Because This Makes Me ANGRY, On a Serious Note, What the Fuck?

We All Lose

It is the 19th of January 2017. I am sitting in my boyfriend’s (yes, you read correctly) flat and waiting for him to finish working.

I mentioned the date for a reason. It is the eve of Donald Trump’s presidential inauguration. Regardless of what you think of him, this is going to be a time to remember. Continue reading

Because This Makes Me ANGRY, Gay Stuff, On a Serious Note, What the Fuck?

It’s Okay To Be Straight

I have so much to say that I don’t know where to begin.

The first time I saw this picture saying that straight people had to share it to show that they were proud to be straight because apparently straight people were being ostracised I laughed. But as time goes by it makes me angry. Continue reading

Gay Stuff, Rambling, What the Fuck?

The Grindr Chronicles

Yes, it happened. I got Grindr. I know…

I’ve made no secret of my attempts at online dating, despite the fact that Facebook is sending me to Hell. For socially awkward people like me it’s a relatively easy way to find guys. I can’t bring myself to go to gay bars and clubs, because I always feel like I’m going to be walking into a cesspool of STDs, and, perhaps even worse, large crowds of people that I’ll have to interact with. No. Just no.

For the last while, the gays on my Twitter feed have been going on and on about this thing called Grindr. Most of what they were saying wasn’t positive, but since when has that stopped me? I got Tinder last year and although I have met the occasional nice guy here and there, it became boring quite quickly. So, I decided to try Grindr…

My, oh my…

The moment I mentioned on Twitter that I got the app, the gays all jumped to say that I shouldn’t do it. And yet I found most of them on there. I understand this though, because I very quickly began to realise that rather than a dating app, it is more an interesting look into rather bizarre human behaviour. It’s also kind of scary. The icon reminds me of Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs. Nevertheless I have decided to share some of them with you:

Am I the only one who sees this? This gives a whole new meaning to "being eaten"...

Am I the only one who sees this? This gives a whole new meaning to “being eaten”…

“I want to lick your face.”

Yes, someone actually said this after I sent him a picture of my face. I didn’t really know what to say to that. I mean, it’s flattering, I guess, but it’s also not the kind of thing that you expect to hear. Later on I met the guy, because he seemed to be nice (and cute), but we didn’t see each other again. I’m guessing that my personality didn’t match my face.

Free Crystal Meth

This one didn’t even say hello or ask me my name. He just went straight for the gold: “Do you use Crystal Meth?” Now, I know that it’s rude to look a gifted horse in the mouth, but I would like to keep my teeth and preferably not die a painful death, so I politely declined. He then proceeded to ask me if he can bareback me. For those of you who don’t understand that term, go and check on Wikipedia. Now, once again he was offering me free sperm that could potentially contain God knows what, but I decided to politely decline again. And that was that.

“I don’t like fake people.”

I generally try to dodge the question about professions, but when I get asked about my career, I do feel that I can’t lie about it. And since I am actually an actor, I say so. This usually results in various reactions, ranging from whether or not I know famous people, am I rich, have I made a movie or starred in a soap. The answer is always no, because I generally do low budget theatre, and this doesn’t make big money or attract big stars. People also don’t seem to comprehend that acting isn’t about being famous, but rather working your ass off for a craft that you love. And you better love it, because it won’t bring you any glamour or big bucks. But I digress…

This one guy I was chatting to asked me what I do. When I said that I’m an actor, he seemed to be okay with it. We continued to chat for a while after that until he suddenly sent me a message saying that he doesn’t like to associate himself with fake people like actors. Honestly, I wasn’t really bothered, because he sounded a bit stupid, but I was still a bit dumbfounded. Oh well…

“You should consider becoming a prostitute.”

This happened not once, but TWICE, I’ll have you know. On both of these occasions we were talking about how difficult it is to make a living in the arts. Once again, I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or not. This was until the one guy said that looks didn’t really matter. I gathered that this meant that they could put a paper bag over my head and pretend that I wasn’t so ugly.

