet Journalist called her the “Iron Lady”. A nick name that became associated with her, due to her style of leadership and uncompromising politics.

She was a qualified chemist and lawyer. In 1959 she became a Member of Parliament and in 1975 she became Leader of the Opposition.  She was a ruthless cut throat Prime Minister and many of her policies are still referred to as Thachirisms.

There are mixed feelings about this remarkable woman from people all over the world. Even from the people of South Africa, due to her involvement in our apartheid years. But let us quickly look at a few facts.

House of Parliaments Statue

1.     The first female Prime Minister.

2.     The longest serving Prime Minister

3.     She was awarded a Presidential medal of Freedom in 1991 by the USA

4.    She was the first living British ex-Prime Minister to be honoured with a statue in the Houses of Parliament in 2007

5.     Thatcher returned to 10 Downing Street in late November 2009 for the unveiling of an official portrait by artist Richard Stone, an unusual honour for a living ex-Prime Minister.

6.     In July of 2011 Thatcher had been named the most competent British Prime Minister of the past 30 years

These are just a few of the things that places her at the top. All of this could surely not have happened if she wasn’t worth her weight in gold.

But funny enough my post today is not so much about the Baroness Thatcher as what it is about human nature.

People held mock funerals for her. they had fake coffins on which they wrote the most horrible things. At her funeral people boo-ed her, while some people

10 Downing Street Portrait

openly made jibes about her to the press. It has always been human nature to start the jokes when someone of importance passes into spirit. But these jokes are not the average jokes. They are down right mean and nasty.

On a different note, the Baroness had two children, Mark and Carol. Carol never married or had children, saying that she enjoys life as a single woman way too much to give it up. Mark got married and has two children, Michael and Amanda. This makes the Baroness a grandmother. A granny like all of us have. Well ok maybe not exactly like all of us have, but a granny none the less.

Thursday morning the 18^th of April, the tabloids were filled with images of these horrible “funerals” that were held for the Baroness. The fact that people openly boo-ed at her funeral has swept throughout the world and we as a people will always remember that. So what makes you think that her children and grandchildren wont remember it? Besides for being a politician and a pioneer and some would say tyrant, she was a mother and a grandmother. Why can that not be respected? Why did we have to make sure that the last memory that these people will have of their mother and grandmother is that of crowds boo-ing at her funeral?

I am not disputing whether or not she was a good Prime Minister. Despite what people might say, the evidence would say that she was the best one in the last 30 years.  My argument is about the fact that humans cannot even allow an 87 year old woman a peaceful funeral.

And I bet you that those pieces of shit, dregs of society, probably the types that come from Manchester and lives on the doll. Well lives is such a strong word. They get there doll, go to the pub and have there moneys worth in pints, forgetting about the one toothed teenage wife at home with their nine kids. Those are the kinds of people that commit such an atrocity.

Meeting Nelson Mandela

But I bet you when their Granny-Mommy (yes this means that due to inbreeding their mother is also their granny) dies one day and someone wants to boo at the………well at the piss up, they would be the first ones to create a scene about it and try knock someone with a bottle.

Understand that I am not even talking about respect for the dead. I am talking about having respect for the fact that some people are actually mourning for the passing of that person and that they deserve the right and the opportunity to mourn for their loved one in a respectful manner.

And then people wonder, why I don’t like people. Well this would be another great reason for me to live in the country. Then I wont have to deal with fucqed up people, that boo at funerals. Just Paul and I and our 2million cats. And the odd guest that we pre-approve. :)

Mwah!

23 Augustus

Johan was nog nooit in sy lewe so alleen soos wat hy vandag is nie. Dis asof die wêreld sy betekenis verloor het, en nou is hy net nog een van die gesiglose wesens wat op n automatiese wentelbaan deur sy lewe sal gaan soos iemand wat nie self ‘n rol speel nie. In sy 73 jaar op die aarde het hy nog nooit so koud gekry nie. Nie fiesies koud nie, maar die is ‘n innerlike koue, ‘n koue wat mens slegs ervaar wanneer daar nie meer iemand is om jou siel warm te vryf nie.

Hy was nog altyd n man wat ‘n lus gehad het vir die lewe. Hy het ‘n lied in sy hart gehad wat niemand sou kon stil maak nie, en toe gebeur vandag. 23 Augustus 2012. Sy selluler is eintlik taamlik stil en daar was nie te veel mense nie. Maar dan weer, wat het hy verwag? Soos mens ouer raak is dit mos asof jou mense vergeet jy leef. Hulle skeep jou al meer af en voor jy dit weet sit jy alleen saam tien ander mense wat jou ouderdom is op die 23ste Augustus. Niemand anders gee tog om nie. Johan verkies dit eintlik so. Hy sal eerder die oomblik deel met tien mense wat opreg is as ‘n honderd mense wat in elk geval nie omgee nie.

