Month: March 2010

Miss(ter) Martin

So! Ricky Martin has come out! Who would have thought? Ricky Martin? Gay? Nooooooooooooo!

Miss(ter) Martin, we knew you were gay before you knew she bangs. The moment you admitted your obsession with Madonna, we all turned to each other with a knowing smirk. When we saw you working out on the beach (fag in hand), we knew. No straight man wears a speedo on a public beach. Gay men, well, it’s a uniform. No entry unless your budgie is smuggled (and preferably in full view).

We all knew when you adopted twins. You’re a fine looking man. Any woman in her right mind would breed with you. I know a lot of men that would die trying. Ahem…

So, for those of you who are in the closet and would like to keep it shut a bit tighter than Miss(ter) Martin did, here are ten important lessons for you.

How to stay in the closet without everyone knowing:
1. Never admit to liking Madonna. In fact, do not even acknowledge knowing a song of hers. You will have to fight the urge to whip your hands in the air and snap as soon as her songs come on, but fight you will. That closet doesn’t come with a lock, you know.

2. Never do a song with Christina Aguillera. Just saying.

3. Do not wear a speedo. You may anonymously take a pic of your headless, speedo-wearing body and paste it on gay dating sites. Married men do it all the time.

4. Do not be in a speedo with other men wearing a speedo, unless you are Ryk Neetling.

5. Never sing in Spanish. Ever.

6. Never adopt kids unless you have a valid reason to. Or if you are married to Angelina Jolie. That’s fine…

7. Never ever, and I mean ever, wear tight pants while shaking your hips as you sing. Gay men have notoriously good rhythm and their bums are important to them, so hence the innate ability to shake them well. Few straight men get the dance gene.

8. Never be better looking than everyone else. That’s just mean. And every man you meet will be trying to get you out of that closet. Their reasons may vary from man to man.

9. Do not cry about the impoverished people you came across on a help mission while you are on the Ellen show. You may only cry if Ellen gives you a car. Anything else is just gay.

10. Do not refuse to answer questions about your sexuality. Nothing says gay than someone refusing to say. Just lie. We all did.

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First day blues

In less than three days I finish my current job and start a whole new chapter with a new company. So gosh darn exciting! I’m going to be working on the biggest magazine title in South Africa currently, and with a team that I can only grow from. It’s also one of the biggest publishing houses in the country, so there’s opportunity in the future. It seems like a pretty good career move.

It’s always daunting walking into a company for the first time and sitting at your new desk with your not-so-new computer (always remember to take disinfectant wipes to work on your first day – the keyboard and phone are crawling with bacteria, and, let’s face it, you could be replacing someone who had to leave because they showed symptoms of the bubonic plague). I must be honest, the first day is probably the most scary. You have to say hi and try remember names and hope that someone will tell you where the loo is before you wet your chair. You have no idea who’s cool and who’s not, and if there will be a microwave to warm your lunch.

It’s like being the new kid in high school. You hope like hell you make a good first impression.

I tend to over-share when I’m nervous. Or I become so quiet that people wonder why they employed me. Inside I’m shy, okay.

But the over-sharing thing is what concerns me. Ever have those pregnant pauses where you don’t know what to say? I NEVER do. I fill them. You don’t speak for a second? Baby, I will fill the gap and ramble. About anything. Usually Britney Spears. Which either gets me a friend for life, or more silence. Which makes me fill the silence more. So I talk about feathers. Silence. Then I sing… “O may I go a wandering, along life’s mountain track… Valdereeeeeeeeeee…” Stone cold silence.

You get the picture.

So this first day will be different. I will walk in remembering I am closer to 40 than I am to 20, and talk about mature things like Julius Malema and the rise of atheism in the modern world.

Hmmmmm…

Valdereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Sunday inspiration…

If any movie makes you want to start a blog it will be Julie and Julia. I spotted it in the DVD store last night and, having missed it while on circuit, thought it made for perfect Saturday staying-in material. FJ and I are in a bit of a stay-in phase. Partly because we have a wedding to pay for and a nasty habit of going to the store for groceries and coming back with oversized plasma screen TVs. So we’re like Emily Dickinson at the mo. We just roll a basket out the window and hope that kind strangers will pop in a pawpaw or two.

Fj was also a victim of crime after his brief visit to deep dark Africa. His wallet got nabbed and they conveniently tucked into our joint account before we could stop them. Such is life… and no need to feel down about it. Things could have been far worse in deep dark Africa (especially in a country that’s started imprisoning gay people for life if they’re discovered).

