Bossdykelady
told me that apparently you guys like to hear my own stories – hence the whole
‘Behind GeeGee’s Curtain’ thing and if I manage to impart any wisdom, even
better. I guess it means that apart from
being the token straight chick it seems I’m the token old one too... Hehehe
It’s been
brought to my attention over the last few weeks that there seems to be a bit of
confusion about who’s who in my life so I started making a ‘point by point
reference for the confused’ on my Facebook profile. It started as a status update, morphed into a
note and I was still not done so I thought ah Fukkit, just make it a column
already so that everyone who is stalking and trolling me can see. I mean, it really isn’t fair to hide it from
them by putting it on my Facebook where only my friends can see it. I reckon they are the ones who need to see it
most anyway because judging by the twaddle they’re putting on forums they
really do seem to be the most confused.
Or idiotic. The jury is still out
on that one.
The confusion on
Facebook is quite simple to put to rest.
No, I am not a lesbian – not even one who’s waiting for her husband to
die before she comes tumbling out of the closet. Does the title ‘Token Straight Chick’ not
give it away? People please, as much as
I love my extended FB friends and chosen family I don’t want to worry
needlessly about their IQ levels. I’m
not too clued up about the lesbian ‘mating call’ but after consulting with my Gentledyke
I’ve realised I’ve been flirted with many a time when it just went right over
my head. I just thought to myself that
lezzies are SUPER friendly people and that I should have become a Lettie Bag
years ago. Instead of running for the
hills I kind of liked that though – at my age I’ll take a compliment wherever I
can get it – so thank you ladies! My
personal favourite confusion about me is the time I was sent an inbox by a
young queen who thought I was a Drag Queen and was looking for someone to be
his Drag Mother. I took that as a HUGE
compliment because I’m convinced I was a Drag Queen in a former life and I have
always loved Drag Queens because to me they’re like wonderfully brave and
dramatic ‘fuck you’ Butterflies who don’t give a damn what people think of
them. So no, as much as I would love to
be one I am not a Drag Queen either. I
am also not really a BDSM mistress. Even
though there are days when I feel like I could quite happily beat the living
bejesus out of someone and getting paid for it would just be the tiny cherry on
a very nice cake, the whole Mistress G thing on Facebook is a tongue in cheek
thing, capice? What I am is a rather vanilla
straight woman who has been married for 25 years to a man I met almost 30 years
ago – around the time my tits came in and he had 3 chest hairs.
Ok, now that is
out of the way allow me to explain my nearest and dearest. Apart from the friends I choose as family and
the handful of family members who are still in my life I have a son, a
daughter-in-law who is like my own daughter to me and a husband I call Hubs – he’s the straight one
who Put A Ring On It 25 years ago. He’s
not active on Facebook because he says businessmen have no business being there. I don’t do news so I don’t get it at all but
News24 is his favourite reading and he loves commenting on the articles so when
they changed things that you needed a FB account in order to comment he had to
create one - much to his irritation, in fact he was so irritated he had me
create one for him. No, he’s not gay
either – homophobia is a foreign concept to him and he accepts my gay friends
just the way they are. I’m rather proud
of him for that because despite being accused of being into toy boys and called
a sodomite and a fag lover he still welcomes my friends whenever they visit and
the vicious slander is like farting in the wind to him. He is very secure in his sexuality and a true
Alpha Male, part of the reason I love him so much. He even takes my Fag woofing at him with a
massive pinch of salt and a healthy dose of bemusement. That brings me to my Fag. There is a very important rule in Gayland: You Do Not Share Your Hag. Ever. Fags
are extremely territorial about their Hags and I have had to nip many a potential
bitch fight in the bud on Facebook. My Fag
is a female impersonator with the stage name Tarren I have known for many years
and that bitch is girlier than me. I
love being his Hag, he is one of the most outrageous potty-mouthed people I
have ever had the pleasure of knowing and he also has the kindest heart. He goes out of his way to shock me but I
learned years ago not to look at his phone when he thrusts it at me and says
‘Look here doll...’ Tarr is into Bears so
I have seen enough hairy asses and ball bags to last me a lifetime.
Whenever Tarr comes over for a sleepover to
keep me company when Hubs is away on business you’ll either find us in the
lounge watching ‘Mama Mia’ wearing pink pajamas and fluffy slippers singing
along lustily to the songs or we’ll be in the bar downstairs having cocktails
and gossiping until the sun comes up. Then
there’s my gay husband I refer to as my Gusband. He’s not really my husband, he’s my best
friend and also the only man Hubs will trust to look after me if he’s not
around. Hubs calls him the ‘straight
mans moffie’ and they’re very good friends.
Hawts doesn’t look gay so I suppose that could have caused a lot of
confusion in the past about what our actual relationship is. Although Hawts has never lifted his hand to
anyone he could easily flat hand poesklap someone onto their backs if they fuck
with me which is why I only ever go to Pride if he’s part of the party. Tarren doesn’t mind at all because between us
all we could ever do to defend ourselves is blow a rape whistle. Tarr is very good at blowing things so I’ll
leave that part to him and I’ll stick to hair pulling. Then there is my Gentledyke – from the moment
we met I knew I had found a friend for life.