Hy het besluit dat hy nie vandag terug sal gaan na die meentehuis waar hulle bly nie. Of is dit nou “hulle gebly het nie”? Maar hy besluit om nie so daaraan te dink nie. Hy sal later daarheen terug keer. Vir nou kort hy om rondom mense te wees wat hy nie ken nie. Mense wat nie die herhinneringe en verlange in hom erger kan maak nie. So hier sit hy nou in ‘n koffie kroeg. Sommer so by die ‘bar’ en drink n beker swart boere troos. Snaaks, die troos wil nie werk nie en hy is al by sy tweede beker. Hy is hartseer. Dis die perfekte beskrywing. Dit voel asof sy hart hier diep binne sy borskas besig is om uit mekaar uit te skeur en daar is niks wat hy kan doen daaroor nie. Geen pil of pleister kan dit regmaak nie. Die hartseer is so oorweldigend dat hy homself nie eers kan kry om te huil nie. Dis nie dat hy nie wil huil nie. Hy gee nie om wat die mense dink nie, maar die trane wil nie, of kannie kom nie.

Die deur van die koffie kroeg ting-a-ling soos dit oop maak en n moderne blonde poppie stap in. Haar jean is so styf dit moes aangeverf gewees het. Haar hare vasgemaak in n halfhartige bolla en oor haar oorfone praat sy met iemand aan die ander kant van haar selluler. Sy kom sit langs Johan en hy kan hoor dat die ‘n liefdes gesprekkie is wat plaasvind. “Nee sit jy neer…….nee jy………okay kom ons doen dit saam” Dit herhinner Johan so aan sy eie lewe, maar net baie baie jare gelede. Sy sit die foon uit eindelik neer en sonder dat hy bedoel om dit hardop te sê, glip die woorde by sy mond uit

“Is mooi”

“Is jy nie bietjie oud om rond te kyk nie oupa?” val sy aan.

“Ek is jammer, ek bedoel die manier wat jy en jou kêrel praat, dis mooi. Laat my terug dink aan………” Johan kannie die woorde wat in sy keel vas sit uit wurg nie en hy staar net voorentoe. ‘n Enkele traan rol oor sy wang.

“Ag shame oupa! Is jy okay, kom ek stick jou vir n rondte. Waitress!! Twee vanilla Latté’s asseblief. No Skim, low fat, geen suiker.” Sy kyk na Johan se amper lëe koppie “Nee oupa, die lewe kannie so sleg wees dat jy swart koffie moet drink nie.”

“Dankie, en noem my sommer Johan.”

Voor sy haarself weer op ruk (oor hy kamtig flirt) sien sy die trou pant aan sy linker hand “Candice, aangenaam. Waar is ouma? Weet sy jy sit hier alleen in ‘n koffie kroeg en chat met jong girls?” Candice gee ‘n giggel en dadelike sien sy dat Johan net weer staar.

Hy weet hy is nie die beste geselskap op die stadium nie, maar ombeskof gaan hy ook nie wees nie.

Candice sien dadelike die treur in Johan en besluit dat hy nodig het om daaroor te praat.

“Shame Johan. Wanneer het dit gebeur?” sy vryf sy skouer.

Hy kon nog nooit verstaan hoe, as mens se hartseer is, dat jou skouer altyd gevryf word. So asof daar n onsigbare paneel op jou skouer sit wat die hart beter laat voel as dit gevryf word. Maar hy stop haar ook nie. Die geselsie, weet hy, is wat hy eintlik wil he, maar natuurlik nie sal erken nie.

“Vyf dae gelede. Begrafnis was vandag.” Hy bedoel nie om kort af te wees nie, maar die knop in sy keel en traan in sy oog wil hom nie toelaat om volle sinne te maak nie.

“Hoe lank was julle saam?” vra Candice verder. Hou hom aan die praat, is al wat sy dink. Laat hom daaroor praat en hy sal beter voel. Sy kan nie eens indink hoe erg dit moet wees op so ‘n oue ouderdom om jou vrou te verloor nie.

“Ons was nog kinders toe ontmoet het. 1956, so ek was 17.”

“Shit maar dis n lang tyd né? Ek wonder of ek en Michael dit so lank gaan hou, dis my kêrel.” Haar gesig kry nuwe lewe as sy die naam Michael se.

“Die lewe is anders vandag. Julle jong mense het nuwe uitdagings en nuwe dinge wat julle getrouheid toets. Ons het nie daai dinge gehad nie. Ons was vir 56 jaar saam en elke dag getrou aan mekaar. Ons het nie Internet en al die chat rooms gehad nie. Dit was maklik om lief te raak vir iemand en lief te bly. Dis so natuurlik soos asemhaal”

Die Latté’s word voor hulle neer gesit en Johan bly aan staar in die verte.  

“Dis so romanties. Ware liefde. Julle was seker so gelukkig.”