“We want a playmate.”

I can’t even say how many times this happened. It seems to me like there are countless gay couples out there who like to find a random stranger to come and have sex with them because apparently they can’t satisfy each other sexually. I won’t lie, I find that a little sad, but to each their own.

“I don’t remember you.”

This motherfucker was one of the guys I met on Tinder last year. We met at a restaurant and to have coffee. I didn’t really get a word in, because he was babbling about himself the whole time. I very quickly realised that he liked himself way too much for him to be able to like someone else as well. After I got Grindr, he found me there and started chatting to me. I could remember everything about him: his name, how he got his driver’s license, the fact that his hair was turning grey, he use to live in England, etc. He admitted that all these things were true, but he didn’t remember me AT ALL. Really, bitch? Really?

“You’re too crazy.”

This is a guy that I met on Facebook and at an arts festival. I won’t lie, he’s very attractive and intriguing, so we’ve been chatting on and off for a while. I found him on Grindr and we started chatting again. Through the course of the conversation I made the mistake of telling him that I thought he was attractive. He then told me that he had suspected for quite some time that I liked him, but we are both too “crazy” to be compatible. Now, I can’t exactly say that I’m the most stable person around, BUT IT’S DIFFERENT WHEN I SAY IT. If you say I’m crazy that means that I was actually right about me being crazy in the first place and that there is no hope for me at all. Devastating.

…And then I found HIM.

If you’ve read my previous blog posts, you’ll know that there is this one guy that I’ve been pretty hung up about for quite a while. He kept stringing me along for over a year before finally admitting that he doesn’t really like me, just not in so many words. Every now and then I still chat to him on Grindr. I’ve finally made peace with the fact that he’s just not that into me, so it’s not because I’m still hoping to be with him. I just still find him to be one of the most interesting guys I’ve ever met. He says that he goes on Grindr because every now and then he finds someone worthwhile on there. Obviously I don’t fit into that category, but whatever dude…


So yes, that pretty much sums up my experience with Grindr. I still go on there every now and then because it can be quite entertaining, but that’s all it really is to me: entertainment. I have always been a loner and I’m used to being on my own. As I get older, I do find myself torn between being strong and independent and wanting someone to spend weekends with. And sometimes I want to be pushed against a wall like in the movies. It would be nice to have a boyfriend, I won’t lie. But I also know that having a boyfriend isn’t nice all the time. It can get ugly, and so can I. I’m by no means an easy person to live with. I also constantly need to remind myself that I’m only 23 and that being single probably isn’t one of the worst things I could be dealing with. And since I’m so freaking crazy, I should probably try and work on that. Also, I have a career that I’m trying to further.

I’m trying, you guys. I’m trying.

Follow me on Twitter.

Rambling, What the Fuck?

I Shot an Intruder

You might be wondering why I’ve taken so long to write another blog post. Well, I could tell you that I’ve been busy shooting a movie (because I’m an actor now) or that I found a lover, but I know that you’ll probably just fall on the floor and start laughing like a lunatic, because as if… No, I’ve been up to my same old usual crap, but something happened. Something terrible. This incident took place a few weeks ago, but it was so traumatic that I only managed to pluck up the courage to talk about it now. This is my story…

It was just another crazy wild evening in my flat. I was doing my usual thing – lip syncing to the music playing on my laptop. I’m not exactly sure of which song was playing, because the trauma has affected my memory, but I do believe that it was a song from my latest obsession, the soundtrack of Into the Woods. And then it happened.

I was casually walking into my bathroom, from my bedroom/kitchen/rest of my flat. It went something like this: I was looking in the mirror and singing along, something like; “It’s the last midnight, it’s the last… OH MY FUCK, THERE IS A GIGANTIC SPIDER ABOVE MY HEAD!!!!”