She’s also one of the few people who’s louder than Hubs when they watch
rugby and personally I find watching them far more amusing than watching the
game. She calls Hubs her Strusband and he calls her his Gwife – no, not
spelling that one out, it’s not brain surgery.
I am her Strife, although I think she’s trying to be funny when she does
that because it should be Swife. No,
nobody is having an affair with anyone – it would be far too complicated to
keep things ‘straight’ – geddit? Hahahaha
Right, now I
suppose it’s time to address some of the other bullshit that’s out there –
until I get bored that is. We’ve been
accused of the most bizarre things but I must admit we did have a bit of a
giggle the day Hubs was accused of ‘racketeering’ and we had to Google it. I am not a thief who steals from the
elderly. The only thing I have stolen in
my life was a handful of sweeties when I was 3 and I was made to go back and
apologise so I suppose if the shopkeeper was elderly it is true then. I am not a ‘filthy fucking fag hag’; I shower
every day – sometimes twice. My whole
family doesn’t work for Hubs; if they do they must be invisible. The only person who works here is my
stepfather Duffy. He doesn’t really work
here though; he just comes over once or twice a week to have a chat with the
Koi because he reckons they’re the only ones who miss him. Scotland Yard isn’t looking for me, I don’t
live in a Top Secret Mountain Lair so if they really were I’d be worried for
the entire population of Great Britain about who is in charge of their
security. There isn’t a hit man on his
way from Canada to ‘take care of me’ – if there ever was one that fucker must
be swimming here and I suspect he may have drowned because it’s been more than
a year already. I’m not actually as
thick as two short planks, even though sometimes I really would prefer to be
thick. Thick people never seem to worry
about anything and always have a dazed and confused happy look on their
faces. I had about 2 years of that
feeling after I had my brain tumour removed and was on handfuls of medication
every day and as hard as it was to get off the prescription medication sometimes
I miss being in a happy cloud of fluffiness.
I don’t call myself a writer; I’m a columnist and the day I will call
myself a writer is the day I have a book published. A paper one you can touch and feel and
smell. I’m not as lazy as a Mexican on holiday;
I think that’s an insult to the people of Mexico because I’m far lazier. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be lazy on
holiday? I could go into more of the
rubbish that’s been written but I’m bored now and I think you all get the point.
All jokes aside
though... Comments like the fact that I’ve been lobotomised and saying I only
have one child because my husband is gay? Allow me to briefly address my trolls
directly here: Making fun of some of the
hardest things I have gone through in my life and spreading spiteful lies about
what happened when you know the truth?
You want to show Karma the finger?
Rather you than me thanks. I have
so much dirt on you that I could destroy everything about you but they were
shared as confidences when we were friends so I will honour that – despite your
actions. We all have the ability to be vicious;
it’s what you choose to do that defines your character. You’ve done me a big favour though, actually
more than one. I now know I have the
patience of Job, this crap has been going on for almost 3 years so my patience
muscles have had a very good workout. You
have contacted my friends and family with everything from threats to blatant
lies about me and some of them have even been subjected to crap being written
on their profile walls. I also know who chose to believe all the utter
unadulterated bullshit – unfortunately some are my blood - and I’m not Jesus so
forgiving and forgetting is not going to happen. That shit left the building before Elvis did. I have had to change my cell number after
more than 10 years; the peace and quiet has been lovely – especially since I am
super allergic to my phone. You have
also shown me what to look for in people I let into my life. The reason you were booted out to begin with
was because of your obvious lack of common human decency and character and you
have done nothing since then to prove me wrong, in fact quite the
opposite. My only regret is that I didn’t
get rid of you a lot sooner; I like to think that I would have been spared some
of these pathetic attempts at character assassination and your relentless and
cruel backbiting behavior.
To me aging is
pointless if you’re not going to gain some wisdom from the things you go
through in your life. I’m no angel, I
have lost my temper occasionally over the years this has been going on and I
regret it because I know I was raised better than that but I own it too because
I know it’s me that allowed them to push me to that point. Since I took out the trash I have made the
most amazing new friends and reconnected with old ones. Some I speak to every day and some I only
connect with occasionally but there is always a meeting of minds involved and I
know I have found a few lifelong friends amongst them. I find myself surrounded by creative people
with open minds and I love that, I feel like I’m home. So many of them have kept me sane and been an
inspiration to me without even knowing it and I intend thanking them on FB when
this goes live as well. I hope nobody
gets all embarrassed about it and all. So
ladies, if there is any advice I can pass on to you from this experience it
would be these two realisations: I spoke
to my friend Black Sam the other day - his own moniker by the way, he says it’s
because he’s so black he has to smile so you can see him in the dark. Anyway, I asked him how his wife and kids
were and he said to me ‘Life is good thanks Mami, they still smile when they
see me so life is good’ and I thought that was so simple yet so beautifully
profound and it resonated within me. As
long as the people under your own roof are happy and love you and there is
positive energy in your home, life is always good. Also, no matter how much fun you have with
someone or how much you love them – if they become possessive over you and
hardly ever have anything nice to say about your other friends and you’re
stupid enough to slowly allow yourself to become isolated, sort of like the
parable about the frog being put into cold water that is then turned on so
slowly he doesn’t even feel it when it starts boiling and he eventually boils
to death? Don’t walk... RUN!
Live well, laugh
often, love much and always remember to dance!
GeeGee xx