“Ja, ons het mekaar se lewens vol gemaak. Ons was alles vir mekaar. Selfs deur die moeilike tye het ons saam gestaan en dinge saam geveg. Maak nie saak wie wat gese het nie, ons was ‘n span. Wel tot en met 5 dae gelede, en nou sit ek hier, in ‘n koffie kroeg. Eensaam en alleen. Ek is te oud om te vergeet en aan te beweeg. Al wat nou nog voor my lê is die dood.”

“Ag nee, Jy kan mos nie sommer so net wil opgee nie.” Sy sit sommer reg op en los sy skouer. “Ek is seker daar is baie wat jy het om voor te lewe. Wat van julle kinders en die klein kinders?” Haar kyk aan hom is een wat diep binne in sy siel in kom en ‘n wond oop maak, ‘n wond wat hy gedink het nooit weer sal oop gaan nie.

“Ons het nie kinders nie. Kon nie.” Nader aan die waarheid is die feit dat hulle nie mag kinders gehad het nie.

“Ja dis nou ‘n jammerte, jy sou n awesome pa gewees het. Ek kan dit sommer sien. Jy is al klaar my nuwe hero, ek wil ook eendag so lank soos jy verlief wees op iemand. Dis regtig amazing. Ek neem jou sommer aan as my oupa.” Sy giggel weer en gee hom so effense stamp van die skouer.

“Ja dit sou lekker gewees om ‘n kind te he” Dan sou hy iets gehad het om voor te lewe. ‘n Kind sou hom aan die gang gehou het nou. Dit sou die swart leemte in hom vol maak. As dinge maar net anders was.

“Ek bet julle was n sexy couple. Wys my n foto toe. Laat ek sien hoe ware liefde vertoon wanneer dit so mooi uitgebeeld word.” Johan dra ‘n foto in sy beursie, soos meeste mense mos maar doen. Hy haal sy beursie uit en huiwer. Wil hy rerig nou dit doen. Wil hy rerig hier waar dinge nou net begin draag saam word weer herhinner word aan die prag gesig van sy verlore liefde.

Voor hy registreer gryp sy die beursie uit sy hand uit. Sy maak dit oop. Stil staar sy na die foto. Soos n vuurpyl spring sy op en gooi Johan se beursie na sy gesig. Dit bons teen sy borskas en val op die vloer.

“Jy sal in die Hel brand jou siek vark!” skreeu sy terwyl sy uit storm sonder om vir die Latté’s te betaal. Gelukkig het hy nog so paar rand in sy beursie.

Sonder om ontsteld te raak oor haar optrede buk hy af om sy beursie van die vloer af op te tel. Die beursie lê oop voor hom en die eerste ding wat hy sien is die foto van hom en David wat soen.

Hy kan dit nie keer nie. Die trane rol oor sy wange. Hy dink terug aan 56 jaar van liefde wat David langs hom gestaan het. Met n bewende hand haal hy ‘n honderd rand noot uit en sit dit net neer. Hy kan skaars sien deur sy trane. Mense begin na hom staar en kyk en hy besef dat hy tog wel omgee oor wat hulle dink. Sy liggaam krul vooroor soos wat hy huil maar hy moet by die koffie kroeg uit.

“Hoekom moes jy my los David?” huil hy by homself.

Ting-a-ling gaan die deur oop om hom uit te laat. Hy loop so vinnig as wat hy kan, maar die pad terug na die meentehuis moet hy stap op geheue want deur die trane kan hy niks sien nie. Soos hy loop praat hy met homself.

“Jy was my lewe, my alles. Hoe kon jy dit aan my doen? Hoe kon jy my alleen los? Ek mis jou elke minuut van elke uur”

En toe kom die slag. Remme wat skreeu. Toetters wat blaas en mense wat gil “Pasop!”

Vir n oomblik voel hy so lig soos n veer, maar amper dadelike daarna tref hy iets hard. Hy weet dit gaan seer wees.

“Johan,…….Johan” Hy hoor sy naam gefluister word. Sy ooglede gaan oop en David staan oor hom.

“Johan, kom nou, word wakker”

“Is…….is dit werklik jy David? Ek…..ek dog ek het jou verloor.” Trane van blydskap val saggies en stadig oor sy gesig

“Jy sal my nooit verloor nie Johan. Liefde, so sterk soos ons sin, kan nooit vir lank weg van mekaar gehou word nie. Ek het jou ook gemis. Ek konnie sonder jou aan gaan nie.” David soen hom saggies teen die bloed wond op die voorkop. Die oomblik toe hy sy lippe wegtrek verdwyn die wond.

“Ek verstaan nie” Johan probeer homself op stut op sy elmboë en besef dat hy nie seer is nie. Glad nie.

“Daar is niks om te verstaan nie my lief. Ons is weer saam, dis al wat saak maak.”