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnyyyywaaaayyyyyyy…

Back to the movie about Julie and that darling Julia Child. If you haven’t seen it – it’s about two women, both based on real characters. Julia Child was an American woman who learnt how to cook French food, wrote a cookbook and became a celebrity in doing so. Julie is a charming young woman with hardly any money and in a job she hates so she decides to start a blog cataloguing the challenge she has set herself – to cook all the recipes from Julia Child’s book Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year. Over 500 recipes in 365 days.

As she starts the blog, she is just like any of us who have started a blog – that clumsy first post as you try to introduce yourself and hope like hell someone will read it.

You watch her get her first comment and the excitement that creates. It turns out to be her mom asking if anyone but her reads the blog. Rather deflating. But eventually she has an avid readership with readers sending her ingredients to use as she discovers her voice – not only through food, but on the keypad of thoughts spewed into cyberspace.

Needless to say, I felt inspired.

I started the blog to find my voice. I’m one of those people who comes across as incredibly confident, sometimes a bit larger than life, when deep inside I have no idea if I’m even vaguely on the right track on this thing called life. Blogging has taught me an invaluable lesson – there is no track; there is only reflection on the steps you’ve made. And that’s why I blog.

I know I’ve been heavy in recent posts. I feel like I lost the light-hearted rambler who saw the fun in being vespa-ed around Joburg and the delight at being closer to 40 than 60 and who wanted to capture the journey of a pair of black shoes around the world.

I’ve felt the need to defend who I am. Because I’m a bit different to the norm.

Thanks to this blog and the people who have responded here, by mail and in person, I’ve realised that my journey is my journey. My voice is mine. My heart belongs to who I choose to give it to. And, thanks to a little movie called Julie and Julia, I feel inspired to find the fabulous all over again…

Okay, I have to go. I have a boeuf bourguignon in the oven and a hungry husband to feed…

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Much to report back on so will post in bullets points as don’t have time to do the details.

  • been up since 3am. Insomnia (the bitch) came to visit. On fourth cup of coffee. Feel surprisingly alert.
  • resigned from my job at the beginning of the month
  • have a new one obviously
  • Veh veh excited
  • also have new car
  • and new spouse
  • life is good
  • so is coffee
  • church told the person who was meant to marry us that he can’t.
  • equated our wedding with praying for a robber to rob a house and be abundant.
  • refuse to get heavy about it on blog.
  • will rather stew at home
  • but am drinking coffee
  • so feel surprisingly chipper
  • whhhhheeeeeeeee
  • went to see Shaolin Monks on Tuesday
  • who knew kung fu could be so boring
  • two hours of “wheeeeeeee, look what I can do!”
  • wheeeeeeeeeeeeee
  • sipping on my coffee as we speak…
  • whheeeeeeeeeeeee

Maybe. Probably.

So when you go to Home Affairs to get married, you may get very nervous beforehand. You may even go red and stammer a bit when people greet you or ask you how you’re doing.

You apparently get a bit coy when you see the person you’re about to get married to get out of the car and head towards you looking all dashing and hot. Even though you’re on the pavement of Home Affairs.

In fact, you may even get a bit tearful.

Apparently.

When you head up to the room (filled with streamers that look like they came out the ark, drenched over the faded fake chrysanthemums) you may realise that you shouldn’t have worn white pants because the place is donnerse dusty.

But you may not care because you’re all red and bashful so any attention off your face is good.

You may get flustered when the civil union officer asks you if you want to get married or partnered and you have no idea what the difference is. You may feel a bit sheepish that the few people who you told about your “secret” wedding know that you have no real clue what you’re doing. Buuuuuuut, you’ll probably get over it when you realise how much you want to do it, even though you have no idea what it means. Essentially.

You may even feel a bit concerned for your spouse-to-be’s father who is really out of his depth when it comes to seeing his son marry a man. You may feel delighted that he put his own conservative perceptions aside and decided his son means more than anything else.

You’ll feel especially relieved when he pays the R15 for the wedding because he has change and you were too red and bashful to think of things like a ten rand note and a five rand coin.

You’ll probably love it when the officiant makes you swap rings and say ‘I do’ when years ago you wrestled with the fact that marriage was probably never going to be an option for you. You’ll probably remember that moment for the rest of your life. And how red you were…

You’ll also probably never forget everyone clapping as you were pronounced Spouse A and Spouse B and then formed a little chain-thingy outside for you and your husband to run through while they shout things like ‘yay’ and ‘mazeltov’. That’s because there were probably Jewish people there. Or maybe just one…

You’ll probably never forget that day.

And you’ll probably think it the happiest day in your life.

Maybe.

Probably.

Just saying.