I immediately ran into to my bed and started hyperventilating. No really, I was breathing so fast that I started feeling light-headed. When I finally managed to slightly compose myself, I slowly started creeping back to the bathroom. I knew that I had to check if it was still there, because spiders have a way of running after they are spotted, as I’m sure you know. There was also the possibility that I had hallucinated or that my weak eyes made a crack in the wall look like a humongous, flesh-eating spider. I have no proof that it can eat people, but my common sense just tells me that it can. It took quite a while for me to get myself to go in there. The little voice in my mind said something like, Just stay calm. You need to check if it’s still there. It probably isn’t really that big. Maybe you didn’t really… THAT IS THE FACE OF SATAN!!!!

So yes, I ran back to my bed and started hyperventilating again. This happened about four times, kid you not. Each time I would tell myself that this time I would be able to look at the spider without pissing myself and each time I started freaking out again. (Just to clarify, I didn’t literally piss myself. I’m not that crazy.)

I realized that I would have to do something. The spider was kind of in a corner, so trying to hit it would be too much of a risk, as it could possibly fall on me and then I would definitely piss myself. I didn’t have any poison, and it was late at night, but I had no choice. If I was going to defeat this evil monster that was threatening my very existence, I would have to drive to a convenience store and look for a weapon.

So, I got into my car and drove into the darkness. The first convenience store I went to didn’t have anything, so I drove to another one, hoping and praying that it would have something, anything that I could kill this spider with. All they had was a tiny can of Doom for cockroaches. Shit, I thought, this isn’t going to work. But I bought it anyway, along with some Coke for the shock and two pies (Two because they were on special. I’m not that greedy. Although I did finish them in one sitting. But that’s because I didn’t want to be wasteful)

I sat in my car and tried to calm myself: It’s okay. You’ll just spray a lot of the stuff on the spider. Drink some Coke… Dammit! It turned out that the bottle of Coke was a bit shaken and it erupted like a volcano on my lap. A cold, sticky volcano that soaked my pants.

After cursing a few words that I’d rather not recall, I drove home and got out of my car. I put the pies and the Coke (who I was giving the silent treatment) on my desk. I walked to the bathroom and checked to see if the spider was still there. It was still in the exact same spot, in all its evil glory. This time I didn’t hyperventilate that much, but it was probably because I was distracted by my wet, sticky thighs (once again, from the Coke, not piss. I don’t know why I need to keep clarifying this).

I took the Doom and slowly walked to the bathroom door. I imagine that this is how David felt when he got ready to slay Goliath, although technically I was the Goliath in this story because the spider was about the size of my hand. But I have big hands, so that changes it. I held the Doom about, and closed my eyes. Do it! For the sake of everything that’s good, do it. PROTECT YOUR LIFE! I pressed the button and SPRAYED that motherfucker. I held my finger down until the poison started running down the wall. It felt as though I was in a horror movie and the villain’s blood was running down the wall after I stabbed him. The spider only moved slightly. I turned around to put the bottle down when I heard a slight thud. And I knew what had happened. The spider had fallen, and it was big enough for me to hear it hit the ground. I turned around and it was gone. I knew that it had to be somewhere in the bathroom, so I quickly shut the door and stuffed a towel in front of it.

At this point, I was exhausted from the fight. I ate the pies and finished the Coke (who was still getting the side eye). I took a sedative, because I knew that there was no way that I would get sleep otherwise. I got into bed and closed my eyes. I started thinking about the possibility of the spider getting out and climbing on top of me, all like Surprise, bitch! YOU DIE!, or that it would start banging against the door (it was that big). I lay there in my bed, knowing that eight evil eyes could be watching my ripe, youthful body with impure thoughts. What if it climbed on top of me and started doing weird sex stuff? Worse, what if I liked it? Would that be bestiality? I mean, a spider isn’t really an animal is it? How was I going to explain to everyone that I was marrying a spider? Worse, a spider that I tried t kill. What an unhealthy start to the relationship. How would we ever trust each other? And then the pills kicked in and I fell asleep (a constant theme in my life).

The next morning I woke up, unscathed and without any scars (except, of course, for my severe psychological scarring). I walked to the door and prepared to open the door. I was well aware that the spider could fly out and rip my throat out, but that was a risk that I had to take. I slowly opened the door and looked inside. I still didn’t see it. I switched the light on and then I saw it: crumpled up on the shower floor was Satan himself. I took the broom and poked it, because I’ve seen too many horror movies to fall for the “I’m dead” trick, Mr. Spider. It still didn’t move, but just to be certain, I swept it into the drain. For once I was glad that the sieve was loose. God works in mysterious ways.

So, there it is. It’s funny how liberating it is to talk about the trauma in one’s life. I survived an ordeal and came out a better, stronger person. If anyone is interested in making a film about my experience, or if you’d like to interview me (Oprah, I’m looking at you), feel free to contact me. It’s time for us to speak out about the terrors we face.

Go well, fellow humans. Be brave, like me.

Follow me on Twitter.

Rambling, What the Fuck?

Penis Candles: The Next Big Thing

So, this last week has just really been shitty. It just seems like suddenly a gigantic shit storm came out of nowhere and hit me. All the things that could possibly go wrong went wrong and barely a day went by that I didn’t cry. Normally I would say that I’m depressed, but I’m not. Life is just being a real bitch.

Anyway, I have one of those things that you use to keep the sun from melting the inside of your car while it is standing in the sun. I like it, because Pretoria’s sun is insane and it makes my steering wheel so hot that I can’t touch it and then start to consider walking 55km instead, because I swear it gets so hot that I’m scared that I’ll get blisters on my hands. But with the sun protector thingy I can get in my car without spontaneously combusting. Wow, that just sounded like a really fucked up infomercial. I digress…

The sun protector thingy has two of those things that suck to your window so that it doesn’t fall off. The only problem is that used to belong to my dear mother and she lost the one sucker (I don’t know what else to call it). So, I went into the mall in my area to go and look for one. I couldn’t find one. I hate asking shop assistants for help, because I hate talking to people in general. And I didn’t know how to explain that I was looking for a sucking thingy for my sun protector thingy in my car. I ended up going into a shop called Come ‘n Buy. I find the name quite peculiar, because what else would you be doing in a shop? But then again, this is South Africa, so maybe they want to make it clear that you’re supposed to buy things instead of stealing them. I went into the shop because they sell practically everything from socks to glue, so I thought that they might have a sucker thingy. They didn’t.

But they had this:

Happy birthday. Now, suck and make a wish.

Happy birthday. Now, suck and make a wish.

I was looking at all the random crap that was stacked on the shelves when the candles caught my eye. At first I thought, ‘Wow, those candles look like they are shaped penises.’ And then I realized: OH CRAP! THEY ARE PENISES!!

I immediately grabbed my cell phone and took a picture. I didn’t care if anyone was watching me. I wanted PROOF. I mean, I used to think that you only find shit like this in America, but I was wrong. I immediately started to wonder who would actually go ahead and buy this. I guess that perhaps a bunch of horny gay boys throwing a gay bash, or a bunch of straight guys throwing a stag party. Or maybe a group of women throwing a bachelorette? I don’t know, but I would like to meet those people, because it would give me some hope that perhaps there are people out there who are more fucked up than me.

I did consider buying them simply to show to my friends, but I decided that I could spend R32.00 on better things, like Coke or KFC. And besides, I still haven’t found a sucker thingy.

I just also want to say that I find it quite strange that the candles are so small. I mean, I don’t want to say anything bad about guys with small penises, but let’s face it, a big penis is just more… commanding. I mean, you wouldn’t want someone coming to your party and saying; “Oh my, look at how small the penises on his cake are!” That would just be embarrassing.

Seeing these candles reminded me of a picture that I saw before on the internet:

Yes, that is a baby coming out of a vagina.

Yes, that is a baby coming out of a vagina.

Now, imagine a vagina cake with penis candles. Penis candles that are smaller than the vagina cake. You’re welcome.